The precipice of summer lingers …

The precipice of summer lingers lying quietly to the definitions we cling to … ritual eggs brighten rows freshly tilled by plow shears we forged from the last glance our eyes held with the starving peregrines on the ledges of the city towers … their children are dried to hollow dusty holograms … the tapping of a heart’s chain slung carelessly to trip the rainbow’s remains for their want of nurturing spittle … rain too far a distant dust bowl dagger slit in lamb’s wool absorption to quench  … we are vain, almost vulgar, in calling for a holy preservation of the child Self … the yoked sack membrane damp as the due we all crawl through eventually in suckling dread hours … the remainder of stains on duckling cliffs ruby~ing palms and knees … my toes turn in, Leo knows how it hurts, how the martin’s purple came to be … why  can’t we take our hands off the joy stick of illusion long enough to know … giving up creation to create with each other … for whatever time we are afforded by the roadside ditches or in marble mansions … ambling, rambling, or scrambling for its living breath … is by design a worthy purpose …

© 2017 cdd all rights reserved

More ?

Art work credit: Bloodletting by © CanisAlbus

More …
Tis all I find above sullen skies to sate the Spirit’s climb,
In salty seas to spice the dining of craven hunger bowls,
On Earth to fodder flower, fain, or fauns away from Winter’s stole,
Saving graces by only thine, my fires consumption burns whole,
This Soul of mine was rebuked to despair’s hellish holes,
For the labour of Sin Eaters is seldom seen for its gold,
Until death and decrepit darkness announces me rendered,

As She or Her at last,
So, yes please, … bleed me until I am blind.

© 2017 cdd all rights reserved


NaPoWriMo 2017 #7

Glory’s voice, utterer, potter’s wheel clay culled of Crone Moon and Milky Way,

Starchild, do not seek tenders and hope amongst the colors of your visioned sight,

The heart who claims love yet, holds the darkness as for you a guiding light,

Captive, craven you shall become, as the raven is to the black he sought for envy,

Feed them not with green pools, copper lamp pupil gated souls. sweet glance or glare,

For turning away will their mechanism be, to fantasy, id and ego plated, awaited,

Delicious dishes mirrored selves, both snails and eggs and puppy dog tails,

Go out instead and dress the trees in this your lorn laced ruffled sleeves,

Arm fulls embrace, curtsy the leaves, kissing bark veins, cheeking mossy tellings,

Drawn water as if sapling springs from mountain thaws, awakening warmth in their further fruits,

Not yet even a bud of thought in a twig’s lonesome dreams, when Autumn sings,

There will be found the seeds, the husk for Earth and Star’s child to circle round,

Rhyme past thyme sleeping lazy in the summer sun swinging on the ripened vine,

Hop the creek, toes to minnows cool waters, and algae slimes as tadpoles divine time there,

Now lives for the beauty the children feel in their close and most precious Host,

The Voices of our souls can not express lest we sing the cellular Nature songs,

When we were and Who we are while dancing to Where shall we go next my friend ?

NaPoWriMo 2017 #6

Bella Rosa Dreams

(for all my Sisters who have survived to rise again)

I used to come here to write … to find some semblance of sanity in this otherwise maddened waking world … today there are people squawking venom at each other and pretending to call that love … love grows on a willow trees, from welts the flesh  pleas while tied fast to the briers’ sting … you’d rather Cerridwen’s swine be dragging you through the cold December mud than pray your hand defend you in the fight for freedom … for that child has every right to bear dignity … oh yes, it’s still the mind bend of whips and chains, the stare of wishes into coffin remains that will greet you each day … black nights spent looking for a candle flicker beneath the doorway, from some enchanted creature who stole through the gates undiscovered … to shadowing their light on a darkness of your poems … perhaps, she’s floating on a muddled puddle reflection … the moonless night left when he trundled off to bed behind the castle ruins … dragons of chained for eating the neighbors cows again… she found a slip knot and shimmied through to bring me a single ray of hope … to weave catching my breath through curls and carry quietly … for when it all got too blue we’d pull it out and blast them back to the hell from hence they came… Tonight though, be it night or day it matters not for light never reaches us here … I am bound about laid out and powdered, oiled, perfumed, and laced up to view … to skew … to pile drive with out even a word … Tonight I’m yours to do …
Your back gulching drum driven desires crawl scream tagged and beaten back down my darkest faith forbidden fathomless bottom hole … where I lay worn in pretty bows your mind assigns to cover tattered worn ash … where only hatred flames remain … the gains of piercing bores bite first my back flesh.. yes, gain your stronghold there, while you bust me from behind dig the very marrow of your finger bones though my breasts to the hollow my heart used to reside in before I let you dine on my self negligence … tear them from my torso if you will … I am bound … I am will less … rip out my hair if i would lend you my neck … veins to slice and suckle madly … red velvet love wine spilling over … flowing fount of your mouth’s gauge and the violent bucking you train my ass to follow or it’s more pain for me … my bound arms back about your neck … legs tied wide you could stand with me if you wished … if you dared … I am surrender in every language a man every sought to teach a woman … since he found she could subdue him with her selves … If you get greedy enough to lick the blood running down my spine in a Kundalini serpentine candy column crimson velvet … wings will sprout from your wounds and I will grow horns upon my raven black head … i will spear you if you dare give me an opening … for We are the daughters of Goddess, her hand maidens … born to the breasts of the Valkeries when the Our Father sought us too eagerly , too soon, too sickly for his wounds …

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2017 #5

Luna Love

The foul leave feathers for me daily in trails to gather … from the barn to the Iron Wood tree stand yonder … at the crest of the meadow hill flanking the logging roads … crevices are home to the Luna moths and moon beams … their winter homes in the catacombs … Christmas past’s silent seed pods … the morning stars descending from the heavens … holding ground bound cocoons in blessed rest … assured peace till April came with lip-less kisses … the caterpillars have hatched … soon there will be more to save and shade from the sun … their short life and love expressed in a quiet transmission … souls hear eons apart …

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo#4 2017

Periwinkle’s Day

In our wizard’s weary land of pine cone palaces and cypress needle streets … opened upon the morning’s bluff blue dew … silver lined pie in the sky dawn gracious buds of the vinca … signature scrying land ample twined Earth augured blessed relying … they cover the kindgdom with leaf and tendril … all fae, sun ray, or wizard’s play mate shall remain assembled … safely at the feet of Tatiana and
Oberon’s merry meeting … on this, purple passion and parade of the Prince and First Grasses Day … Magenta, herself, hints at the underlying sweetness and poisons thus, these umbrellas do shade … illumination in the Netherworld calls the daisies awake … as snow falls yet, still in our April this year … tis queer is it not ? … Perhaps, we owe a nod to those who live beneath our thoughts and glances ,,, what are the chances … the beauty of the periwinkle cost us more and more each year ?

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2017 #3

The Mortal’s Prize

Ceiling slats and shadow rats,
the perceptible shards you left,
in attic halls of dampened walls,
piss stained bourbon kush craned air,
self destructive lint bred lairs,
that darkness bled your soul’s light for,
protoplasmic B- white cell chaos,
corner connective fascination,
that’s the mortal’s prize.

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved