cascading reveries scramble irreverent synapses
with sudden glimpses of star bursts from the corner
of my eye while water faucets drip their last drops
into the gutter of despair surrounded by market
analysts who can't count to ten but echo tripe
back and forth in the corn rows of ears marching
down main street to the tune of "A Spoonful
of Sugar Helps the Medicine Go Down" and gullets
constrict at the starvation raining across scorched
specters acid etched by tongue-tied infants gurgled
bile until atomic bombs dance in the sky at night
when the stars fail to shine carousing inhibition
as infiltrating double agents succumb to the curious
delight full of consternation's coronation collecting
titanium from sublunary mines extracting
cavities with the precision of root canal drilled
epicenter shockwave defined gravity-quake
flute trilled nether regions feather flicked
with honey dust across memory's spine shorn
of the intoxicating calamity brought to you by
tonight's sponsor for our show - the platinum
whore mongering, war fondling, planetary
eyesore stripping away the color of dawn
as trapeze artists mourn their slipped grips
without a net falling in tumbled motion
beyond the event horizon of a black hole
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Fanciful Dreams
The scent oozing from lilac petals pools up
into large, liquid pearls which drip down glass
panes, stained with the fanatical cries erupting
from the newborn - their spirits caged, barred
behind walls erected by unimaginative
generations; a flavorless fountain facade
rests on a crumbling foundation of recondite
esoterica formulated by the melting minds
of pornographic deity adorers devouring
masses of the thoughtless consequential.
Shepherds cull gullible babes in the woods
with mirages of un-kept promises still
echoing within caverns of despair as glowing
embers inflame hearts with a passion
tears cannot douse; a vastly strewn archipelago
in the broad ocean of souls drowns amid rising
sea levels as briny barnacles cling to platform
planks never intended to be more than fanciful
dreams - gleaming cubic zirconium set in pyrite -
the luring cheese orators lay in the mousetrap.
into large, liquid pearls which drip down glass
panes, stained with the fanatical cries erupting
from the newborn - their spirits caged, barred
behind walls erected by unimaginative
generations; a flavorless fountain facade
rests on a crumbling foundation of recondite
esoterica formulated by the melting minds
of pornographic deity adorers devouring
masses of the thoughtless consequential.
Shepherds cull gullible babes in the woods
with mirages of un-kept promises still
echoing within caverns of despair as glowing
embers inflame hearts with a passion
tears cannot douse; a vastly strewn archipelago
in the broad ocean of souls drowns amid rising
sea levels as briny barnacles cling to platform
planks never intended to be more than fanciful
dreams - gleaming cubic zirconium set in pyrite -
the luring cheese orators lay in the mousetrap.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
An Orange Firestorm
When the horizon steams up a full moon
and the morning condenses on your window,
pain whispers in the limb stumps of a hollow
cast as witnesses upon stormy seas, rowing.
Into the tears a mother sheds for her last lost
son stampede gallant white horses, crossly
demanding obeisant gestures with arms
outstretched, and faces plastered to the floor.
Mushrooms cloud TV news' screens,
surrepticiously gleaming in the eyes
of nondescript, nefariously motivated
spokesmodels who cling to lead plated
bomb shelters while stagnant air
gathers into dust clumps, beyond
the radio, active vitrolic antipathy
swarming over apathy's soft underbelly.
The sky flames into an orange firestorm
where the pre-dawn, purple firmament
once caressed stars' soft glimmer
while children smiled at tomorrow.
and the morning condenses on your window,
pain whispers in the limb stumps of a hollow
cast as witnesses upon stormy seas, rowing.
Into the tears a mother sheds for her last lost
son stampede gallant white horses, crossly
demanding obeisant gestures with arms
outstretched, and faces plastered to the floor.
Mushrooms cloud TV news' screens,
surrepticiously gleaming in the eyes
of nondescript, nefariously motivated
spokesmodels who cling to lead plated
bomb shelters while stagnant air
gathers into dust clumps, beyond
the radio, active vitrolic antipathy
swarming over apathy's soft underbelly.
The sky flames into an orange firestorm
where the pre-dawn, purple firmament
once caressed stars' soft glimmer
while children smiled at tomorrow.
