Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Snippets from a Close-up of a Sculpture

Original heirs

began to die

in a web of branches

at the center of the world

like something static,

or a blade dulled.

 

Too adrift to see the expanse,

Around a sense of balance.

 

Down in the water that only gets deeper,

I’m more arid still.

 

Through the look he gave me,

The first point the eyes fall on

Were his wet boots.

 

The geologist’s lament

I am not as deep as once I cast.
My depths have been filled,
Silted with many moments,
to cover the salts of the past.

I plumbed my depths for gems,
Emptied my innards of jewels,
I mined for pain and ecstasy
then covered it back up again.

Now my soul rests shallow,
Open to the clement skies.
My heart, now free, beats easy,
And my living casts no shadow.

Still, there is a yearning I can’t shake
For darkness and the depths,
For the caverns and the caves,
For the joyous secrets and the secret pains.

As lovely as the surface may be,
I can’t help but miss the facets
Found in the faults I once delved,
Down in the darkness of my deeps.

These Still Waters

These once still waters quiver.

What wakes this idle river?

Like goosepimples,

the silver surface ripples,

with scintillating shudders,

flutters,

and shining rainbow colors.

Once so calm,

These still waters rested warm.

Like seeping silence,

The sterling surface lay timeless.

The waves were placid,

flaccid,

Its lazy movements vapid.

Once so idle,

This river felt primal.

Like a mirror,

Yet these pale waters laid clearer.

But now the surface is troubled,

Bubbled,

Its once peaceful breadth muddled.

These still waters once ran so deep,

Why is it now that they’re trembling awake?

Like potion in a cauldron,

The argent surface roils wanton.

As the shallows rise,

The breakers hide,

that which strives to attain the skies.

I need new words saved

My old phrases of melancholy,

Withered vines and

Grey skies

No longer apply.

The taste of dust,

The waste of time,

Ruts and rust and dirtied skies

All of these I’ve left behind.

The ubiquitous blossom

Has finally thrived.

I forgot to take my pieces of medicinal peace

A nebulous sensation,

Hazy and blue

Running through my capillaries,

A feeling I can’t soothe.

It trembles at the throat,

Slips from eyes,

Leaving me wan and wasted

Watching goosebumps rise.

And here I thought myself free

Of melancholy and nebulous pining.

And here I thought myself free

Of discontent n’ melodramatic sighing.

But my pills I haven’t taken.

It seems that I’ve forgotten.

So the sensation comes to claim me,

All dreary, wan and rotten.

So, I will take what I am given,

Chased w’ deep breaths.

And soon enough this mood will fade,

putting despondency to rest.

And flesh

It’s so easy to forget,

to take for granted

the shape of your lips on my neck.

But the goosebumps rising fresh,

once subsumed by time, laughter & cigarettes,

renew my love, blessed.

Where I was once starving,

I now find myself content.

Buried in your arms,

soaking in our sweat,

I remember how I love you:

heart, body, soul,

and flesh.

Fragile Optimism

Soaking in effervescence I idly float;

my thoughts buoyant,

vibrant,

but delicate as the iridescent sheen

of a newly-formed bubble

resting

against a knife’s edge,

keen.