Conflagration

Huracan and Hephaestus roar

spew forth their fury

remonstrating rage

reminiscent of days of yore

repercussions blaze

at the injustice

                        at the arrogance

at the almighty ignorance

tree nymphs and spirits shrivel

innocence sacrificed

                        martyred

to the selfish consummation

casualties of the self-absorbed

they wither into ash

                        raining needless deaths

in black pre-emptive night

Helios and Eos grieve

this demonic devastation

                        the unholy alchemy

of incessant power and greed

Conversant in Thistle and Butterfly

I am perched on a boulder

hidden in the shadowed corner

of the garden

behind the nodding thistle

perspicacious heads of lavender

spy nonchalant while I

whisper to the yellow jacket

of my hopes and aspirations.

reticent in rectitude

I whistle

ruby hummingbirded

wings, bejeweled

of agile green escapes

while my cheeks

shift from aching to numb

on the roughening façade

 

I flew here to lament

my autumnal crackling

tears quiver, unfallen

past the tickle

of thistledown coating

the chill of my belabored bewailing.

sun cajoles prickly remorse

from the thistle

it drips sticky stamen residue

at the scars it gifted

in my passing.

a fritillary alights and wistfully peruses

the honeyed depths of contemplation

nectar beads, seeding

the coveted urn of renewal

 

I am at home here

secluded among the desiccated foliage

it was well tended until season’s end

now it is covered in harvest residuals

scarlet and umber detritus

girding itself to winter over

tears threaten the dam

swelling against patches in my heart

the yellow jacket’s docile sunning

belies the fury of his reputation

as I, akin, do mine.

I have stung betimes

solely under the looming adumbration

of imminent mortal swatting.

my shins glisten

with lazy droplets of blood

imprint of thorns’ bequest of sheltering

to label them scratches

over-reaches

the bounds of damage

as we humans are wont to do

the thistle meant me no harm

as she bowed

under the weight of the reckless wind

grazing my fragile skin.

 

the fritillary opens and folds

wings of spangled spun gold

the steady metronomic beat,

a saffron rhythmic hypnosis

unravels universal mysteries.

wing beats fan the furling fronds

fashioning a fictional furrow

where I can bury angst

overlay with crunchy amber dust

canonizing my misery.

littering the air

atomized must

chokes

stokes rueful rumination.

decrescent rays caress

my rumpled brow

reflect obsidian obeisance

hang on horizon’s whims,

diffuse coral

clots of anoxic penitence

as the fritillary glides afield.

I surrender to the gloaming

tippling crimson cumulus

as the yellow jackets

buzz in approbation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exorcising

your fingers

on my spine

move no planchette

summon no spirits

writ in alphabet soup

the tingles

you trigger

are not hair-raising

in your arms

I warm

to the notion

of my resurrected

humanity

 

synaptic lapses

spectral cortical spasms

float ghosts

unchained and rattling

silent condemnations

quivering

my jellied brains

phantasmal spook

possesses

thoughts

trailing chilled irons

clanking against composure

 

eyes prised wide

locked upon

tawny mirrorings

tether myself

to this moment

safe

reanimated

in coveted communion

I banish

badly behaved banshees

shrieking sprites

exorcise

my ghosts

Cooking for a Ghost

my contacts are blurry

sedimented with the salts of tears

cried and un-

the crows scarred your eyes

with the feet

of their raucous gathering

your skin has been kissed by the sun

though you rebuffed

the intimacy of its affections

I stand before the sizzling stove

stewing nurturance

for my lover, never you

while your ghost spins

on the blades

of the ceiling fan that won’t turn off

trailing tenacious tendrils

of ethereal palpable scorn

I can’t stop shivering

Discomfort, Unrehearsed

my truths

scratch your surface

unsettling as nettles

woven through

silken scarves

despite laundering

airbrushing

ironing

they refuse to lie

flat

soft

convenient

conventional

my reality

braids cactus thorns

in cashmere

scores my skin

and yours

my authenticity

abrades

your narrative

grazes sensibilities

brier patch

among cultivated beds

you smell skunkweed

in my budding rose

 

Questions of a Broken Heart

do you hear my voice

uttering

phrases most mundane

familiar intonations

in moments unexpected?

do my turns of phrase

sui generis

squirm

earwigging

when I am far from mind?

do my soft familiar

curves

slip between chill sheets

warm against your skin

in the dark night

of your dreams?

 

I banish your ghost

ad nauseum

 

episodically

a played-out rerun

you reappear

Hauntings

I’ve been rummaging

through our graveyard

stirring up dusty ghosts

as I forage

for crumbs of a life

amongst the splintered

bones

they don’t lie still

our bones

they poke me

in my sleep

with their

compound

fracturings

the jumble

of their burying

jabs me

impaling

my hard fought peace

upon shards

of yesterdays

littered with the sooty detritus

of futures

that would have been

should have been

if only

I hadn’t immolated us

I root

disheveled and thirsty

amongst Golgotha’s leavings

hell-bent

on order

promising our remains

they can rest eternally

given a proper burial

I scour the charnel

splitting my fingernails

on the stones

scrabbling a bloodied

inscription

I cleanse our skeletons

with endless tears

press them gently

autumnal leaves

vaseline’d in an encyclopedia

capturing all the scarlets

I slither from the necropolis

snakely

on my traitorous belly

groveling to Mictecacihuatl

sniveling entreaties

for redemption

our bones

snap

pierce the heaving soil

and my gut

 

 

Razor’s Edge

your words are saw-toothed razors

rusted in moldy marinade

arsenic and cyanide

I knew you

when compassion

your modest camisole

peaked

from beneath

sweatered scrutiny

so I swallow

serrated fragments

disembowel myself

with hardened consonants

presupposing credence

I tattoo your epithetical

epitaphs

etch upon forearms

contemplate resultant gore

in concentrated

consternation

having held your esteem

close to heart

the whetted edges

of your sentences

press against my jugular

I funnel blood

into my quill

suturing begins

 

 

 

Collections of a Life

traipsing along the shores

lapping edges of a life

she collects

souls’ vestiges

shimmering shards

salted among

flotsam and jetsam

eddying in surf’s

ebb and flow

she is pulled

by sparkling hues

singing kaleidoscopic

mermaid refrains

fragments

jagged or tumbled smooth

slosh- suck at heartstrings

filling sandy pockets

she embraces

all reverently

even those that wriggle

frenetic and foaming

retreat to murky depths

Reflections

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

 

reflecting (I believed)

on the past

you held hostage

by incessant fears

me, shackled

by gnawing guilt

and that serrated label

felon

I saw away

at wizened meanings

pick-ax prospecting

insight nuggets

repeated glances

long, contemplative stares

mooning over

the loss of you

languishing

impaled on

refracted fragments

sharded mistakes

there is a blinding flash

of brights

 

I see myself

held hostage

by the past

half-living, shackled

in your well-worn shoes

peripherally

a dual dueling self

holds releasing keys