S L E E P

Sleeping ...

            Awake ...

                        In opposing states.

... sleeping ... Sleeping ... SLEEPING ...

            Day begins ...

                        But sleeping, yet to end,

                                    Makes mice of mighty men.

STILL sleeping ... slEEPing, SLeeping, SLEEPING!

            My fickle friends - night and day ...

                        Keeping company where the Sun holds no sway,

                                    Dreaming the day completely away,

                                                The goals we had for the day, betrayed ...

FOR SLEEP.  Sleep deeply, sleep quietly, yet sleep quickly, for sleep is tricky.

            It enraptures and keeps you still sleeping,

                        even when Dawn is breaking and picky

                                    about which souls she makes delighted or weeping ...

                                                The dreams racing in night made too quickly

                                                            to be sustained after waking, so sleeping ...

Sleeping you will remain.

Sleeping exposes my pain.

Sleep, causing fantasies yet unmet,

Sleep - producing nightmares and regret,

            As sleeping babes, each man

            sleeps his life into oblivion.

                        Awake witches sleep little still,

                        As their sleeping yields little that is real.

So of SLEEPING, as I have ALWAYS said ...

I will SLEEP when I'm DEAD.

MdC

One Feeling

I don't make sense.

     I'm simple and complex

          all at

               the same

                      Time.

I love with a Fire that Consumes

     but can retreat

          into Coldness

               more biting than

                    Frosty Steel Rails.

I am independent and ambitious,

     but terribly naive

         and Timid

               especially beyond

                    Brick Walls.

I want to know your story and share mine,

     but the Truth haunts me and bends me

          to Misery.

And I say that I'd rather be

     Miserably Aware

          than Blissfully Ignorant,

But following my Passions often leads to

     Less Awareness,

          not More.

And in this whirlwind of Complication,

     your presence is as a candle Flame,

          Constant and

               Unassailed by Doubt.

But what if that is merely an Illusion?

     And Flickering is just beyond

          the Horizon,

               Preparing to Commence Again?

I don't Know how to tell you to keep the Candle alight,

     only Promise you that my Passion,

          once ignited,

               Rages without Trepidation

                    Into the long Night.

Scared to say how I feel?

     Maybe.

          more terrified to Feel it,

               and in It,

                    be Lost ...

                         With no Recourse!

... Other than to Trust You ...

     and trust is running from me

          faster than I can catch Her ...

               never had the Wings to fly in the face of Truth,

                    And see Trust as Neverending.

To me It appears a Phantom,

     Something I may never catch,

          or stare in the Face,

                Or even Embrace.

You want Truth of Feeling?

     Well, here it IS:

* I only have one

*It's been trampled upon

*I miss you every night, every morning, and every interminable day

*It breaks my Heart when you are Away

*I want your arms around me when I fall asleep at night

*I want you to stay

*My fragile Trust thinks that everything about you is Right

*I want you to act as a Knight, virtuous and right, and, for me, fight

In ALL of these things,

      I am sure ...

          If this feeling Continues,

                    Love will Always Endure.

MY Beauty

My beauty is for myself ...

            I cannot give it away

            Nor can it be contained

                        or caged in any way

My beauty is unbidden

            I do not bring it to the surface or into the light

            It wells up like a tear in a well-controlled eye.

My beauty is possessive

            It wraps and twists around every

                        little

                                    inch of you

            It does not let go - and entraps the most fortified wills.

My beauty suffers

            But only by the hands of others.

                        who warp and miss the simplest

                                    the simplest

            Of dreams, until they are just floating

                        like dandelion bits in the wind.

My beauty outshines

            That of all those around me

                        until tormented, they hate

                                    And abuse, and slither away. 

                        It seems they can not take the contest

                                    with the grain of salt through which

                                                they see the rest of the world.

My beauty captivates

            the animal - whether human or other creature,

                        male or female,

                                    of lesser or greater mind.

                        It spars with their senses

                                    until they give way

                                                to the rapture that follows

                                    Unity.

My beauty does not allow me

            to see through rose-colored glasses

                        or taste the bitterness all around me.

                                    It allows no censure of the sounds permeating

            the soft atmosphere that tactile exploration affords me.

