Thank you to Market Place, Journal by Forbidden Verses for publishing my poem, "This Is A Good Thing"  in the Skin issue.

 

 

The Forgotten Life of Velma Evans

From room to room,

she wanders and examines,

each room set with half drawn shades.

So many things leave no impression,

but there are pictures here and there,

that briefly incite a quicker heartbeat

and some pattering of the tiny feet of remembrances.

A vague memory,

almost a seed taking root,

If she could have recalled:

He was always a plane taking off

against the wind,

the smell of Aqua Velva in his cheek.

But, these, only mere images,

fleet and fading.

And if it hurts to remember

once being happy,

then she feels no pain.

Music of the Medusa

 

One being, a bell with tentacles,

having already designed and imagined

all that exists, except for the best of musical sounds,

sent every tentacle to travel through space,

to travel through time, 

requesting each realm to develop their own unique sound,

asking each world to discover that single note

and keep it safe until the tentacle could return

and learn it and return to the Medusa with that sound on its tongue.

A tone to be added to a magnificent composition

so that all places might share in a great song,

enjoy divine, melodic bliss.

So having been informed of the task,

the music of the spheres began.

Each world constructed Schelling’s frozen music 

and taught the sound to their children 

so that they could connect with nature and all that she provides.

On our own world, man sang, but he found legion

and each became unknown to the others, a free will gift. 

So, in time, there was much dissonance,

too many sounds, all so different, and out of harmony.

Discord became the status quo.

But one day, Earth's tentacle will return and ask

as it was instructed, for our world to provide,

as one tongue, a single intonation

that is striking, melodious, benevolent.

For our sake, Mankind will have to find that voice together.

For at the last and at the beginning , the Medusa, 

that source of all beauty that any have ever known or dreamt of,

will combine all sounds, even it which man, as one world, composed,

and will create a symphony of the ages, which will never cease.

© Imbler, 2015

Leviathan

Inside this giant, hatred is bred,

Sour breath of hostility spread,

Jealousy propagates ill will,

Malignant evil enough to kill.

Cold scorn begins to germinate,

Becomes the heart’s master,

Advances agendas of hate,

Destroys ever faster.

Forced ideologies meant to control,

Freedoms constrained that diminish man's soul,

At what price will humanity regain,

The right to transcend oppression again.

©Imbler, 2108

Brigh

Ireland’s Brigid, the safe mistress of sound bodies.

Protects all heroes born beside the misty moors

of Eire in Spring, having stood against all wintry winds.

Healing as the sun rises and again drops.

She watches over the darkling heaths as star beams emerge,

shadowed dreams woven within poets’ stories.

She instills wisdom within the lofty minds of scholars.

She, giver of ink and ideas to bards, writers, and scribes.

Flames of truth welded into the craft of smithing.

The copper glow of her plaited hair as she guides

strong hands and stout hearts both forged and forging.

Patroness of warfare, her complex surveying of skills.

The keening of whistle’s call heard over the peat,

fertility rites replacing those souls lost in battle.

© Imbler, 2020

Some Haiku, Titled Or Not

Camouflage of a

plaid dressed creature accepting

a new paisley coat.

Cloudy nebula

fogging up the sky’s mirror.

Stars exhale their breath.

Enchantment found in

our furry brothers’ kind eyes.

The color of love.

The sea’s secret song

played as if a symphony

by all splendid beasts.

Beauty of the gods

we see in ocean, earth, and

sky as all hues gleam.

Guitar

Bent wooden body

Nylon strings reverberate

Elegant sounds birthed

Purchase

Snick of closing door

Melt into soft seat covers

New car smell excites

Shelter

Yips and barks echo

Enclosures house anxious dogs

I choose the beagle

Teacher

A new learning day

My hands covered with chalk dust

All lessons well taught

Spring

Snapdragon scent wafts

Bells of foxglove stand erect

Bees suckle bee balm

Winter

Snow covered driveway

Ungloved hand stings touching ice

A slippery day

Autumn Bliss

Crisp red apples bought

Ingredients assembled

Baked pie’s smell fills house

Summer

Sun’s bright gleam in heat

Splashing heard at every pool

Laughing children shout

Adoption

This is the best day

Hearing I’ll forever live

Here with these people

Baobab

Baobab grows tall

Thirsty roots dig deep in soil

Praise the tree of life

Immortal

Music of my soul

Ashes mingled with vinyl

Thank you, Mortician

Independence

I’ll think for myself

My faith is my own feeling

My heart tells the truth

Sexy midnight

Its shadow covers this land

Prince wails through speakers.

Words carried on gentle breeze

Telling all I wish to say

Tales about forgiveness.

Say the truth that’s in your heart

Sing it out from between your lips

Songs never unsung.

Flood waters cover

All those things you wish to hide

Sail wide over them.

Winter trees’ graveyard

Leafless branches bent and stiff

Spring’s resurrection.

straight jade road ahead

side streets unwind many truths

all is possible

drips from painter’s brush

opens up all shades of green

fronds’ laced extensions

stretching up skywards 

new growth thickens as it blooms

springtime is unwrapped

supple scrollwork art

invites guests through every door

welcome mats unroll

 Thank you to Herojit Philem of Ambrosial Literary Garland  for publishing my poem in the April issue.

https://literarygarland.com/c-issue/

All Roads Lead To Your Enlightenment 

On each road, even the less travelled, intersecting paths exist,
meeting your trail from the left or the right. 

At these intersections, you might face others 

who can help you gather your thoughts, show you respectable new ways

to roll these new understandings into a cohesive whole. 

Passersby who may help you develop
more positive thoughts,
experience new reactions.

These roads offer a form of time travel,
to remind you of past success,
complete your awareness of the be-here-now present,
and offer recognizable hope for the future.
Paths, focused in their intent,
that bring clear messages you can carry with you on your journey.