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

blood of the cucurbita

we are myth

we are legend,

behind fences we are found

bred and sacrificed on all hallows eve,

generations past

gutted and carved in celebration,

so misunderstood seen only as decoration

as human skulls on poles once where,

unlike my wild cousins in mexico

scattered over landscape and mountain,

they do not suffer the tampering

of our genetics

79 loci,

phenotypic slides for frankenstein,s scientist

altered , inbred,

not realizing our beauty

in shape and color

palmate leaves , long tendrils

unisexual flowers touched by gentle bee

curling about stamen

stroking with long legs

collecting pollen my yellow stain

peponapis body thrumming

resonant on my petals,

10,000 years of domestication

treated worse than dogs

compliant in nature as man knows best

our flesh substance forgotten

as gourd display incised and flensed

to amuse and terrify

projects of another’s nature

that is more disturbing and cruel

sublime oranges

he measured the room

by volume of the dark

with light subtracted,

moving as ulysses did in hades

he would find breakfast on the sand,

ocean not so far away

as high tides where relevant,

rituals began

ideas stencilled on embryonic dna

created this path and outlook,

sometimes he felt it was only he

he revolving and the earth had stopped,

it was not a crisis of meaning

only an imbalance on his poetics,

even in the dark

he could place a pen nib and write

about placing kisses on her

naked arcitecture,

a finding in deep silence

what she had really meant

under that cloak of shuddering mysticism

pen scratched paper

it would be ten pages,

before images faltered and pen halted,

ignoring wine that had already spilled on

table top,

peeled an orange

segmented aspects from which to

derive a special calm,

her bewitching had been an interference

but now choking fumes cleared

and he was at last

truly free

@dVersePoets

elephant looks in a broken mirror

when a thought becomes a fraction

divided into memory

and everyday fatigue

it settles not happy to remain

will divide again

into dreams and realization

long cerebral passageways

cluttered with electric snapshots

of a life lived long,

thinking was a process

started in the morning

after rinsing mouth and bathing

combed and prepared

opened the mind

some fractions found division harder

and became elongated spools

of tension and agitation

hands that tremor

ever so slightly

as sipping a glass of lemonade,

beneath this mass of

seething activity

normal had almost resumed

old fractions worked

looking at a photo album

your son found in the loft

other debris of a life in one place

gathered and divided

and will be when your

gone

 

 

so fast to nostalgia

sleep had frozen her eyes,

pulling away a draft between them

limbs stretched unwound

gleaming wounds had healed,

away from window awake,

bathroom without light

under sink cupboard with bleach and mouthwash

a bottle of bourbon in reserve,

pushed door to a crack

sat on a closed toilet seat

without that gaping void beneath his backside

sipping from the bottle,

put a hand in his shorts

rolled his penis between thumb and forefinger

damp from her

and sniffed,

faint lights illuminated heart,

head twisted sideways located tissue

shame to dab away,

as if removing her fluid,

her scent it would all end,

four years together,

she had guided him through a dry silence

concentration and love filled

earth and sky

as a solitary he would be unable to dance

and lament in lengthy boredom,

instead he stopped

stood lifting seat

dropped tissue in

pissed a long stream on continuity,

bourbon safely away,

new swarms changed names of thoughts,

into the bedroom

sprawled uneven she lay

at the window clutched the moon

and drew it back in

to be with them

a smile softer than his lips normally allow,

then settled alongside her

dVersePoets

dazzling abstract

i am a prophet

with rolled up trousers

and open jacket,

i have heard violins in Paris

yet with smudged knees

before you entranced,

voice of pale sherbet

snare drum indulgence,

you took me  to the rooftops

overlooking fullest sea,

i wrote to the back of my skull

with it’s literary granite lesions,

flew with sunrise

alien chorus comes as

if both worlds imitate,

i wanted your eyes

before then went to sleep

to see the bondage we feel,

your spell fell on my ear

resistance would only be sorrow,

then to the shrieking jungle

riffs and strums

break the brittle shell on my heart

nymph and satyr

platter of desire,

i clutch the glittering prize

Ponytail by Last Exit, http://magpietales.blogspot.co.uk/

Under The Fold – Bo Juhl Nielsen

electric focal plane

holding her face to a crystal

formed shell,

the irony of what lay on

the foreshore was less apparent,

some wanted the reach of

mistral winds to grasp her thoughts

and send them away,

lips to kiss a transposed image,

behind open emptiness,

sky littered with white swirl gulls,

she leaned  against nothing

remaining upright

let it fall back to the sand

realizing his soul had drowned in

his body,

and there would be no counting

the years on fingers

http://lafotografiaefectistaabstracta.blogspot.co.uk/

 

pointers from the flesh notebook

clever blue eyed clock

measuring the width of harm

in ratchet clicks so solemn ,

childhood had finished

you saw to  that

overtook my heart with years

as firm shrouding

growing up was a facility

in the forest where only some

belonged,

and i did not want to go there

it was a sentence

a finish

even ultimatum

to those near expiry date

flesh baggage creased and folded

eyes as dim bulbs,

i was the one on the bicycle

wishing to go past

shouting at the top of my voice

yet something broke the wheels

and i was left at the path

sat crosslegged wondering,

one woman with a cart lopsided

and one eyed horse offered me a lift

and i refused despite

silky touch of mane

as horse nuzzled my hand,

i was broken not forgotten

resisting time as an armed guerilla,

i would fight

and there would be casualties