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Mother of Gods January 31, 2017

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Seven climbed the
green foothills
made a camp
and slept so still

Eight there were
when morning came
without a reason,
without a name

Did you give birth?
They asked of her
“I did not wake,
I did not stir.”

Yet there he was
A life brand new
wrapped in cloth
of gold and blue

 

 

 

Note: Sorry it has been awhile. Poetry is something that kind of happens to me, instead of me conjuring it. You know?

Oblation July 5, 2013

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Through painted glass
it watches music
rise to meet the
ceilings tall
Hungrily, it waits
unmoving
whilst reed and wood
prepare its meal

Although opaque
the window view,
the subtle things
catch its eye
The ebb and flow
of waves of sound
a pleading voice,
a servant’s cry

A hum of air
against the walls
the wind it roars
its loud applause
Dancing rain upon
the roof
cheering loud
and without pause

A deity with
open arms
as if to catch
the divine sound
Made from earth
and hands of man
a purer art
cannot be found

Hush February 19, 2013

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I.

She squeezed her lover’s hand. It seemed an innocent enough gesture to those around. But they knew the secret to keeping it all hush, hush.
Three squeezes meant “I love you”
Four squeezes meant “I love you, too”
One long squeeze meant “Please don’t leave me”
This message was lost to the second lover as they picked up their bag and waved goodbye, feigning happiness to the lover left behind. To the unconvinced Brena.

It was then that she remembered the first time she said those 3 beautiful words.
“I love you”
“Hush!” her lover laughed, “someone may hear you.
“Let them hear!” Brena retorted, firmly but lovingly
“I wish I were as brave as you”

II.

Brena sat on the cliff overlooking the quiet sea, waiting. It had been months since her lover left. She took a pebble in her hand and squeezed it thrice.

She feared for her beloved, out to sea. She shook as the wind blew but not from the cold. Rather, she shook from the quick air penetrating the growing hole in her chest. The waves swelled and hit the rocks below as her heart, too, swelled, sure that her lover was already on her way back.

She had to be.

III.

Brena wasn’t sleeping well. Nightmares of hungry men having their way with her love, holding her down and muffling her screams kept her awake.

The images had her tossing and turning in the bed she used to share.
She told herself that no matter what she would put her back together again. She would brush the sea air out of her hair and rebuild her from the ground up.

IV.

The ship came back but her lover did not. The men ignored her worried, persistent questions. She went to the cliff again and told herself she would jump.

But the sea told her “No.”

V.

Brena was visited by officials a couple of days after the ship came back, without her lover. With no other family, her beloved’s belongings were returned to her.  A scarf, a leather bag, and a pair of work boots.

“What of her emerald? She never took it off.” Brena inquired.

“Hush, do not speak out of turn woman,” the man of God raised a hand, “We are truly sorry for your loss. Your sister was a magnificent sailor.”

Brena did not correct him and he said nothing of the emerald.

VI.

In the dirty hands of the sailors, drinking in the local tavern, was the emerald in question. A raven landed on the window sill, and eyed the jewel with curiosity.
“Didn’t take much to obtain it, stupid girl didn’t put up much of a fight,” said a drunken sailor.
“Hush! Drink makes you loud and foolish,” his friends warned.
The raven flew toward the sea.

They stumbled back to their wives, no worry of the morning’s repercussions in their mind, only the present merriment.
They were spared the harsh, judging light of day for none would wake with the sun.
Their blood drained from their throats,
Their tongues cut from their mouths,
Their bodies covered in black feathers.
The last sound they heard before death took them hung in the air, more than a promise. More than a threat.

“Hush”

Prophecy: Black Sea April 23, 2012

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In the darkest of waters,
in the lands of the Old,
fates are decided
and fortunes are told

There, maidens three
will emerge from the sea
to tell you what was,
what is, and will be

One will bring peace
to body and mind,
rid you of guilt
and transgressions that bind

Another will welcome
good fortune in life,
warn you of danger
and incoming strife

The last will stay silent
but, holding your gaze,
will expel all your fears
in more than one way

For beginning anew
needs a mind that is open
a heart that is sure
and a spirit unbroken

Seeing Red April 8, 2011

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An absence of red
has left me feeling
blue

plastic paradise
or soon to be
high glass walls
your world,
your aquatic cathedral
rocks and a
solitary,
green tree in which
to sit.
I imagine those were
the times you
did the most thinking
whatever it was you
thought about

In the sun you
glittered like a
Christmas ornament
and, in the same respect,
brought such light
and life
to an otherwise
barren bookshelf.
I never knew something
so small
could make me so happy.
And yet so heartbroken
when absent.

I gave you more
credit than most
and I sacrificed a
reputation of sanity
to spare you a few words.
For a creature who
lived, ate, and
loved a plastic tree
(more than I thought possible)
I adored you as if
I had brought you into
this world myself,
plastic bag in hand.

And what’s in a name, anyway?
Mostly irony, in
your case.
Although red, an innocent
life
was lead
down to the last pebble
and like your name sake
you left us in spring
a time of pinks and yellows
but no red
just empty glass
and an unoccupied
plastic
tree.

RIP Mussolini, the red beta fish. May you find many plastic trees to keep you happy in the big fish bowl in the sky. I miss you.

Brioso August 14, 2009

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[written July 3rd, 2009]

I’m praying that
when
blinking is unavoidable
we both don’t wake
in opposite
beds
in a cold sweat
that pastes itself
to our foreheads like
an apology
your hand’s
warmth
still hovering
like the ghostly
whisps of happiness
that cling to
the morning air

I’m hoping that
when
reality kicks in,
your presence
lingers
even longer than
the sweet
summer scent
that occupies
sticky air
and when all else
fails
I’ll have you
to fall back
on
like a strong tower
stable isn’t particularly
a bad thing

I’m realizing
now
that wish making
is a thing
of the past
stars have been
demoted
to mere decoration
for my unlikely
fairy tale
that jumped from
the pages
parachute intact
no crash landings
this time.

Wind February 27, 2009

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A rush
adrenaline would be ashamed
Tugging, pulling, pressing
at the very fibers
of my soul
Intact
the holes in my heart
sing by your accompaniment
melodies I long forgot
and was afraid
to remember
Twirling, tumbling, twisting
my lips
into a foreign shape
Your chaos brings me
peace
in a form most of my kind
fail to recall
The poets are wrong
you do not whisper
You shout, groan, and boast
Your thunderous roar is
matched only by that of
Brother Thunder
The cry of a warrior
summoning my spirit
from where it lay dormant
Bringing me to the
edge
of reality
of space and time
I let go of all that attaches me
to this world
only to wake
when you die