Happy Valentine’s Day, Darling …

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Morning breaks in the red ruddy flames of Dawn’s plumb and blush … sleepless bedlam born have I been with wine stung eyes masked in anticipation … anxious tears wear the dancing crone’s stem in ritual cascades beneath a mighty thundering gather … my skirts are yellow as Rudbeckiah’s petals with cornflower ruffles, polka dotted and gingham in the manner the Phoebe sings … its own joyful soul liquid in trills and moss maiden purposes … It is in his love’s bower my heart keeps spry, wise, and sunrise surprised at what news the blue skink shall bring to window pane … poem and uttered palette knife collage travels through ions on spider web silk succor and chalk painted prayers … beetle dung orb anchored celestial illuminations affixed to his canvas slipping wormhole wobbles with the ancient excrement of all peoples in One skin … this is his Spirit’s time clock and rip cord flying squirrel sun dial, where it’s always the moment of Now … of his most precious choosing … My gladness buds from the rust of city rail and rain gutter drain remains from lord less fools who disdain such beautiful veins … cat whisker chin tickling garden gains thrive where color cast Babbit grains and the granite Adam roams the maze … ever a seeker of a finer faire cause rosy sway … tis noble I say … a cause I sink satin and sword alike in to stay a course worthy of Inanna’s grace … for I love him as soul’s first felt lace in the darkness when reaching towards Light … auric circumference of Luna’s bright shadow … I, ever bitten, brave, and bare throated in happy bondage to love’s priceless surrender.
2/14/2017

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

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Luna Moth Fever

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Last poem to the present and pertinent heart … for with only a week to live …  I’ve luna moth fever with you on my mind…

the plum bracket of my silvery span wrapped around seven degrees above wondering …. that which I am too humble to inquire …

Do I keep you up at night as you do this frail flight? … Can the fruit of my sweet gum branch perfuming your daydreams so … that when night falls with an elixir the moon dew dropped as your remedy …

You might hear through magic means my call … were your words ever spoken with my pale wings upon your tongue ?

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved Aug. 7, 2015

Smoke Signals

What is that? It started in your head, but God meant it for your mouth …

How do you keep the ringlets of the pebbles tossed in calm lakes from swallowing up the reflection of those you love the most … just before you give them flight … the second upon which you release their memory stones from your palm? …

The film of your redemption was as thick as unkempt kisses … rude and rare meat mangled … cupping my palm gravel of you like a pale rose born from the oil of our bodies … pressed panting passions, and the hope which water slips finger fragrant through … sinking shadowed bubble ripplets rising to quench … to beg you …

Light a fire on your blackened banks and send me smoke signals … send me the sentiment God wanted your voice to call out in the moonlight across this unstill body of mirror and madness between us … I am waiting on the far shore … my hands empty of stone, thorn,  or misconception …

Only flowers and tenderness remain.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved June 25, 2015

Holy Vapors

4102464783_9d1fc299a0_oMary in a Roman Catholic Church in Chicago

I had forgotten what it feels like to breathe … taking in lungfuls I could claim as my own … for the moments we had held them … the utter thoughtless exchange, otherwise now a dwelling stay … I’ve been giving it away so long … to anyone who will take it … or was it to anyone who would let me have a dram … does it matter what caused the stain when a cancer is the day’s remains ? … he said he saw all my pain in the betrayal of my soul’s window panes … suffocated lambs behind them lain in poultry rows for counting games … shims and shacks, shake and shame … the balance of the blade became soft once I realized … air left volume to perception’s choice … to the dreaming city sinking sea bound at the break of a new eon … terrible in the white blaze it wrought before us …   we held cirrus clouds in our cheeks just then, inverted O~ring memories … praying to undertake the glorified transfiguration and not become their Holy wafer … but the vapor, each breathe seeks to pass across in death.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved June 11, 2015

The mosaic ginger …

The mosaic ginger of the tree lined summer streets which hold in their leafy memories words you spoke walking home on rainless nights … fill my anticipated inhales with the now autumn scuffles and damp near Decembers … your tea cup companion not far behind, sweetening the rippled edges … the barest of branches now play a whistling tune to the snow’s vein … echoing poetic your soul’s limber catch … and I welcome a deeply moist evening’s vapor … under starry skies … only slightly ajar from a common alignment … smiling, in awe of your loving me still …

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved  11/23/2016

Love of you …

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Love of you has turned me into mermaids,

swimming in the spring pond today,

the koi think I am the Goddess,

sunning brazenly they play,

the turtle bring shells and snail eggs,

I braid into my hair,

so, the dragonflies can carry me,

away where dreamers dare,

if my silence ever does worry,

speak to me through blue crayons,

for the black birds told me no stories,

except how to translate the Sun (shine),

the leaves of grass were calling,

to dance beneath the sky clad moonlight,

my lips chanting incantations,

breathing your name calling forth your light,

the night flowers became so jealous,

they tied me to a River Birch,

beneath my skin, under my scales,

they scrawled their pretty worth,

Now I can only be a woman when,

you caress my petal portal skin.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

 

Dreams did not visit me last,
I fitful tossed for rhyme for reason,
liquidity of spirit lost in foretold fortunes,
and Gypsy’s charms boots or pistols,
fish slipping hooks returning to the rivers,
the barbs of rivalry the cost he well considered,
frost bitten gardens bare of flower’s names,
angel manes tear stained remains re-framed,
sill glass broken bleeding gain for Charlemagne,
yet, never shall be blamed for toil begs to sane,
the fisher of mermaids with sorrow’s net,
when love rains blue bleeding veins of regret,
these are the vestiges of wars desiring to be reborn,
I’d rather feed the birds my names than join ranks,
Love and crackling dream rock corn seed cakes,
than plant a mourner’s field of fickle weed,
for the Maiden Spring to tangle march,
with the binding of heart’s ankle crops,
The Queen of Swords, The Empress stand,
One of weilding metal, One of humming land,
Sweet path I walk of Mother’s harvest clan,
gather do I Winter’s storage grains,
with the stone sickle of Perfect Love in one hand,
the goblet silver Peace drink I of the other,
bow and curtsy eye to eye,
with the Lord and Lady, by and by,
This Self is ever ebbing as the windy rye,
The self of man will haunt then die,
Seems, I must razor walk the skies.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved