Where Have I Not Been

Hi everyone , sorry if the fluidity of this blog has been intermittent , i have depression anxiety and stress a trypitch of confusion words halt before they have been written etc i will not go on too long as i know i am not the only one and some of you folks have struggled in a similar way.

Focus is a funny word as is motivation neither i can give definition too at the moment , but i wanted to be honest with you all and keep you in the loop , poetry will resume after this brief intermission as will other writing of mine, the blank page will be a friend again but be assured i love you all and will be posting things that catch my distracted mind, so i go and look at words mix them up and hopefully ….. well you know , so long as i do not choke as they go down

Take Care
and all the best
Chris

concupiscence

he fled those vicissitudes

and hid in the parables

that spread like marmalade

over his life,

as an intrinsic alchemist

transforming the jewels

that drew light into her eyes

nymphlike was not always,

she kissed his lyre

and lingered on the notes

crouched mouth to mouth

the dust of longness

passed between them

hands often released

and time again became frail

his tremors sounded as trumpets

with impossible sobbing

a deep reconciliation

a finger of saffron stained

the tongue

and wafted in embrace

yet he could no more

and neither she

amazed at speech carnivals

that wound words over

rolling track

pirouetting horses dance

to an inconvenient truth,

he listened to the stars

and read long passages

delirious now that it was

divisible,

tomorrow became perpetual

sinuous flow

http://dversepoets.com/

 

word of the day your favorite word i got carried away again so i hope it works as i have not been functioning so well recently , all the best

 

counterfeit saints and barefoot dancers

as the snow melts

you open the doorway to onions,

crammed in a pan with cubed steak,

beige dress and apron strings

he saw the wineglass

an ashtray close to full,

he still wondered why she shaved

her pubic hair  into a stripe,

going to piss in the small toilet

a room barely used scented of

kerosene and urinals,

you ok she called

peppermint ice cream tones with

hidden expressions,

scratching beard muttered out a reply

zipped up mind still a conflagration of thought,

i wanted to do an english stew

was your day ok

housewife animated advertising jargon

felt like exploding,

the car would still be warm

engine would start quickly,

murmured almost automatic familiarity

those beech tones just as wooden

full of grain and knots,

fifteen years it was comfortable

not likable settled,

he did not question or ask

just lived as he now did with her,

camus  could of written a diary with  them

in with charlie parker soundtrack,

there was no children

they had not found time,

you could crawl back inside yourself

but that would lead to tears

best left to what was

a grisly fetish

slave and domination

abstract interludes,

snapshots of a smoking buddha

fuck hole sanity,

without that crawling cuckoo

jacket on chair

assembled the winning smile,

she came and kissed

long tongue surrounded his mouth

lips soft journals of praise,

now feeling ok

sat back and spoke as if released

watching her

not knowing her

Catching Ghosts In Summer

slow emphatic automobile

draws to a halt

close enough for door

opening catching tree

metal on nature

only sound that hot morning,

unaware or uncaring

he stood and wiped hands

damp from steering a long way

on pants,

out of city into suburban country,

some things had been forgotten

as if an egg timer

had it’s sand shaken loose,

mind conjured and played tricks,

as he looked at what could

only be a desolate shack,

collapsed porch

dark smoke mascara

about window edges

bleak eyes that wound,

no hurry in placing feet

a kind of lawn congealed

with weeds and long brambles,

stumble

touch bottle in jacket pocket

making sure it’s still there

whiskey would be only thirst quencher

as water cut off

nothing was disguised

it could be yesterday

fingered  wedding band

his second the first removed

gone it hurt in a painful tightness,

timbers cracked door flat inside

still smelled smoke,

across the wall graffiti

where family pictures once hung

stirred dust with feet

voices came back as soft ghosts

still caught in this place,

he took a sip of whiskey

sweat traveled across his brow,

jar rattled on the floor

dog barked beyond decaying

timber confines,

other pocket heavy as well

as he slipped jacket off,

whiskey bottle put on what was

the kitchen table

charred becoming lopsided,

drew revolver with every chamber full,

a heavy sun filled yard

put short shadows on the fence,

gardeners with hosepipe,

birds

children

sunbathers

housewives,

heard the bang

a short report

announcing another ghost

 

 

as we fall

plastic bottles find no rest

in the surf

washed from the river

beach colored by paint

human paint remains of

eager sprees

in fearsome glow of night

youth and the silent in

alleys prowl,

fast food wrappers

catch the wind on

commercial sails

over street and bridge,

greasy window watches

those without reserve

intimate action

body abraded by brick

balloons of extinguished

seminal life cast to water,

outside as most slumber

patrol cars crawl

citations written to those

caught out,

they use with needle point

vacationing from life

and all it’s disturbances,

away now we trail

in part to the beach

all that is us comes here

slowly degrading

absorbed into sand,

trapped for future people

to see

how as a society we

fell far