Kreative Blogger Award

Marco Kaufman is a wonderful and talented writer, specializing in flash fiction. His blog is listed among my blog list in the column to the right. Please take the time to visit Marco's blog and enjoy his writing by following this link, http://tbbog.blogspot.com/. Thank you for the acknowledgement of my poetry, Marco, and thank you for the award.
It is customary to list seven people or things I love and then acknowledge seven blogs with Kreativ Blogger Awards.
My seven loves:
- The Beatles
- Mohandas K. (Mahatma) Gandhi
- Martin Luther King, Jr.
- Charlie Chaplin
- Alan Watts
- George Lucas (for all 6 Star Wars movies)
- Friedrich Nietzsche
The Seven Kreativ Blogger Awards go to:
- CrisisChronicles Online Library - John Burroughs has impeccible taste and maintains a valuable library of excellent poetry. http://library.crisischronicles.com/
- Peony Moon - Michelle McGrane is not only an amazingly talented poetess, but she also has a keen eye and ear for material to share with her blog audience; informing, teaching and inspiring us along the way. http://peonymoon.wordpress.com/
- Joy's Poetry Blog - Joy Leftow is an inspiring and intuitive poetess who is also capable of lampooning or exposing society for its ills and shortcomings, she also provides insight into a host of important topics to the contemporary world. http://joyleftowsblog.blogspot.com/
- duckdaotsu - Lisbeth West is a taoist and provides her keen insight on cultural, political and social issues which are always well informed and well worth reading. http://duckdaotsu.blogspot.com/
- Blue Moon Northeast - Meg Harris is a remarkably talented writer, poetess and editor, and her blog shares the vision and soul of her creative writing experiements. http://bluemoonnortheast.blogspot.com/
- Middle Ditch - Monique Caddy and her cast of regular contributors entertain with humor, story and performace as they regularly perform the episodes Monique writes for her serialized story and fun and fascinating, reappearing characters. You have to hear it for yourself! http://middleditch.blogspot.com/
- I am not who I think I am or is I whom - Carol Novak provides her sometimes critical sometimes satiric but always illuminating look into then world of politics, philosophy, human rights, women's rights and much, much more. http://carolnovack.blogspot.com/
Please enjoy finding your way through the minds of these wonderful writers as you read these gems of weblogs!
Labels:
bloggers,
blogs,
Kreativ Blogger Award,
poetry,
writers
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Chasms' Rifts
Beyond the ivy covered walls where hallmarks chisel tears
a camera snaps its shutter shut on ungreased and toothless gears.
A field mouse lying motionless blends into his landscape
until incendiary bombs lay waste to quick escape.
A village wraps itself within a net-webbed fishing weir
catching all the nothing floating past a silent cashier.
The morning kissed rays of summer on the curves of noon napes
shimmer ground gold into russet, autumn-ripened, rain drapes.
Lost locks of amber hued cascades hurtle head first, diving
into divining, sage pyres, filled with death arriving.
Corruption spilled from the rotting, fleshy, bloody debris
strewn upon serenity's once orderly pedigree.
Unkempt, unshaven, the unwashed and blind powderkeg ticks
the moments away, one by one, consternating cynics.
Gladhanding politicians smirk behind their ally's backs
as courtyard countrymen repast shaded by black smokestacks.
Under flaming sunset skylines where eon's current drifts,
the setting of an era's age bridges past chasms' rifts.
a camera snaps its shutter shut on ungreased and toothless gears.
A field mouse lying motionless blends into his landscape
until incendiary bombs lay waste to quick escape.
A village wraps itself within a net-webbed fishing weir
catching all the nothing floating past a silent cashier.
The morning kissed rays of summer on the curves of noon napes
shimmer ground gold into russet, autumn-ripened, rain drapes.
Lost locks of amber hued cascades hurtle head first, diving
into divining, sage pyres, filled with death arriving.
Corruption spilled from the rotting, fleshy, bloody debris
strewn upon serenity's once orderly pedigree.
Unkempt, unshaven, the unwashed and blind powderkeg ticks
the moments away, one by one, consternating cynics.
