I clutch little baby hands, his body wrapped in a hospital sheet.
It’s blue and red – much like his skin; my baby.
His face is the image of peace, but there’s something
not right in the silence of it all. They take him and hide him
away from my desperate eyes, but it’s a loud silence
that has my whole chest-bursting at the ribs.
I beg every god I know that he might breathe.
Time, a faithful companion
provides calmly expected answers.
observe the tiny things near to you,
then amplify your view,
move on with speedy pace,
placing your eyes on the wide horizon.
Alter the vision to comprehend
life’s design is never defined.
My failing to punctuate a sentence is both intentional and inability
Yet times my word power
So limited crept on repeating on the same tree
Like a bougainvillaea
With pale colours
But the critical acclaim but partial yet times
Fuelled my expressive venture like an adventure
Your voice is music to me,
The kind that makes you wish the song would never end.
I could travel the seven seas within your beautiful eyes,
And to get lost in them would truly be a blessing.
To love a beauty such as yourself is an honor I hardly deserve,
For you bring out the best of me.
‘I buy four bottles of hard liquor and some wine
hoping that by the time I get home, I won’t be able to walk
in straight lines. I want to stumble and curse and struggle to
slide my key from my purse. I want to rage against the
door’s lock, so incoherent I feel like it’s a sleepwalk.
The liquor bottles on my arm are an ice storm,
and now gloved hands shoved in pockets
are the only things that keeps me warm.’
As the brute winds merciless
Like a vast river at the realm do rush
For to pick off the feeble and the despairing
As trees and fences fall at the opening salvo
With faces blanched and by much dread afflicted
As to the ground from whence they came
They now far too soon do return
Beneath the impassive regard of the opal moon
The excitement of knowing that Christmas was near
A scent you could smell in the air
That innocence of childlike hoping
To reap all your dreams would dare
The anticipation of Christmas Eve
Of waking to the perfect gift
Of music with bells, and Christmas roast smells
My asymmetric assumptions, they bury
twisted tales of absurd desires
How I learn to hide my wound and heal
worshipping the new face of the devil!
A filthy business to revamp my soul
coated with skimmed pinks
of the blood moon from your sky
Sensing the mass of human boundaries
so overwhelming and disheartening,
love dissolves the choking ghost of fear.
Hidden talents hit the surfaces
breaking down walls that should never exist
I haven’t seen you in a while, my friend.
But I still remember the time we’ve spent together;
Pictures of you are still vivid in my memory –
A part of my soul will always be there with you
An endless eternity of stars
Blanketed the lofty canopy celestial
Far into unseen mystery
Where swirling lights
A’simmer in a sea of indigo
Washed across the cosmos entire
And vanished into an infinity of glistering dust
There’s not much to put the eye at ease
when we pass the abandoned garden;
tangles of string, planks and chicken wire,
a smother of snowdrops in late spring,
a quince tree with lichen, yellow fruit
rotting to brown then a winter black.
Is there a forgotten expression
in the language for which the bleak phrase
‘abandoned garden’ is not enough?
They’ll build a gas station in its place.
Eyes are darting left, at the filling docks beyond but
I stare to the right where the vast
terrain slopes toward the peak of the gods.
The peak is tarnished onyx, scorched with
red anger leaking from the top, slow and steady.
The grime started dusting the air, leaving
a layer of it on my tan skin, but I hold one hand
up and shield baby from breathing it in.
As the hour of dawn
Ever more imminent did draw
The lofty celestial expanse
Eschewed the tired robes of night
And discarded the redundant attire
The brooding sky harried the realm
It glowered beneath an angry brow
Through narrowed eyes
Glistering with intentionally unconcealed rage
Tinged with the betrayal
Of a fleeting mocking delight
At the discomfitted souls below
There was a recent day
Cloaked in drab attire from a cheerless chamber
Where hung robes of mundanity
It was a time of dullness in both character and appearance
A portrait in monotony, a study in languor
The very antithesis of recklessness
Devoid of a penchant for abandon
Dazed in morbid hopes
real comforts made us saints
preaching random sugar-coated lies,
on what we fed
our precious greed
in this city of dreams
barely we survived clinging to life
hard to hold on, so sophisticated!
Treetops crowned in glory and gold
Basked in the late afternoon sun
As the great day star
Pierced the glowing firmament
Of an autumnal idyll
With golden shards
That into fragments a’myriad
Dappled lights a’many