I build this edge of night against sharp blades of white static, stoic and bleeding death.
New Orleans 4:38 am
The serpent sits vexed upon the moon as I fight against the raging echoes of mind. The hour hides an evil grin as the dawn smiles down upon doubt.
These streets glow obsidian and I remember slowly that all of the musicians have gone.
Streets open to gehenom.
Gris gris beads and breath beneath the gutters.
The weight of crime and sorrow swirl.
Sparks from streetcars sting the bare legs of lost children.
Sparrows build their nests in streetlights.
White horses race into the gulf with black feathered plumes.
A dark symphony echoes the cemetery walls and I am going blind.
She is a hurricane harlot overdosing on fentanyl
Even the dead have deserted her.
Now a vacuum of time and sorrow.
Doubting the stars are fire (Ophelia’s rebuttal)
My sensitive prince,
With your disgust and contempt
And for betraying women like
You want me out of your sight
Not just for a time
But for all time
So go ahead
Cruelly dash me against
The rocky crags of your words
And yes, I will go
Though I do not intend
On account of you
**Inspired by Shakespeare's "Hamlet", of course**
Get the eyes right
that’s the key
the shadow and light
in and out
while still pliable
in the end
it only matters
get the eyes right.
she is a mystery, the moon,
hidden behind her silver curtains
an elusive silhoutte
against the inky black sky
she dances unseen,
whispers in secrets
only the tides can understand
That strange pool
the little blot.
That which follows the end
of startled thought !
I've seen around
with languid trail,
on the corner
of sidewalks ;
To the left
and checking now ?
I see whole
in after thoughts :
I close the door
I came and saw but looked away,
so present were the ghosts today.
Though eloquent the words they spoke,
their fetid breath near made me choke.
Deep echoes from the years bygone
have not left off, drone on and on.
So vivid, delicate the lace,
beneath your almost living face.
Our shivaree has never muted,
love intact has scarce transmuted.
Lunched we on this lawn that day
before you left, to my dismay.
Why must contagion make its call
like clockwork sounding in the hall?
Unnerving tolling; oh, the knell
announces death, that grisly bell.
My love was torn, then laid to rest.
My cries in vain paled. Yet I jest
and mock the mockingbird that sings
though never pleasure to me brings.
The Spanish moss, so smoky there
seems choking, sucking without care.
But no, it’s grace-full, a bland scene,
devoid of diabolic scheme.
As heedless, wholly unintended,
virus fully had amended
plans we laid and since repealed;
bastard microbe now revealed.
Excuse me, to the side I list,
quite apathetic to all this.
It’s just, I’ve seen this play before.
Forgive me, ere I close the door
The Rambler’s Song
Oh the songs of the road
Through verse and chorus, stories get told
When you roam just like a rambler
Always winning, just like a gambler
The memories take me on the road again
Sometimes I'm running against the wind
While country roads may take me home
To the place I don't belong
Insisting the world keeps turning our way
Hold on cause life is a highway
As we ride, guess time will tell
Freeway of love or highway to hell
Just as free as we’ll ever be
oo many places I've got to see
This free bird you cannot change
There I go, now turn the page
(as published at the Society of Classical Poets website, Jan 2023)
Upon the rushing river’s bank I stand,
deep water, ever flowing as it goes.
The turbulence of my life it reflects
as if my mortal pain, it truly knows.
I close my eyes while cruel heartache builds
and boils. It swirls and churns from deep within,
akin to eddies in the river’s course,
all ever flowing seaward as they spin.
A lifetime lived within each second’s tick,
my heart’s emotions ever flowing strong
form rapids, waterfalls, and twisting turns,
which carve deep channels as they sing love’s song.
Though time often appears to stand quite still,
it’s always ever flowing, moving fast;
toward blank tomorrows and the great unknown,
each day it takes us further from the past.
Through waves of dappled light and shadows dark
we chart the river’s course each day anew,
as yearning, ever flowing, on we roll,
to seek the distant rest of oceans, blue.
Before us lies the fear of change and loss—
deep love becomes deep grief when torn apart.
Time’s ever flowing nature is our bane,
yet passing time can mend a broken heart.
My life’s become the river’s equal now,
surviving ever flowing pain and grief
while drawing strength from pools of love and faith,
I cherish moments calm, however brief.
© 2023 dustygrein
Tell me Atlas,
What is heavier
Or my wretched soul?
Laughing at my maddened heart
As it runs in the streets like a dervish
Searching for you
For it had never known what yearning felt like
Until it touched your heart.
-I yearn for your presence