...........

My son and I were out the door today quick as a lick. As I let my maryjane shows clatter down the tile steps we shut the geometrical door behind us and walked under the lantern light that set tracers in the rain gutters. A line of quail twittered past us in a wavy line. The tops of thier heads like old roman helmets. My son's cowlick saluting in unison. We drove the slush covered roads to Sunday Service. When parked the sliding van door slid on it's track like a jet on a runway. My son leapt out sidestepping a puddle that left droplets of rain on my nylon stockings. No time to waste. We heaved the heavy glass door open and embarked on our journey through the painted cinder block halls. The commercial carpet at our feet. One could almost smell the bland taste of the bread, hear the stacking of the white dainty sacrament cups. The hymnals were placed in unified order on cold metal chairs, and the carpeted benches still smelled like they had been upholstered yesterday. As my son and I walked hand in hand to gain our seats by the accordian room divider. I felt one small dainty sacrament cup be pushed into my hand. As i looked down at the floor. I saw the quails from earlier twittering across the floor. I than caught a draft as the cloth of the robed figure beside me brushed the side of my cheek. That is when I heard the pipes of the organ that were much to grand for this small chapel. I looked into my sacrament cup and realized this was no ordinary day at church.

My cup runneth over like mugs of beer

There is mysticism in your clothes
legends are in your prose
you remind me of sea salt from an ocean forray
Journeys of Hobbits, swords engaged
I hear the sound of flutes when you are near
my cup runneth over like mugs of beer
I see flames from torches marching on your behalf
flags unfurl whenever I hear you laugh
I think of black, I think of green, pachtouli, tobacco, and pages unwritten but seen
You are like stone hedge a sacred circle upon the earth
The trees are part of our rebirth
The birds stand at attention, the butterflies greet us
the canvas is set for all that is between us
The colors more vived. the place where I hold dear
is right in your arms with you holding me near
You are sketched upon my hearth
wrapped around my soul like a winter scarf
That is my Thank you to you. Not my best but I thought you could use a little flattery too. xoxoxo

R.

I

8-26-10 II

the darkest veil shrouds the sky
a canopy of glitter envelopes you and I
milky white puffs of smoke captivate as we stumble to hang on
embracing a moment until it is gone
watching the road for you to wander in
just so i can walk the path to hold you again
the pines of blue set off the hue of solomons palace on fire
a magical land like that of the shire......

R.

8-26-10

the senselessness of half a dozen paces
the holding cell of sacred places
footsteps placed as dipped in flour
cathedrals soiled by the hour
bells toll at random again and again
the lion calls within the den
volcanic fire sputters over ice
ash spewn forth like a spice
crystals glisten within sealed caverns
wine touches lips within sought taverns
salvation comes within a wooden cart
imprinting designs upon canvas as we depart


R.

6-7-10

crepe paper wings blowing on the wind
the structure remains as if on its last hinge
yet she flies as effortlessly as we are breathing
two lives entiwined but both receeding
hole punched her lover meets her
they circle upward the heavens greet her
they flitter as if bound by a thread of mistic proportions
what lies between them is more vast than oceans


R.

9-8-10

viola strings sing of sacred things
echoes of keys in marble stone
a hand held in mine two entwined
as cherubs guard the throne
thy mighty battle ax my guardian of fear
i draw the sword from the secret lair
the mists overcome on the highway to the sun
the goats are gathered to lap up the rum
scars are healed along the traces
there is nothing but beauty upon our faces
our eyes are lit with reflections on canyon walls
myth becomes real and what's real takes a fall
like stones on a mountain side in a flash flood
all things pushed onward by sacred mud.


R.

6-9-10

a winged creatures irridescent glow
bicycles bedazzled in confetti snow
the mirrored skull lies on the ground
looking skyward the matchsticks are bound
eifel towers bedazzle
the mantis is ready
the viking ship launched
the mallet steady
masquerading tights and feathers bedazzle
the taperies are strung the tents all tassled
i mark this place i name it and brand it
etched and carved and than you sand it
the dust that remains is carried on

remnants are packed, sealed, and pawned.

 

R.

6-12-10

the trumpeter swans are calling as they migrate together
heading towards the half circle moon lit up with a crescent shadow
the lake seems eerie below like the black eyes of exposed pupils with waves as the white owl comes down from her perch and announces her prescence while an eagle with an expansive flight eats carrion off the road
the crows are my foes
the swans are my inspiration
the eagles remind me to take what's left and fly
the owl speaks of wisdom that reveals itselt when it wants to
the moon with its shadow captivates me as i take all this in the murky waters are drowning me with the pupils of thier exposed eyes looking into my soul as one rows toward me and carries a lantern with a light that is about to go out. thier is nothing but the sound of the oars the hope that this small skiff can take me down the path where the water glistens and the white owl turns her head and sees everything. while i struggle for sight in these dark places.
i trust the oarsmen who has no face it's as if i paid this man a toll
what price did i pay? i can not recall....i only know the sound of the oars lulls me into a hypnotic state and i wake up on a sandy shore and i hear the wings of the watching owl fly and there is no more night. i have woken up from this dream and there is only the pink mist and the recollection that i cried out and the oarsman saved me.

Sonnet

Thy sweet tongue need not compose poetry.
Each precious kiss from you gives voice to mine
Thy embrace a poetic place, and holy
Every sweet journey filled with verse and rhyme.

Golden autumn turns to brittle winter

And these chilly bones crave your warm respite.

A lonely inside voice cries “I miss her.

I long to be wrapped in her love tonight.”

Oh Venus, Calm the fit full sleepers dream.

Drench this fierce thirst with the memory of fire.

Keep well my immortal beloved queen.

Mother of Light, Lady of Love and Desire.

And murderous Fate, stay your cruel plan!

Bear me swiftly, and often unto her hand.

The Book of Rachelle

My being can not bear
The absence of your presence
My heart not broken
Weeps one thousand tears
It is lonely with you not here.
An eternity in a minute
Does not compare
As slowly time creeps by
Yet I do not feel despair
Knowing how you love me.
Where ever you are
I am with you
My spirit is there.

My lips are dry
My tounge unsatisfied.
I would taste you
Every night.
With rapture and delight
Embrace you all the while.
Snuggle close and tight
Your hot mouth pressed
Next to mine.
Deep inside you
For all time.
Your flesh, a god gift
Perfect and right.

I will worship at your alter.
Drink from the font of your pleasure.
I will sing your song for all time.
Thy hymn is eternal, devine.
What angel brought me this treasure?
May its' luster last forever.
This ancient love of mine.
So simple and sublime.

The sun sets
Shining on the silent
Red sentinals
Watching you and I
As monarchs circle by.
And leaping high
In the gloaming time,
Earths children also
Scamper by.
While the lady of love
Spreads her undieing light.
And folds us up in her
Sacred night.

 

 

 

Well another day gone and another day closer to you.
Oh what ever is the plan? Oh what shall we do?
With the moon almost new.
And it cold enough to make frost of the dew.

 

 

Honey fermented into mead
Is not half as sweet
As a kiss from thee.
The drink of poetry
Pales when our lips meet.

Odin gave his left eye
And on that tree he died.
We can ease his grief
Bring eternal peace
To you
And me
With a simple kiss of belief.

 

 

And if it doesn't always rhyme a right.
I'll just grin and apologize.
But look to the middle of the lines
For the same sounds said together
and an indication of some meter.
Usually they are rather silly.
And improvised willy-nilly
With nary a thought
For substance or plot.
Though never as long
As Solomons song,
They may be vauge and obscure.
So please my dear
Take a deep breathe and endure.