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#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

In the Land of Paper Cranes

Honor reigns as the code of the rain in the Land of Paper Cranes … the unspoken behest of Grandmothers nurturing the world eggs beneath celestial capes of eternal down … flight wings of Spirit pressed between the woodpecker’s page gown lining their nest with light as children palm innocence … Here the bamboo moths quiver spun and quest, their life span willing metaphors … our fragile vapors searching for ignition in this land of forbidden flames … we all remain silk worm pupae attainment … where upon slip current pale veins often succor lotus stamen perfume and dreams die … sea, land, wind, or water fowl born demure and azure cored are we all … the truest trowel beak bill to web footed alliances yet descend from ancient egret masters … parchment creased folding crisp mountains to beg a valley’s hand … paisley kaleidoscope sand hill dancing twixt marble eyed maybes and wishes on the wings we are … those who want the breeze to take us gently as a duckling … bounce love on its knee until we all believe or leave the pond to those who … origami light by stardust mirrors when night has awakened hidden hopeful smiles …

 © 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

Bending to Your Fancy

Winter’s willing bride again cradles the looking glass which Spring, as maiden, held seeming moments ago … dewy instrument of visage fortunes, the lullaby of seasonal bitter brace … Her fair sun portrait now locked in Sisters’ crystal orb, birch lace, and paper mittened graces … She stands whole in the disillusions of Persephone’s interrupted resurrection … the flocked seasons of red wheat, Her crown … pale as the wash with which She holds time bridled, bitten, and seeking … Her soul engulfed in the creation of brindle frost and frond the Love only the Poet and His Poem alone are able to awaken and possess … He reigns over Summer’s fire and Autumn in its stolen wonder … She whisper’s to the night’s fragile ebony tangle … Yours … Now … Sometimes … and Ever …

© 2017 cdd All Rights Reserved

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