Gladhanding politicians smirk behind their ally's backs
as courtyard countrymen repast shaded by black smokestacks.
Under flaming sunset skylines where eon's current drifts,
the setting of an era's age bridges past chasms' rifts.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Behind the Garden Wall
I sit behind the garden wall
in an alcove, beside a solitary
rose bush, a single bud
blooming on the stem.
I sip from a crystal chalice -
only a few droplets, blood
red, wetly stain my tongue
and lips with yesterday.
A rill winds around,
bending between footsteps'
markings left in the dust
as dusk shrouds around.
A full moon climbs stairsteps
leading up to a purple night:
awakening me with a stark,
chilling breeze, fluttering.
A hush gasps fragrantly,
grasping the thornless stem
with intuitive fingers,
caressing my luminous flesh.
I emerge from a cocoon,
the chrysalis falls away,
as wings spread and tremble
my heart beyond tomorrow.
in an alcove, beside a solitary
rose bush, a single bud
blooming on the stem.
I sip from a crystal chalice -
only a few droplets, blood
red, wetly stain my tongue
and lips with yesterday.
A rill winds around,
bending between footsteps'
markings left in the dust
as dusk shrouds around.
A full moon climbs stairsteps
leading up to a purple night:
awakening me with a stark,
chilling breeze, fluttering.
A hush gasps fragrantly,
grasping the thornless stem
with intuitive fingers,
caressing my luminous flesh.
I emerge from a cocoon,
the chrysalis falls away,
as wings spread and tremble
my heart beyond tomorrow.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Chariot Driven upon Dry Graves
Buds shiver against a reedy, brittle, brown stem
as a hoary, ice wind corrals damp, gray fingers
into mustang herds, unshod and trampling dusty,
back door trails that lead out of boxed canyons
and up the sheer cliffs of craggy mountain passes
carpeted by the soft, white sheets of powdered
snow that clings to the walls like static balloons.
Ancient wooly mammoth tusks scrape hollowed
out, petrified tree trunks on the icy sloped ridges
as their trumpet heralding calls still echo
through ageless nights where constellations still
slither across coal black skies like diamondbacks,
rattling warnings in rhythms only babies in cribs
decipher but ultimately lose the code's key
when language invades minds with simplified
brands of ambiguous meaning - begging cries.
Wiley geysers spout unfaithful jets of steam
and boiling liquid from the churning bowels
of gas-sick, earthen chambers, releasing
the parboiled, rocky flesh of screaming ocean
reefs, hundreds of years in the making, dying
as seductive actresses bat false eyelashes.
Fossilized, crystal geodes glitter iridescently
above the crowded Eurasian steppes, sacrificing
cultural immunity to the conversation god
of technology on the unwired, rippling auroras
fashioned by the solar wind as it rips Mother
Earth's plasma right out of the center of her
soul - as if a chariot driven upon dry graves.
as a hoary, ice wind corrals damp, gray fingers
into mustang herds, unshod and trampling dusty,
back door trails that lead out of boxed canyons
and up the sheer cliffs of craggy mountain passes
carpeted by the soft, white sheets of powdered
snow that clings to the walls like static balloons.
Ancient wooly mammoth tusks scrape hollowed
out, petrified tree trunks on the icy sloped ridges
as their trumpet heralding calls still echo
through ageless nights where constellations still
slither across coal black skies like diamondbacks,
rattling warnings in rhythms only babies in cribs
decipher but ultimately lose the code's key
when language invades minds with simplified
brands of ambiguous meaning - begging cries.
Wiley geysers spout unfaithful jets of steam
and boiling liquid from the churning bowels
of gas-sick, earthen chambers, releasing
the parboiled, rocky flesh of screaming ocean
reefs, hundreds of years in the making, dying
as seductive actresses bat false eyelashes.
Fossilized, crystal geodes glitter iridescently
above the crowded Eurasian steppes, sacrificing
cultural immunity to the conversation god
of technology on the unwired, rippling auroras
fashioned by the solar wind as it rips Mother
Earth's plasma right out of the center of her
soul - as if a chariot driven upon dry graves.
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