LOVE - LETTER TO LEAR (A bit  of nonsense )

 

Wheelbarrow, wheelbarrow , high in the sky,

 Wheels, star-bright as mud,

Cast their dust in my eye.

 

The Sun wades in water, and dances in time,

Singing harsh muted-melodies

Buried by garlands, rusted in rime.

 

The mountains are racing on legs spun of silk

And the half-hidden moon, in pearl-netted trees,

Is covered in memories, dripping with milk.

 

The wind in my hand, flaming silent and cold,

snares death by appointment

Ties her in shadow and paints her in gold.

Will try harder

Feeling guilty as I've not updated or contributed to the site in ages .

FOLDS OF LIGHT

Time does not affect the pulse and flow or journeying glow


 of flame-speckled suns that illuminate the dark, where star-streamed, 


pearly, dust falls in a curtain across the shadowed bowl of sky.


Here frosty winds blow dregs of clouds across a startled moon 


and, small flakes of snow float and sparkle in the mysterious dapple-dark.


Slowly, growing below the dye-dipped shades of flickered air,


the violet-hue, and glitter-green, of rippled colour dances above the silent earth.  

Into The Abyss

Here, below a dark and vaulted sky, tortured star-shine cries

and trickles clotted blood down, twisted, jet-stone pillars,

gleaming in the dagger-dark.

Spiked and hanging, draped on staves, pale corpses

are food for vixen-blooded pit-hounds pacing,

and howling,  among ancient fallen wards.

And the dark-light, how it glitters against furled fire, trailing,

in episodic bursts of flame, shooting through shadows,

pegged against the sooty, heated,  gates of Hell.

Someone Always Knows Your Secret.

He hadn’t walked this trail for some time, but the bog-frogs, snakes and small furry wild-things remembered him. Delicate sundews, snapping shut as he passed, knew the shadow-less figure too. They remembered the stench of death floating with him when he came. Even worse, they had all cowered in the moonlight; witnessing what he did.

Bog-water glistened like burnished sap in starlight as he picked his way carefully through the squelch of mud.

Smiling, he kicked carefully at the peat. 

It looked like a log, but he knew it was a leg from the body he’d buried there years before.

Awakening

Unwrapped, one eye flutters into wakefulness

while the other quivers against soil,

shifting and grinding alongside rock in motion.

Within the unlocked, cave-cracked, glistening deep,

toothy, fire-kissed lips yawn and leak blistered steam.

Wakeful now, The Ancient One spirals hot breath

through sooty, snouted, scales, into the baked air.

Pouched and powdered as ashes trailing over black-burned bones,

Her petal-pleated skin gathers in sulphur-scented blossoms

of sweat flamed folds, drenched in ichor.

Tapping out times secret melody of memories, long forgot,

Cautious claws click rhythmically over fire-seared stones.

Then, diaphanous as thought, brittle as flame, she summons darkness   

as she moves into starlight

and unravels colossal, bright, wings against the sallow moon.

Haiku - In the rubble

Posters stained red and

Bruised by fierce revolution, 

Flutter like torn skin.  

(using three prompt words  - bruise poster & revolution)

Union

Furtive gloom-light slips as seductively as Lolita

Into the void and, caressing the spine of darkness,

teases sleepy day into rising, damp, pink,

 and hard, against the dexterous digits of curled clouds

that roll and buck, restlessly as spurned lovers,

against the amorous attention of night.

 And as the growing tremor of light builds below the bud,    

a sprinkle of stars spark in and out with euphoric gasps  

 matching the repeating  thrust and pull of unrequited lust

swaying in broken shadows where night and day come together.

FRAYED

Punctured, and weeping, along the rutted racecourse of time,

Phantoms murmur in the darkle and watch

As stretched shadows roll inward, tremble,

And stutter toward decay.

Crudely carved onto broken ground, whispered silence is cast in ghostly silhouette.

It bites with sharpened, wraith-like, teeth,

trails the savaged, green, soul of the earth, with suffering,

and claims a puckered forfeit in rusted blood.

The Fall

Bone-thin, molten-skinned, hackle-hunched and shackled

All gnawing after truth, and a place to rest,

They search the skies.

Eyes, cleft, yellow-red, and rolling inward

As white -wings descend from heaven and hide reality

in a snowstorm of purity and light against the dark.

Talons, marked by angel’s blood, scatter feathers

And eager tongues, split by lies, taste misted-memories

rising in forked wisps

from the ancient  quagmire of unborn hopes and dreams

spawned by daemons after the fall.

In The Gloom-Light

The half-bright, glimmer of liberated souls flicker endlessly in gloom-light,

calling for him to bring them home: The sound touches his heart and he weeps.

As the sad tone fills the air, the shadowy veil of gloom-light creeps   

 relentlessly over the earth and without exception obscures them from sight.

He bellows his rage at the golden one; The Creator of such suffering.

And his voice casts light upon the world, shining into dark places,

giving hope, creating strength, and growing, as it traces

a melody of hope, rising and touching a myriad upturned  faces, singing, 

THE BOND

                                               

A soft, almost dead, echo trails away as she knocks at the ancient door. 

 Nothing. 

 She repeats the intricate knocking-code and stands, with arms crossed, waiting. 

 The door creaks; bowing outward as something heavy comes to rest against it. The stones of the tower send down a fine primordial dust. 

‘Go away.’ The voice sounds old and age worn like the door. She knows it is him. 

 ‘Still alive then, old Jackal.’ 

 The door vibrates. ‘Anpoot, is it you?’ A snuffling, sound comes from within and more dust floats down. ‘No…too young ….. Yet… the scent is familiar.’ The voice is deep and filled with the sound of hope. 

 'No. Not Anpoot. She is as you are - miserable and dying alone because of pride and foolish sense of duty.' 

 ‘She sent you?’ 

 ‘Of course not, she’s as stubborn and packed with pride as you. 

I came because I love her; and … because you should be together. Now open the door.’ 

 ‘You know what may happen if the door opens’.

 ‘She told me, yes.’ 

 ‘And still you would open it?’ 

 ‘Yes, she needs you, just as you need her.

 I have watched her since I can remember. Seen her suffer and struggle with her mortality: Heard the catch in her voice when she speaks of you. She is a papery shadow of who she once was. She has suffered. You have suffered. Open the door and let me bring her to you.’ 

 ‘Open the door and unleash the beast, again, how tempting.’ 

 Maybe the creature was strong once, but that time is gone. You of all the Numen should know that. The power of your immortality has diminished, so has hers. Now open the door. She is close by in a litter. It’s time.’ 

 There is a long silence. ‘I cannot open the door. I do not have the key.’ 

 'If you don’t have it, then…’ 

 ‘She must.’ The door creaks and shudders as a great weight thrusts against it. ‘It will be that thing that has joined us together over the aeons. Find it, find the key, and bring her to me.’ His plea ends in a desperate whine. 

She stands, quietly, for a long moment, and then goes down to the litter she has dragged behind her for days. 

 Pulling out a small, almost, swaddled, body she struggles to the door. Taking a dagger from her sleeve, she raises both arms toward the moon-dark sky.  

The thumping on the door is frantic and with each beat he moans, ‘Anpoot.'

Once, twice, she slices each palm and smears her blood upon the door. 

‘With the blood that joins you, I unseal this rift’ 

The door dissolves into a dark void, rolling forward and enveloping the step, then it vanishes, so does the body. 

The door is unchanged but now there is hope. 

A glorious howl rises star-ward followed by overwhelming quiet. 

She smiles and walks away into the night. The shadow of a jackal lopes after her.