Hard Rain
a permeating terror of isolation and separation, people hiding from engagement with excuses about the way things are. The rain is that obfuscation, dangers of miscommunication, that can't be escaped by those who have no hiding place, and are discounted. Yet, Earthly existence is cyclical. After rain there is drought, a chance to see from a different perspective.
Hard Rain
obscuring
beads between
eyes and scene
on this endless street.
Garish neon bleeds, recedes in hell-dark alleys.
Shadowy tricksters, their
exotic wares whisper through.
Rain, ubiquitous wet
sky to sodden ground, over
sad mad months, eternal seasons.
Cinemas, bars, clubs,
gatherings of covering collars,
shiny leather, hurrying
into dry enclosure.
Out here we soak oblivious
puddle to splash,
unable to tell tear from
mere atmospheric surrender.
Breathing in the rain.
Not drowning
all these years
of adaptation.
When the drought descends,
will it take my breath away?
Will arid clarity
unveil swollen eyes?
Who will emerge
without the terror
of the rain?
30th day of Poetry Month
Resonant words align.
Mystic energies manifest,
call to neural chambers: "Come to play!"
Sparkling children fashion dance.
Innocence against a random nightscape
humbling the wise with unknown unknowns.
The moment flown, eyes carry to the next entertaining bit.
We've had our fun, perhaps an epiphany or two.
Inner ears listen,
merrily engage in lingering song.
May dance displayed as heady words
sparkle.
Mystically lit lanterns
illuminate without end.
metawakening
Sharal the Hunter runs from the Warrior of Destruction. She has lost all honour, all reason, all possessions but the skins that cover her.
Her village burns, all she has known forever ashes.
This ought to be a nightmare.
Here, now, it is horribly ... overwhelming.
Heart, blood, breath, these are what matter understands.
Mind is elsewhere. It has screamed into submission, reptilian --
Heart, blood, breath.
Terror reverberates
shakes tree limbs, wavers
vision. Terror waits ahead.
Grabbing strength enough to veer,
steer clear,
running thoughtless through loss,
unafraid of the unexpected, uncharted,
new.
Unencumbered by old terrors,
expectations.
Ready by necessity to make do,
to start from simplest principles.
Who am I, today?
Tomorrow will take care
of itself.
Spring Fever
Such a psychotic mess.
Such a mood slave.
Prickly dendrites, echoes of abandoned lives.
Voiceless words compel, demand hearing.
Why do they beg at my door, cloying, whining,
grabbing at my eyes with scarring claws?
I who possess only obsessed carvings of dried blood,
only curdled nightmares where I've lost my way,
lost the thread that was to sew me whole.
Shiny coins twinkle, fit so comfortingly in
cyborg skin's mechanical slot.
Brite tinkly musical phrases effervesce.
Beautiful, hungry dancers consume,
piranhic bliss.
No magical kiss, no fated lover to heal
and carry me home.
My gifts spurned or derided for their
inexcusable tackiness, stinking with mold
and decay, cannot pay any price.
Mock, if you must for warmth.
I curl against entropy into a trashed
cardboard box bleeding stale air.
a permeating terror of isolation and separation, people hiding from engagement with excuses about the way things are. The rain is that obfuscation, dangers of miscommunication, that can't be escaped by those who have no hiding place, and are discounted. Yet, Earthly existence is cyclical. After rain there is drought, a chance to see from a different perspective.
Hard Rain
obscuring
beads between
eyes and scene
on this endless street.
Garish neon bleeds, recedes in hell-dark alleys.
Shadowy tricksters, their
exotic wares whisper through.
Rain, ubiquitous wet
sky to sodden ground, over
sad mad months, eternal seasons.
Cinemas, bars, clubs,
gatherings of covering collars,
shiny leather, hurrying
into dry enclosure.
Out here we soak oblivious
puddle to splash,
unable to tell tear from
mere atmospheric surrender.
Breathing in the rain.
Not drowning
all these years
of adaptation.
When the drought descends,
will it take my breath away?
Will arid clarity
unveil swollen eyes?
Who will emerge
without the terror
of the rain?
30th day of Poetry Month
Resonant words align.
Mystic energies manifest,
call to neural chambers: "Come to play!"
Sparkling children fashion dance.
Innocence against a random nightscape
humbling the wise with unknown unknowns.
The moment flown, eyes carry to the next entertaining bit.
We've had our fun, perhaps an epiphany or two.
Inner ears listen,
merrily engage in lingering song.
May dance displayed as heady words
sparkle.
Mystically lit lanterns
illuminate without end.
metawakening
Sharal the Hunter runs from the Warrior of Destruction. She has lost all honour, all reason, all possessions but the skins that cover her.
Her village burns, all she has known forever ashes.
This ought to be a nightmare.
Here, now, it is horribly ... overwhelming.
Heart, blood, breath, these are what matter understands.
Mind is elsewhere. It has screamed into submission, reptilian --
Heart, blood, breath.
Terror reverberates
shakes tree limbs, wavers
vision. Terror waits ahead.
Grabbing strength enough to veer,
steer clear,
running thoughtless through loss,
unafraid of the unexpected, uncharted,
new.
Unencumbered by old terrors,
expectations.
Ready by necessity to make do,
to start from simplest principles.
Who am I, today?
Tomorrow will take care
of itself.
Spring Fever
Such a psychotic mess.
Such a mood slave.
Prickly dendrites, echoes of abandoned lives.
Voiceless words compel, demand hearing.
Why do they beg at my door, cloying, whining,
grabbing at my eyes with scarring claws?
I who possess only obsessed carvings of dried blood,
only curdled nightmares where I've lost my way,
lost the thread that was to sew me whole.
Shiny coins twinkle, fit so comfortingly in
cyborg skin's mechanical slot.
Brite tinkly musical phrases effervesce.
Beautiful, hungry dancers consume,
piranhic bliss.
No magical kiss, no fated lover to heal
and carry me home.
My gifts spurned or derided for their
inexcusable tackiness, stinking with mold
and decay, cannot pay any price.
Mock, if you must for warmth.
I curl against entropy into a trashed
cardboard box bleeding stale air.