Category: Poetry

Magic Shoes

First line of a poem:

“After the door shuts and the footsteps die…”


After the door shuts and the footsteps die

I beckon the night Jasmine

Fill my space with translucent armor

After the footsteps die and the claustrophobia wakes

I beg the wounded air to heal gasping compunction

Cure the melodic travesty lurking in my closet

After the claustrophobia dies and the anger comes to pass

I plead with starry blankets

Encompass my minds eye

After the anger dies and revenge sets pace

I scream at sudden momentum

Stop and smell the Jasmine

As revenge dies and my fate intercedes

I cringe at fractured vessels

Run from supine spirited apparitions

Retreat  until your footsteps expunge unwelcome company


Guess who can't sleep!!!

Lecherous enterprise bore of battered skin

Allocated nectar safe to break the tide

Necessities of madness crawling through the halls

Are we not but looking in the serpent’s lying eye

Benefactor of sinful punishment bent over cherished knee

Alas the innocent daffodils frolic in the wood

Nourishment of sapphires and dough

Awaken the beastly commandments begging for a home

Nested in the psalms of retribution

An incipient knows not how to suckle

Wandering through the labyrinth dark and barbarically kept

It is in the face of evil that the porcelain figure wept

Nudging at the precipice where the porcine sentiments descend

Take the sacred forceps cleanly in a line

Eat from buckets of compunction served with degenerated filth

Righteously take the conduit bound at the holy temple

She is the forbidden vessel for the accouchement of sanguinary mien



Creased and stained the flame dances through the hues
Refracted sprinkles mimic the wandering mind
Figures of ghosts taunt the demonic bath
The twist and turns heat an arctic memory
The sparks of creative consciousness singe angry tatters
Have I blown off enough steam?


Exhalations and steady hands simultaneously twitch
I left my stomach in that furnaced studio
Gloved and flowing against viscous weather
Wipe your brow of traumatic moisture
Relax in the sauna of destined satisfaction
Could you soften the blow?


Rod of distortion parodies my inimical thoughts
Molded in visionary contortions and expressive ventilation
Peace of unique transparency unite with diversity
Trial and air, to air divine, can you not see beauty?
Anneal before the alter of insanity
This too shall blow over.


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My Southern Belle

The air falls gently on a pursed lip
No waking mirror reflects the dusk
For it is in the set of a ruptured sun
That a soul becomes intertwined
With a forsaken entity

The porch light glistens
And a chair rocks gently
The aroma of water and foliage
Sweep under our feet
The words of intellectuals
Spin around your lips
A soliloquy bounces from your eyes
And embeds itself in my thought

I hear a boat humming its way home
I smell the swamp settling to sleep
I see the night make its way to your heart
I taste tomorrow as you sing its praise
I feel the presence of our song

Lay your rhythms at the door
Kick your symphony under the floor
Leave your harmony near the stairs
Sit your melody on that chair
Wave your hand up at the moon
Flail your limbs a midst a monsoon
Stomp your legs in a midnight clear
Skip your knees over wooded fear

The air falls gently on a pursed lip
The marauders have found a vein
It is in the rise of a tortured moon
That our hands are intertwined
Psyche of foreign bodies

I see the slithering of a hose
I smell lemonade on that porch
I taste the humid gift of speech
I hear you humming your way home
I feel glass underneath my feet

Goodbye my southern belle