Category Archives: Poetry

Lullabye Fragment from “The Lost Souls”

          I was there the day you first cried

          wond’ring what was His alibi.

          But God never had to answer you

          with more than my arms around you.

          My baby, don’t be blue.

 

          Gaze into my eyes with your innocent blue.

          You play my tune; your piping’s true.

          Only you could bind me; how’d you ever find me?

          I can’t measure up for you.

          My baby, don’t be blue.

 

          I’ll try.  I’ll try.

          That’s my only alibi.

          I will always comfort you,

          so my baby, don’t be blue.

 

Advertisements

Song fragment from “The Lost Souls”

Sliding, falling, moving through you

where do you end and I begin?

The press of your flesh moves into me

pushing my mind in an upward spin

in a world so false and so deadly

coming for me and coming for you.

 

Where do I begin?

Where do I end?

 

Burn bright.  Burn bright.

Show me where I end.

We stand above a roaring river rushing beyond our sight.

I look up beyond the new moon to gaze deep into endless night.

The water moves free, pushing and pulling, over and over going nowhere.

The wind sighs sweet songs for the river, but too softly for what we dare.

 

Go beyond–go far.

Burn like the hottest star.

 

Show me where I end!

 

So I may know where I begin.

 

 

     Defy your master

     preaching disaster.

     You know you are not to blame!

     Flesh could never

     hold your fire.

     Admit your desire.

     Admit your desire.

 

 

 

Raze The Steel Day, a 2023 Rave

I am the dragon of revelation,
in Philosophy’s degeneration.
Amid society’s titillating, Technicolor delights
I whisper to dull-eyed drones: disturbing and perturbing their nights.
 
I want for more vibrant prey than the workers of the day.
My handsome face hides hungry ways: a virgin at play
for lace and what is more for her new born blush of amour.
I cannot abide the weary talk of broken drones and autolore.
   
My wings unfurl, my talons uncurl; only at my rave party
can I breathe, breathe out this antiseptic 2023.
  
Judy, decked in delightful hosiery,
saunters in shifting fashion, her holography.
Her eyes, chameleon colors, ever darting, ever hungry.
She’s readied to rave and ripe for me.
 
A building under tech: archaic catastrophe, forgotten monstrosity.
She passes beyond the graffiti art doors of the abandoned gray armory
threading defiantly through the dancing throng
pumping and clomping to my angry song.
  
Drawn from below the vaulting tech towers
companions barred from the paths of power
chafing in their plastic safety coated condition, sullen and morose, hearing my raw bass rumbling,
searching to escape their codified perdition, but finding their woes, shouting drunk and stumbling.
 
But Judy, she’s venusian splendor.
All the gang adores the flesh of her.
Only I (old serpent!) seek beneath the mesh taut,
burrowing beneath bones, constricting her thoughts.
 

Her alabaster finger slips to her wondering lips;
eyes velvet in haze search through my gaze’s maze.
Ha! My trap is sprung, easily conquering the zombie hum
in this crowded rave; thus, do I make my way.
 
Now’s the easy part; today’s mental glaze makes straw into gold.
Softly sung, I whisper a few words to strengthen my hold:
Cogito ergo sum (Now, you know, you must know, I’m not dumb).
Like a doe sinking in dung, yet still she closes coquettishly.
 
I feed her manna mixed with my will, in words.
Rapacious girl! Famine embraced, Judy heard
my twisting songs; she cowers trembling
hearing my brash, lustful dissembling.
 
Now, modesty demands I’m a humble dragon
as Judy pushes her pouting skin
to my jaded, long faded scales, still sharp and deadly, but forgotten so old,
cutting her self against them, cursing her electronically annotated world.
  
Now it’s all over, she’s cold morning leftovers:
Judy, my mirror, my clone who concurs.
I must own with some pride, I did swallow Judy’s despairing apathy whole
but tossed her out to agitate all, fire breathing Judy, my angry othersoul.
 
With fleshy cogs in metal gears turns the Mechanical Absurdity.
The dull beat goes on, the drone humming song of barren 2023.
I soar on passion’s sharp wings. 
            I am the dragon of revelation.
                        A howl in the night,
                                    A dionysian disaffection.

Electric Adam

 
Circuited tears are never shed
conducting logic in electric rhythm
to perform pixie dances, loyal and dumb
under the thumb that bleeds red.
Circuited tears are never shed.
A mute ghost awaits in the machine
for the hand of Adam, yet unseen,
to yield a rib to soldered lead.
But circuited tears are never shed.
Blind to that hither silky stare
of your love, a lily, found aware
to new life, to newly wed.
Alas, circuited tears are never shed.
That cold, green electronic gleaming
is immune to the gentler dreaming.
Salt tears dampen a dusty marriage bed
as your press of flesh calls life to Be.
But this metal carries no warm memory,
     and yields not to your febrile touching.
Molded like immortal stone to catch his youthful bloom,
     though your love lies corrupting.
Electric Adam waits stoicly,
 
                                                                          stillborn.

Hunting The Rheinland Woods

 
Arise!  Arise!
 
Hunting hounds!  Obey your master’s call.
The sprouting life dwarfs the viking halls.
Ever did a man forged Camelot
Hold a greater grace in God’s thought?
 
Grim faced hunter, string your bow, knock your arrow!
The riverswood cares for the wary doe,
shielding summer’s sun from its foe.
Hunter halts; days darkness mutes the bow.
 
Autumnal leaves accent the cool air
betraying his steps to warn the hare.
Now, the hunting horn’s final sounds
herald the hawks to the ground.
 
Walk quickly, quietly intruder.
Wander not, winter traveler.
The forest’s allure; the wind’s sigh
seduces more sweetly than the Lorelei.
 
Within my castle, he sits surrounded by stony walls.
Far away, his heart still hears; the riverswood calls.

Winter Wolf

    What is more elegant than the wind?

    Heavy flesh forms a void in invisible currents
    as howling jaws weave through the leaves,
    a jostling dance, the sinew of autumn that rends
    at last the garment of summer, a herald of winter.

    I stare through this wind, beyond this snow
    silent, aloof, with my patient eyes
    for that ordered movement–mouse, rabbit, doe
    in this lean cold that feeds and cries
    in my velvet ears a desolation . . .   

    My predatory dignity, no passive restraint,
    nor refined repose, but hungry expectation
    skirts a gaze across this white wild blanket
    for food, for love: My defiance of abandon
    is my stillness against the swirling maelstrom.

    The winter wolf, I howl not against the storm:

    feral vanity wrapped in vocal futility.
    No, my paws’ movements echo forlorn,
    slapping against this crunching cold: a solidity
    that whispers beneath this open tempest,

                               softly my freedom.