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Posts Tagged ‘Sonnet’

She says: “You always talk about him
as if he is your lost brother.”
She is jealous that at night I lay with another.
One whose prudence cannot hold back his wisdom
Even if it were better that no one hear.
“You act as if he were still alive
as if he could understand how difficult it is to survive”
She talked even though she had no idea
Of who he was, or what he did, for all mankind
She just knew he made me question things
uncomfortable things, and that such questionings
where often viewed as an attempt to undermine
what she had learned in her youthful years
before her curiosity had disappeared.

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Watch the clockwork children play,
two pupiled place holder eyes
long for the path of the freeway
that their forefathers criticized.

At night, they sleep, without fear
of snakes and monsters under the bed.
Mom’s comforting prayer
“You can’t die if you’re already dead.” 

Bravery is only a virtue if you have something to lose
but all that can be lost is the nothing they are
brains in computers, programmed to choose
between options too real and too far.

They are the new Achilles, born in the Styx,
walking zombies that death cannot fix.

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Breathing Words

Of all the words that I have ever read
A single pair has taught me all I know.
Appearing only once, as a brailled set
that showed my fingers where they need to go.

Their meaning lingers, hidden in my hand
Mending the creation written on my palms
An exhale lends a warm demand;
her skin as ancient as the psalms.

The message repeats with each rise and fall.
She feels me reading her in the dark.
She meets me when her breathing stalls,
Her fingers following in an arc.

That night I found the truth in our bed
“I am, I am, I am” was all it said.

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Sky, a soft and gentle knight
With flaming sword and lunar shield
whose unfurled banner hides from sight
the heavens and it’s gold.

Man has pawned his dreams
for steel. Emissaries in bishop hats
with fire so bright it seems
to be from the myths of old.

Earth, our verdent queen
has dawned a Virgin blue
to watch her child become unseen
In the dark and endless fold.

Woe, a realization made too late,
that our dream, but not our destiny, is great.

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A saint wrapped in only barbed wire fence
proclaiming a scorched earth prophesy
Salvation, a virgin steel’s test,
is the garment of her seduction.

Going forth to feel her brailled softness
Divine revelation, her skin’s theology,
Makes exclamation rhyme with silence,
My hands, her education.

An embrace, God’s recompense
for a failing man’s unity
binds skin to skin, breast to breast
a sacrifice, a reproduction.

Our scars match, God’s word written on flesh
A law, the savior’s love, a covenant refreshed.

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Thus spoke…

He carved his initials in the still water below
him. There were no sails in hell, after all.
No breath of God to make boats go
Without the rise and the fall of the odious oar.

The hallowed wails do little to deter
him. Inhaling coffin nails and letting
The fumes exodus, a tongue-less meter
Into the cave’s stale air and getting

Caught in the hair of the dead on the shore.
His woeful paintbrush’s barbed caress
Drags the boat across the millrace of corpses
Just echoes of men. In hell the remorse is

As shallow as the ashen faced dolls
Casting shadows on the cave walls.

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Mum is the word

No one will notice a hundred years from now
That she spent her life in the name of good
and that her red apron, with the lonely cow,
could never be as dignified as it should.
Archeologists will never pour over her greatest works
due to the hungry children who needed them.
Nor will others write about her influence, her quirks,
her philosophy, or the dress with the theta on its hem.
Her effect will not be weighed and measured by naked eyes,
For the sake of us all,  such science could never understand
Where the origins of wonderment began
Or what causes a son to realize
         That life is worth living, if you live it right
          and day can follow from nothing but night.

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Wasn’t I supposed to be in Heaven?

Awaking from a lonely night of death

Sweat clinging to sheets. The clock striking seven

As my paralysis ends in airy breath.

What sin committed earned me such a hell

To know such beauty, but watch as it leaves

You hide your wings behind a soft farewell

and tuck my pain into your jacket sleeves.

Dreams question whether it was worth it all

This second death that I awaken to

The long nights I spend trying to forestall

A promised rising of the sun, and of you. 

             Cannot time stop, but once, for this dead man

             And refuse the persistent sun’s demand?

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Sonnet 2

A rose whose invisible thorns are felt

Punishes the holder and rewards the viewer

And impales digits and hearts with a skewer

Yet from a distance cold eyes melt

Women’s painted gaze turns enviously green

Yet for the man who tries to clutch

With tightened fingers asks too much

And is bitten by the barbs unseen

Yet how could a beholder resist

To circumnavigate those hips

And pain on pain repays his grip

Twice as bad if the rose be kissed

Still war torn lips are said to lie

When warning all the passers by

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True Love

Her delicate rose fingernail runs past

The five rosewood decades from Israel. 

Her glasses can see His face through the mass –

Toes licking the proscenium of hell.

She smiles like the red sea before Moses.

She wants to eat Him, she wants to know

His blood in her veins, apotheosis.

She wants the salvation to come slow.

He is on her chest, hanging on her neck

She kneels in her yellow and lime green skirt.

“God! Holy Jesus! Mother Mary! Bedeck

Me with life breathed into man’s bone and dirt

            For I am not worthy to receive you

            Only say the word and I rise anew.”

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