aerial burden of the ox

with the old decades shown in the rain
burdening me with a dampness
remorse in it’s wanting has,
flesh colored dreams
drawn tight into deep constriction
the next day would be more relevant,
sipping a coffee cold at the edges
no plate on the mat
hunger not the issue here,
wet clothes painful to the bone
unnoticed by a vapor soul,
scented thoughts
as my mind peeled
drawn into segments pithy and secretive,
pieces i could look at
and not venture a taste
any sweetness gone
acrid juice spilling over lingering images
this fight so ancient
could break me down at the yoke
leaving a harvested husk
and no resonance,
only to be lifted skywards
coffee grew cold
mat still empty

http://dversepoets.com/ #openlinknight

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

 

knives sweeter than arrows

flesh of silk and snow

naked as a fawn exposed to winter,

draft seeped through window

that cast a lemon block outside,

pages before her with ink that began

to merge,

precious silent thoughts

lifted to starry skies,

sorrow had not brought it’s shadow

her eyes strong enough to look  into

the fire and show innocence,

telephone rang

the artist whose heart moved in spirals

waited with canvas and sable

and when snow retreats

and fireflies waken

she would stir to his caress,

till then entwined with knowledge

of youth and biology

lessons planned for each week

distraction long holding

avoidance to all things carnal

despite prick of skin

and clamor of heart,

she would wait as others too waited

and beneath soft auburn hair

decisions would be made

Jamie Wyeth Monhegan’s Schoolteacher