Cinderblock Enlightenment

she had such beautiful thoughts.

“open her head, I will, and paint the whole

world with those pretty colors,” he said one day.

so with gray cinderblock-heaviness he

oh-so-smashed in the fragile pink as she slept

all beside him, love and trust and softness.

he found only gray pasty flesh;

red-red blood on his once-beautiful hands.

now her thoughts are prettier than ever.

Untitled (ee cummings style)

An attempt at an E.E. Cummings style poem

i wonder at you,
how you touch my
(heart) skin.
you.
one that i secretshare
this feeling with.
unk|now|n to all we are
(we).
i do love you.
i notspeak those dangerwords
to you ever.(y time i
kiss*touch* you
in my mind)'s igh.

The Quiet Chidren

There are some souls,
(winding in and out of the frightening ages)
Who never grow old.

Chipped from the walls of heaven;
Falling, polished, to Earth.
Fragmented people,
But so much more whole than most.

Angel hearts and devil weaknesses.
(their fears drive them beneath the covers
as the Bogeyman slinks down the hall).
Wide-eyed wonder and impish smile.

Innocent by default,
They are the ones God favors;
The quiet children of afternoon.

The Literary Bride

As the words drain from my pen
I feel a small part of my existence
Break off and drift away forever.
Is this the dowry of my soul?
Have I traded love, laughter, happiness
For these few expressive words?
Wrought so painfully from my self,
They are laid down on white linens;
Virgin thoughts on a honeymoon of apprehension.
They await the violating eye's approval;
Flushed and expectant, saved for so long;
Wooed and waiting for this moment of consummation.

City

The stagnation of the city overwhelms me
And I collapse into a thousand bubbling thoughts...
Of newness
Of movement
Of home.
I swim to the surface, master of my shadows.

It is quiet now, and I am alone.
And I think: "how did I get here?
Here in this square-box shoestring-holder?"
Memory ghosts twist in strange directions.
Dreams; cobweb sawdust to line my bed.

The cobweb sawdust dreams sting my eyes,
Reminding me...
And I swim again to the surface,
To master my shadows.

Sorrow's Son's

Through the ancient winds of time,
Shadows do both scorn and sing.
In all their pleasantries and crime,
They fly and fret on serpent wings.

Dark warriors proud, of battles lost,
Maidens fair and full of flight.
Kings in mistress’ chambers toss,
Queens with lovers in the night.

From their hearts do murders cry,
Upon the air they fling their souls.
Into darkness where demons lie,
Tossed amid both friend and foe.

Tarry not upon thy tomb,
But hurl your spirit to the sky.
Ahead lies only dreadful doom,
And there an angel is heard to cry:

“Pity these most wretched ones
Who sin in life and die too young.
They are sorrow’s orphan sons
Who sleep before their song is sung.”

And so the mighty angel falls,
Grasping toward the heavens’ heights.
He sinks into the darkened halls
Within the castles of the night.

Listen you who live this day,
Cry out your joys and sorrows all.
‘Lest all your vanities betray,
And lead you to a demon’s call.

For do you know when, my friend,
Stealthy Death will come your way?
No, you do not know your end,
Nor how long your ghost must stay.

Galaxies

It is a miracle to me
how those points of light;
pinholes in dark paper,
carry light to my eyes
from so long ago.

Worlds and wonders unknown
have flashed so brief
in their lives afar.

My life,
no spectacle
compared to galaxies being born.