Vigil

I put another flower on your grave today
The ones I placed before were losing color in the shade
Were growing duller as they grayed,
For, like a little congregation, they were dying where they pray

I placed a pair of roses there before your tomb
The other ones, I guess, had been devoured by the snow
And so they cowered, hidden low
For, like the severed things they are, they were bereft of ways to bloom

I placed another tulip where your body rests
Yesterday, an orchid, and tomorrow, daffodils
But like a sorrow seeks to kill
They seem to wither like a promise that we never had to test

I brought a new bouquet, it’s all I had to spare
I’ve brought so very many but they never seem to last
As if forever is the past
Because I know you’re still alive and I’m just waiting for the day you meet me there

Cutter

Arbitrary landscapes in a flutter ’round the cellar
Are they moving interstellar
Being fortune and the teller
Not the sold and not the seller of the all consuming clutter

Piling in monuments of other minor moments
Where we measure in components
Being growth and how we’ve grown it
Into fountains full of foment fit to fade like just another

Trivial pursuit that we discover, like an idol,
Of a moon, and we the tidal
Wave we soon would see a bridle
Like a sun now suicidal with a mask of cloudy cover

Statuary still and here we shudder all the while
Putting factures into tile
Like a pre-existing style
Of the sad and how we smile when we see that we’re the cut and we’re the cutter

Tranquilized

I set a set of shackles
On my unassuming wrists
So that in search of tender trysts
I found a string of jaded jackals
While my care and my concern all shrank to cries

And lost, there in the brambles,
Where beneath the swirling mists
I looked for longing that I’d missed
Among the me I left in shambles
Keeping warm beneath a cloak of thankful lies

I placed in all the places
That I never could exist
The woe of words upon a list
That, even now, would conjure faces
As I’m searching for a hope in hateful skies

But lost are the reminders
Of a pain that won’t persist
As if a love I’ve never kissed
Because I lost the will to find her
So I let my heart continue
Beating slowly through a thin view
Where the depths of could’ve been are tranquilized

Seeming

Wrapped up in the intimation of a figure stoic
Wearing, even now, a garment partially heroic
Speaking words I never really understood completely
Uttered as if confidential whispering discreetly

Standing here as if it mattered to you in the merest
Modicum of meaning yet I held you, ever dearest
Bolstering the feeble feeling that if I could barter
More than what I had then maybe none would be the martyr

Wrapped up in insinuation cauterized and scarring
Underneath a gauze umbrella where the pain is jarring
Lying through the teeth I’m gritting tight to hold the torrent
Of the failing benediction you would never warrant

Slipping slowly with a clatter made of apprehension
In a field of memories I’ve learned to never mention
Maybe all I’ve ever been is something you were dreaming
Sadly, though, you’ve never seen me…all you’ve ever seen is how I’m seeming

Confession

I feel as though I calculate
And never make a single calculation
I measure out the permanence that wasn’t really permanent
In values organized in permutations

I set a set of sliding scales
Against the metaphors of old deception
I find in the dividing there are only larger dividends
To quantify the meaning of exception

I feel like I’m conspiring
But never wear the mask of conspiration
I organize the images and elements and reasoning
Until I cannot see a complication

I put another piece in place
Without a thought and, so, without concession
I walk along a dotted line of severed veins and arteries
And cannot hear the blood over the sound that I omit from each confession

Sell

I take the smallest fragment of a spark
And then I set it by a lens
A backdrop made of green so I can filter out the dark
I magnify it till it seems as if a sun that won’t descend

Positioning the light before it fades
I simply take a photograph
Then alter it in ways to make it show in different shades
So it’s a loop that ever plays and no one hears the epitaph

So others, even now, can see it glow
In ways it never did before
In patterns that conceal how much was never there to show
And masquerading what was real as if a mask it merely wore

The spark, however, died a silent death
Within cavern hidden well
But since no one can see the light no longer has a breath
Nobody knew to even be there when I put it down to rest
And no one seems all that concerned as long as I still have the photographs to sell

Autopilot

In weaving this, a wonderful mirage,
I place a veil of lacquer over empty catacombs
And painting little stars to hide alone where night is blacker
Than the part of me that knows that, in a way, it’s sabotage
Because I promise you a winter
And a sign of “None May Enter”

But here I have become a mere facade
An effigy I’m burning in the nights to keep me warm
And stifle any need I have to mourn for what I’m earning
Where the centipedes are crawling in the veins of dying gods
And I am just so very tired
Of the darkness that I’m mired

In hearing you, a siren in the fog,
My heart a steady rhythm made of dread I’ll have to drink
My hands are on the brink of reuniting with the prison
That I fashioned of impressions of forgotten dialogue
Because I knew what I was saying
When I chose the path betraying

But now there’s only corridors of smoke
A palace of attrition made of people that I lost
Where windows in the summer wear their frost like an admission
For within, it’s always winter
And my eyes see only violet
While I move without a reason
Navigating through the fog on autopilot

The Pegasus Fiasco

So, I finally got around to releasing a book of poetry.

I mean, I got it sorted out back in February but I’m not exactly loud about these kind of things.

It’s called “The Pegasus Fiasco”

You can click on the picture of the book to get to the purchase link or just click HERE

It’s a book of rhyming poetry. There are 314 poems. Anyway…that’s really all I have to say about that.

All the works I have in published form can also be found under the “Books” link on my home page.

Side note: I’m about 60k words into “Outcasts” – book two of The Solar Cycle – and once I get that wrapped up, I’ll probably officially release book one “Sojourners”.

My book progress is also viewable on my home page (I have progress meters for the things I’m working on).

Obsolescent

All that I remember is the fuse before it lit
The vivid coloration
With a sound like an ovation
And a silhouette of circles at the bottom of a pit
…swallowing the shards of its creation

Everything before is just a blur and little more
A slow reverberation
Or a glimpse of a location
And a hollowing sensation slipping slowly through my core
…vertigo from inverse elevation

What I seem to see in all the moments that remain
Are figures, iridescent
Where the sun is now a crescent
Hiding low behind a moon that only ever learned to wane
…living in a cycle acquiescent

All I see before me is a fuse wearing a spark
In painted rooms, fluorescent
With the sound of flies, incessant
And the words are made of echoes that require no remark
…at how they used to carry such a weight, however stark,
Before they slipped away in circles at the bottom of a pit, now obsolescent

Crashes

The problem, I guess,
Is the fear I confess
Or the fear that, I guess,
Isn’t valid unless

I can measure its weight
Or define its dimensions
In lines that are straight
I can bind and then gate
And assign to a valid extension

The problem, I guess,
Isn’t clearly assessed
By the fear I suppress
When I’m clearly a mess

And I’m digging a grave
In a desert of ashes
As if I could save
Anyone from the wave
That I cause when the fear that I feel and I crave,
On the shores of reality, crashes