Incandescent Darkness

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My Splintered heart
Has lost its ardor.
The brownness
Of the edging day –
My love’s
autumnal chill –
Frosts the diaphanous
Pallor of the daisies
Lining the hallway
Of my indifferent smile.

Vapors of inconsistency
Swirl up to the glass
Ceiling of veiled tones
And hushed silences –
Screams of violent,
beautiful hope –
Love’s lunar squall:
Waxing and waning,
Heaven cloaked
In Hatred’s eternal twilight.

And yet, time’s healing
Forgiveness,
In scraps and patches,
Stops the bleeding,
Salves the pain,
And baptizes the darkness
Of my starless night.
Words will find me;
Words like water
Will wash me clean.

 

Wonderland

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Sometimes I feel a bit like Alice

Half expecting the inanimate to share

Their thoughts with me –

Namely my cat. She looks like

She has a great deal on her mind

In those knowing looks we share —

Yet through the pages of books,

Words – audible ones – written ones,

They ostensibly are enough for me.

How odd it seems to think that

Many lives go on without the proper

Use of these wondrous forms –

The manifestation of thoughts

Fired synapses of the profound

And ordinary. Dinah, what would the

Flowers say if they could talk? Would

They sing – would they lecture me?

Their allocutions of rest, peace,

Simplicity, beauty, fragility –

Could I ever comprehend it?

Following the white rabbit to find

My Looking-Glass Bliss

Is the only proper way to hear

Him: to hear Her…to quiet the noise

In my mind’s ear, to fall down the rabbit hole

Of the unconscious mind. In the stillness

and splendor of that Bliss, I listen with my

Entirety – my Essence – my Soul.

I am nourished by the wonder and replete

With its luster — the glorious profundity of words

And the magnificent power of their silence.

In truth, the flowers already speak

In lilts of fragrant beauty. And my cat

Says more to me with her eyes,

Than mere words could ever convey.

 


These flowers, sitting on my dining room table, served as the inspiration for this piece…along with my cat and, most importantly, the wonder of words and their importance to us — especially in this WordPress community of writers. I found myself, not unlike Alice, lost in thought of my own wonderland…this little poem came from a combining of those thoughts….now back to the everyday words like: laundry, cooking, cleaning, packing, and, of course, READING!

 

 

“I’m listening,” she said.

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She has this way of making
everyone she speaks to
feel important. It’s more
than just a steady diet
of Miss Manners; it’s in the way
her attentive eyes twinkle
with thoughtful and probing
questions. They charm him
into thinking that his words
carry the same profundity
and philosophical flair as
Kierkegaard or Sartre.
Reality serves a blander dish:
social media — the catch of the day —
with a side of status updates. His words,
driveling on like an arterial sprinkler
broken in the middle of a drought,
spurting worn out maxims and
zealotries that more than miss the mark,
leaving behind a lawn of dead grass
and ill-advised prescriptions
of overgrown weeds. His words
are thin like the threadbare
sock whose likeness has long been
discarded and forgotten. His words
become a song that scores
the mundane lives of wonted stature
and last night’s score
for a sport she knows nothing of
and cares little about,
yet her eyes still sparkle and
suggest that she is, indeed,
listening.

 

My Diet

I don’t need breakfast, brunch, luncheon
Or supper. Words are my sustenance –
Lean and raw. Eating them up; drinking them in;
Satisfied and satiated in their abundance.
Honestly, I don’t need a thing…
I’m sustained on a steady diet of typing.

Better Davis typewriter