Of love and an innocent moon

when pails filled with moonbeams

 

Sit on painted chairs in moon dust

and are cast upon

 

the world, i shall then write

of love

 

pulling words from heart shaped 

lockets on stars

 

laying in fields of midnight sky

you laying covered with dark purple poppies

 

my fingers beneath you caressing

as meadows do of wildflowers

 

my palms walk through moonlight

on your skin yearning to pick petals of color

 

i kiss the rose of your lips.

 

Copyright © 05/22/2014 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

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The scandal

After all  their

 

      words

 

  and  all their

 

     secrecy

 

  after kissing  her  lips  on  the

 

rim  of a whiskey glass

 

  with  broken  promises,

 

he left.

 

  she  stood  silent

 

in  abundantly  hidden:

 

      Nothing

 

         They  wrote

 

  “etcetera. etcetera. etcetera.” 

 

     she dances with one 

 

foot  on a paper floor,

 

       the  other

 

    on his abandonment.

 

 

Copyright © 04/16/2014 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

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Whispered lives

Pedestrians on sidewalks
waiting for
late buses and worn handles
grasses tall in a field 
swaying,
watching a pretty woman’s face,
shadows underground
underneath 
her feet,
they listen to the sounds of
her soul
city streets covered with
umbrellas and
late appointments.

Flowers in her hair,
wears perfume,
clothes gray and white
a traveler down a dark alley
unfolds a map,
dim dome light feeble
from age,
subway car’s flickering on 
and off
much as children play
with wall switches
passengers step off curbs 
into cabs, meters
like one-armed bandits.

Concrete slabs by streets with
washed off chalk and
hopscotch
look up into a man’s face
and aging clothes,
he hears silent voices
of children…
in his apartment a
window opened,
hears her heart whispering
from misted field.

Tickets written from quick, 
silver parking meters,
torn, scatter into
asphalt breezes and
department of sanitation
brooms
she moves, her feet touching
an imaginary dance hall
floor where they met…
slowly, he closes his window,
a kiss goodnight.


Copyright © 03/26/2014 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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Of a song… for Sumi…

A song you heard
of gold
In the corners of worn,
mortared steps
It refracts white and
gray hues
Savors the ripeness of
black moonrise.

Our senses know how
anything so
utterly as wealth when
we lack it
Yet, we place the precious
yellow metal
in our pockets, in
the shadows of
our clothes.

But something more
precious is found
A hand in ones hair,
fingers caressing
the nape of a neck
Lips kissing the
corners of a mouth
Sunshine moving our
shadows closer.

The sky is clear, wind
dusts tired steps
Shadows bequeath us
passage, a truce
Its roses, the stones
of ruin.

Copyright © 02/11/2014 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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the kiss of the beekeeper’s daughter

she was hard wired to lay them down

 
wore black lipstick
blew white smoke,
 
“as long as you’re under my roof, you’ll
do as i say,” her father shouted
 
bees in white boxes make honey for sipping tea,
 
she picked up an iron skillet cooking
chicken in peanut oil
 
and sprawled him out on an unscrubbed
kitchen floor where memories
 
of her mother remained along with a 
dirty mop and cigarette burns
 
she pushed him aside like clothes waiting
to be washed,
 
opened a screen door and jumped in 
four wheels without a top
 
stone and gravel hit up against aluminum
siding with a downpour sound
 
bubble gum machine on a black and white
hung onto a chrome bumper
 
she pulled over,
she grabbed his
 
uniform tie,
 
her lips brushed his mouth like toothpaste,
he did a six by six
 
she laid a black rose over his heart;
 
cruised into a sleazy part of town, parked
her wheels outside a joint
 
walked in with a lit cigarette and killer legs,
cheap looks were all over her 
 
ordered something dirty, stood by old songs
on a jukebox
 
guy grabbed her arm, wanted to dance, kneed
him privately,
 
moved on the floor, swaying like the music was
following her beat
 
something tall and handsome walked in, caught
her eye
 
stamped out the cigarette and slow walked over,
he grabbed her waist
 
racked his teeth on her gums
 
died instantly,
 
rigor mortis set in much as miscreants move into
affluent neighborhoods
 
she blew the place;
 
next day, country fair, selling kisses 
for a dollar…
 
 

Copyright © 06/06/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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two of us

she, on one side of the world
he, on the other,

shower of hidden emotions where
rain comes rolling off

a roof and fills an oak ring barrel
water of her soul

he, brushes the surface and drinks
anticipation tasting

her skin
her look

he, picks flowers to smell her scent
she, in light coming through

her bedroom door keyhole, holds his
desires, she

presses them against her breasts
passion opens a shuttered

window that was once closed, once
locked from hurt

they write
they meet

in the middle of the world, drawn in
a moment, held close

where water from skies washes away
time apart, lips touch

eyes like pools of intense depth
measured by colors

his hand caresses 
her hand lusts

they walk into love, the space apart
abandoned, end.

Copyright © 06/03/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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light of day

she walks through the worm earth

dirt with a circus mind

 

crippling headache like a roar

of tigers

 

eats a bag of peanuts while

elephants starve

 

she watches a saw bone man fix

broken acrobats

 

who trapeze onto straw floors

 

smells a thousand miles of

rail track

 

and smoke;

 

train stations orphanages to

children

 

where Tennyson holds up

pictures

 

of fairy tales;

 

horse and buggies sit quiet

on dirt streets

 

as a circus caravan leaves

wagon wheel metal

 

marks

 

sideshow freaks a confusing

swirl of ugly

 

and bizarre

 

hookie school children watch

from behind nails

 

and crooked boards;

 

air slams on big top canvas,

inside,

 

clowns come out of cartoon

buildings,

 

horses and hoops of fire,

they jump through

like moths through a lantern

light,

 

in a gilded cage, lions pace

with memories

 

audience puts its clapping in

mason jars,

 

grocer sells on shelves next

to old cans of soup;

 

she was a high−wire performer,

slipped

 

fell to a sound of a crackerjack

box tab pull

 

her epitaph makes ash and dust

her paper

 

husband to hold, rain cries like

tears

 

stands with flowers, reads a poem,

 

“i sleep in your sounds that

call me

i swallow your voice,

your love

i forget this world and dream of

your eyes kissing me

your soul is liquid thirst in

my heart”

 

light of day paints earth,

he feels

 

her breath, her touch,

a loving silence.

 

Copyright © 05/25/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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