phantoms from a shotglass

crushed bullet amalgam

would never ease the nerve

raw taunted,

mouth spoke sore words

unrefined as love in three acts,

barefoot bluejacket

you were not the trash

he put you out to be,

sawdust blonde balance

to a natural face,

you liked the Dodge

and sat beside

in that vacant vinyl caress

of a hot summers day,

gravel churned

tires burned dark streaks

towards the center of town,

how could she cheat,

love was like tentacles

suctioned about your every part,

nothing more would be said,

slowing close to a rusted wire fence,

a gathering

barbecue sausage and steaks,

pain eased that moment

no notices given

what you brought her here for,

it was the brick

that found it’s way into the hand

a scream

she grasped his arm

that lashed the brick

across a cheekbone splitting,

falling ,

people running from the house,

let it go she cried

bullet powdered jaw ached

fleet embrace

behind dust and exhaust

a man lay

pouring blood,

did he deserve ,

he was unsure

but when you love

in darker ways

it has to happen

131

sunday whirl

 

 

 

the wicked binds tightly

a house wreathed with cobwebs

and love letters turned to mud

behind unwashed curtains

and one last ticking clock,

creaking thunder and a rising breeze,

chance sat on the shoulders of the couple

who hand in hand

washed in rain,

where rings of secret words whispered,

blinked as if stardust clung to eyelids

afternoon fragrance of apples

from nearby orchard

ripe waiting to be picked

and placed in basket,

within those walls he saw them

bite flesh letting juice

run over lips as they embrace,

but they would share with a nest

of memories and swept away brutality,

no stars would shine inside,

and it would be clever to reside

with those ghosts without  rest

poem, poet, gothic

Wordle 129

 

sunday whirl

 

72 Panels

behind her shoji screen

where protected, felt assured to be naked

no unbidden glances

would spill from a mans eye

gathered in her own mind

and clothed touched the soft panels

each to represent a year of life,

the ones lived and ones to come

patches of existence on a written timeframe,

smiling she moved to the window

hillside and meadow

no sharp intrusions to the eye

looking back she wondered of the last panel

what  ghosts lurked behind

for it was hidden

until the time was right,

a swarm of bees sounded outside

nectar and honey

as she expected love to be

but mother said not,

spoke of not having to worship a man,

his edges not so rounded

where often cruel as father was

to others but not her

not a favorite they just understood,

it did not matter of the last panel

for she knew how long she had

as sliding the door behind

walked out onto a busy street

wordle128

 

sunday whirl

 

endured no more

titian tints of summer yield

forgetting and embracing

wind and rain,

winter would come with shackles

a home,

citadel of seclusion

sphere light bulbs and ticking clocks

here you can contemplate

the different shades of life

and it’s own complex fate,

grey heart beats,

distilled whiskey poured in

glass streaked by fingers

that once touched face,

without silken words

she would return

and the fevered mind would clear

moments of indiscretion

reshape reform

music would attract,

moth like fluttering in her heart

and the once broken tongue

would speak again

healing a process

begun

Fathers Day

i am father

and my father was father before me

we are form

almost unified shape

tied by familial genetics,

i am here

my father gone

bond unbroken love unbound

memory and cohesion

i have many of his traits,

i am here

and he still is

of the dust of the wind

yet at my side

that rub of ache in the forehead

as his thoughts and mine collide,

i have voice

my children hear

i make it apparent

as i heard my father,

despite long hours of work

his words i could hold

and made me smile

a child growing taught what is right

molded by nurturing consideration,

i am love

to my children

as he to me

never too old to embrace

and accept eternal bond

now without him

i will carry on

and my sons

as fathers will

fathers day , memory, love

Ivan Hare 18/06/27-09/01/13

sucking in breath

sunburnt man

wretched and weary

beneath light and rain,

thunder smelled of goatskin

and musky aftershave,

steps taken like a drunk

falling on his own

sky crossed with jets

over the park

those travelling to another

countries sun to relax,

as slowly it ceased

shimmering haze

brought glare to eyes

worn with failing status

once he was among the rest

spewing from subway to curb

urgent and despairing

eager to get home,

that place with a yard

spill of ivy

trimmed lawn,

but that page had turned

fortune walked away like

everyone else,

yet his eyes sparkled

renewed vigor in his step,

he saw the torture he once

experienced,

now he belonged to no one

bank, employer, wife

even country,

he was an independent state

banner

 

guitar ambulance

up in the air

heart blighted by wings,

each note picked

sends shudders,

listening absorbing

finding notes,

while putting pen to paper,

lyrics at once

strange formed on white,

in his mind a pattern

of mismatch shapes

clumped together

ill fitting,

the sound became jagged,

heart swooped and dived

plunging to icy ocean,

she had not been at

the forefront of his mind,

hidden at the back

yet now needed to write

about her,

wrap her in lyrics

tatooing her flesh in words

that had meaning,

thumb and fingers

move over strings,

a  stranger pain appeared

no respite

allegro

breath quotations

tear at corner of eye

string snapped

lurched into a silence

that now could not be filled

snow white

a morgue at three am

let in by shorty,

not a nice place to visit

let alone work,

by walls of brushed steel doors

vaults of death

hidden human forms,

middle row on the left was one,

modesty sheet

not to keep her warm

he looked on

as this his fifth night,

tugging away the sheet,

touching her breast

tracing cold lividity

that place

a special place

he went as he had done

so before,

finding his release

never of thinking

of how it would of been

had she been alive,

eternal sleep

poisoned once

so caught up this time

passion spent

leaned forward

and kissed her

lips still ruby red

she awoke

not to embrace

not to love

but devour her prince

consume his soul

to her own need

,

ink stained finger pedigree

kiss and whisper in her ear

hair dyed nocturnal sheen,

this clown without sanity

also had no morality,

for him love was the crazy light

of all dead angels,

his heart navigated slums of heaven,

babylon a drink to satisfy

and of those there where many,

at the door watched as she

burned on the brazier of sweetness,

leaving behind

he would go now and

make seven nymphs homeless,

in his mind words dwell,

a mirrors reflection

shows glance of vain apathy

downstairs and out

he went walking brisk

on soft sprung sidewalk,

there will come a last day

where pages no longer speak,

she was far behind

no turning back,

sorrow clung to his own breasts form

blood of his lust drained

pausing to turn into the bar

instead of heading home

will wait on tonight

dverselogo

Stones Thrown as the Crow Flies

midnight had crawled

out of his head leaving the

early hours to do their work,

fingers manipulate

keyboard screen aglow

in transcript of the mind,

his patience a short tether

to the excitement of creation,

as if dawn light brought revelation

a first fledged sun of

the day,

radiated warmth

mist lifting,

stimulants left aside

progressing in a way he knew best,

hunching slightly,

a splinter of memory

curdled color at the corner

of his eye,

tear appeared,

but only of tiredness,

not happiness

love remorse or regret

compacting much of the mind

this way and ball it up

upon a printed page

gave it a name,

then abandon it

let it become a piece thrown aside,

to be read again one

future day,

at completion a certain smile

pleasure heightened

few could ever see,

it was written

it was done,

exhale pull away

tremors in the arms

till the next moment.