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

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).

Leads

Perhaps we never parted
Never did, because we never really could
Divide the imperfections
From the infinite reflections
That we never really started
To perceive the way we said we always would

So now we hold departure
Like an ornament that waits to meet a tree
In days of burning summer
Where remembrance merely slumbers
And the stars are set as archers
And the pines of last November are across a frozen sea

Where reasons were discarded
Like a litany of elegies forgot
By lips securing phrases
While ignoring all the phases
Of a moon that we regarded
As a bridge between the moments that we sought

And now we say it’s over
Plucking petals, all the while sowing seeds
Ensuring that tomorrow
Shows another gift of sorrow
In a world devoid of clovers
Saying, “Clearly, have we parted,” in a circle where nobody ever leads

Dismissed

Diluting my spirit with spirits diluted
I wonder, how much of me’s left?
When words elocuted are barely a memory
Borne of the wreckage that left me bereft

With wandering syllables slowly saluting
A banner I made out of dread
And wearing a uniform made of out of treachery
Leaking affinity, just to pretend that I bled

Dissolving the meaning with meaning dissolving
I wonder, what’s left in the end?
When losses are mounting and all that I’m gaining
Are wounds that I know not a surgeon could mend

With withering elegies slowly suffusing
A martyrdom made out of mist
I buckle a smile to cheeks that are dying
And speak all the words that are trying to swim in the ocean of pain I dismissed

Proceed

Would petulance remove you if I speak
The words as if they were as strong as I am weak?
And set upon my heart, as if a laminate,
An armor that would minimize the burden of critique?

By statement like a hammer yet to strike
Do I concede that we are nothing but alike?
Or bind, to the contrary, all the evidence
Delivered by an arbitrary pulse that chose to spike?

Would sentiment deliver me a path
Devoid of error just to circumvent the wrath?
When looking at the pictures made of circumstance,
Was I a fool to turn the worst emotions into math?

By rigid arbitration and a need
To see a meaning, did I merely never lead?
Or here, in hesitation, did I choose to hate
How much I had to hold on to the past, and on to you, so I could learn how to proceed?

Unfurling

Could I become the reason why
There’s something more to wake and choose to find
With fingers curling slowly on a blade that none could pry
…are reasons really good enough to sever or to justify the bind?

I wonder, all the same,
If it was shame or just a name
Or just an answer that I needed
So that something fully realized could shield me from the blame as I retreated

Believing, there in diffidence,
Were isolated islands in an ocean made of beads
And there, within a sky I knew was painted cold in insolence
…I tried to be the reason I continued drawing breath through broken reeds

Peculiar, in a sense,
That each lament was mere pretense
And that, with fingers slowly curling
’round the blade I feared to hold, I simply called it self-defense instead of calling it reality unfurling

Turbulence

The pin dropped
And then stopped
Circles made of sound were flattened low
Joining “can’t” to words of “have to know”

And sound rose
Around those
Travesties of tenuous regard
Turning tender tenebrous and charred

The chime brings
Divine wings
Chapters set in books not fully penned
Merging “I mistook” with “duly tend”

But set low
Was threat, so
Tapestries of every spurned offense
Carried far away in burned dispense
And when the pin no longer made a sound
The only thing it left was turbulence