gravedigger stooped in graveyard
tearing apart my dream
throat stretched not to yell but holler the blues
within dense comfort of the blues
fear crawled away from skull borne graveyard
memory contorted as a dream
barren stone studded dream
verse of longing in the blues
as i dig my knees in dirt at the graveyard
solace in the graveyard ? no but found a dream and blues
inspired by Ida Cox and Graveyard Dream Blues (1923) for @dVersePoets http://dversepoets.com/2012/08/30/form-for-all-on-tritinas/
heave a sigh
here the wind joins
on gentle breath,
again my day
born from stars,
has a sharp savor
to the soul,
thoughts as blossom
between fingers picked
cast over waning fires,
not glancing back
a look at frigid oceans toss,
rubbing shoreline
with foamy insolence,
my heart wants to chant
find a voice
last lost when beneath
you quivered,
your face now abstract
yet still defining,
from this coast
i would search
overturn many moments
so i could take your hand
again,
to see if any feeling
had budded , grown
from the moisture of
your eyes,
no more to walk a
gloomy path,
but to rise in places
fall,
and be buried in roses
words of august quenching
a thirst sought by me,
in glittering glow
beneath eternal yellow
her beckoning touch
unleashed a rainbow,
undiluted by my gaze,
physical in all their color,
dense tactile,
i found and absorbed
each one,
some merged giving
new fervent love,
no mercy for me,
in slumber and awake,
dazzled and scented,
words became found,
promises kept,
hearts unbroken,
caught upon the colors
carried about the earth
lost in desire.
an outward bound kiss
became vagrant
lost with letter sent,
tucked in a corner
of mailsack unfound,
never to touch it’s
intended receiver,
and when no reply came,
held her breath
before shouting,
so that trailer walls
resonated,
how could he be so cruel,
was that conscious of his
a foursquare rigging
torn on open sea
bleeding at edges
so that anger valued
no control,
could it be expected
in places so different
yet just as imprisoning,
he faced all wall eternally,
she had the breath of footprints,
a whisper of wind,
and no restriction
on how far she went,
maybe as she rubbed
a wounded breast,
it would be better
to not know a man
so brutal and destructive,
after a steadying drink
at eleven am
headed to the diner
she needed to speak to
someone
dusk as intervention
to that crawlspace known as night,
leaning on the fence
cigarette stub extinguished
dropped over onto sidewalk,
link impressions reddened arm,
as i moved away,
light essential began to click on
the first a house a block away,
opposite the empty one
looked bleak and could not
be forgiven,
grass damp curled over,
now on porch sock imprints
their trace vague would evaporate,
i nearly lit up again
it was an unforgiving chain,
i was the operator
of my own half life,
as night swallowed up that rose
growing in the corner,
her rose she planted
as a recipe for splendor,
splendor that never came,
small card table surface
where i rested my pad,
maybe pour a glass
as a moth juddered by,
pencil tapped and i would
write.
Working Still
Leeuwenhoek lens
could not identify particles
in the ladle,
from a fallen heart,
brutal moments
drawing out tissue
analyzing sections
beneath blade and syringe,
a tempered hand worked
isolating precise sections
of the nausea that riddled
mankind,
thick dark bile
leaking treachery
without the fleck of love,
that often appears,
embattled huddled with others,
discussions occurred
resolve mans heart
from it’s failings,
before that
which is revealed
absorbs mortal flesh
and it’s insistent coil
My composition for Stanza
MUSA recently took part in StAnza poetry festival. Below is one of the five fantastic poems which won our competition and are now on display in MUSA.
Caich Balls
walls resonate with
thunder,
cries and cheers
fade fast,
in silent grey
torn and exposed
By Chris Lawrence
When…
born in anticipation
growing to expectation
departed familial line,
as dark turned light
with finger combed hair
possession’s stuffed into bag,
took the Starchief
out beyond the county line
heading North,
at a gas station,
slowed and parked,
in rearview looked at himself,
no fear in the eyes
only blue adventure,
his clothes worn
the last his mother will buy,
she would not see
the cheekbones evolve
like those of his father,
or hair fine in texture
become long,
or the beard last seen
three generations ago appear,
but for now he waited
and she arrived
the one meant for the rest
of his life,
Guess….
raised alone
by mother no father
without sibling,
high school came
only too soon,
as did When
first caught as a reflection
in a school window
and in her imagination took
his hand,
as she did now
clambering breathless into car,
throwing bag on the backseat
with his,
a kiss
one kiss,
that had a lingering of a thousand
years of love,
ready he said
i am she replied,
forty dollars scraped between them,
Starchief carried North
red candyflake and whitewalls,
morning became a celebration
of sequins and fireworks,
she touched a shoulder,
still fragrant from yesterdays tears,
in their silence a louder voice
was heard.
This poem for http://dversepoets.com/2012/08/23/meeting-the-bar-writing-characters/ is a poem derived from my novel that is well into progression so much so that they are part of my life
beach was hot
sand clung to toes
open tailgate,
back of station wagon,
an old worn blanket
Benchley and cummings
pushed aside
she lay back
as with cheap beer
washed her toes,
our laughter not so bright,
our days not so long,
we lit up and smoked
sweet compression
of moments,
8 track finished,
radio on,
i could not find the
eagerness
as she stripped off bikini
pulled on
t-shirt and cut off jeans
that hold her form
and sculpture,
when i spoke murmured
as if keeping my words
to myself,
she knew this and barely
could reply,
i wanted the night
as it would bring tomorrow,
maybe that would be
different,
once sandals where on,
she gulped down more
warm beer,
nodded in confirmation
as the radio broadcast
the news,
she said au revoir with
Nixon