                        Regardless of the dirt existing in every crevice,

                                    my beauty allows no clutter of the mind,

                        because though there be thorns,

                                    the roses that I forge smell quite lovely.           

The Fairy Key

Avoidance, he's a tidy little trick

     That dupes the Heart into leaving the protection of her cage.

His ally, Indifference, sets his sights on skin

     And instead,

          Shreds aorta upon opening the iron gate.

When brick walls no longer suffice,

     The Heart, she buries herself deep underground,

For no more majesty, beauty, or virtue are to be found

     In the absence of Love.

Love flies about as a fleeting Fairy,

     Choosing to alight here or there ...

So beware!

     The viper pounces on unguarded Hearts,

Lost in Love's mysterious bite,

     Who refuse to see the gossamer wings,

Or acknowledge their forsaken plight.

But, lo, when one spies the Fairy devoted and true,

     Working feverishly on the latch of ONE gate,

          With neverending persistence ...

It is then that One Heart

     Has found One Love

To keep Avoidance and

     Indifference at bay.

Unrequited Love

I miss you like clouds miss water …

                        Your soothing voice resonating in bittersweet memory

                                                Low and almost guttural, your speech calls to me

                                                                        Almost as much as your touch – devilish and tender –

All at once

These memories turn thoughts to fire once again

                        Fire that was never quenched by your water

                                                Never dulled by your intense presence or soft words

                                                                        But those same words set you adrift, floating away

On the lake

                        Nearly as smooth as your words

                                                But too glassy to accommodate your stare

                        And when you stared into my blue eyes

with those golden flecked earthen discs

I melted.

                        Like snow under sudden heat

                                                Like peach vanilla from my Papa’s ice cream mixer

                        Your voice’s trembling was matched

                                                By the tremors of my frame as I followed your gaze.

So now – what to do?

                        The will is weak

                        No more patience to seek

                                                Every relationship incomplete

                                                Twisty vortex to everyone that I meet

                                                                        My mind searches for escape in alternate realities

                                                                        As twisted tyrants and gossips distort my eventualities

                                    Until one day, when maybe, no longer seeking your presence, I will find

                                    Some way to cope with the reality, never rosy in my sphere, towards love once again inclined.          

Not Whole: A Poem About Numbers

Not whole,

Misunderstood,

Embattled,

Controlled,

Wasting away …

            In this series

            Of fives

            Behind which

            The two through eights

            Play.

                                    What to do

                                    But try to fix?

                                    And meddle

                                    And TWIST

                                    And subvert

                                    And move

                                               The ‘immovable’ from Five to Six …

                                                Seven Tethered to the Eight

                                                Because she cannot

                                                Climb very easily alone;

                                                She rolls.

                                                She comes in on horseback

                                                Or her highness, the eight,

                                                must be ROLLED up the hill.

                                                                        And, as always,

                                                                        Almost against her will

                                                                        The Nine shows up

                                                                        To a spectacle of

                                                                        Numbers gone wrong

                                                                        Through sloth and waste,

                                                                        Inefficiency and haste

                                                                        She sweeps the ashes, still combustible,

                                                                        And jars them, till numbers become capable.

Metamorphosis Shiver

Waiting, shaking, heart palpitating …

            Shivers crawling up the central nervous system may indicate

                        Butterflies or demons,

Even butterflies that go on to transform a second time …

Metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly being insufficient –

bright-winged messengers, unable to maintain contentment

Veer from their primary purpose as they transform into demons …

Demons known by the particular shiver they produce

            Induce retreats behind brick walls and make anxious bedfellows

                        That distort meaning,

And fail to reincarnate butterfly-soft feeling.

The shiver of the winged nymph creates a ripple yet unmatched –

Hatched deep within the passions of first meeting

Becomes fleeting with the passage of time …

And the METAMORPHOSIS of butterflies into demons.

...

‘People watching’ is less fun than before;

Animals seem far less a raging bore.

People, filled with much less of God than they assume,

Their lofty images of themselves lead them to presume

That somehow they are entitled to their arrogance

In this gigantic universe that our Creator gave substance.

Were we made in His image?  Hers?

How do you know?

Were the animals just parts of nothingness then?

How can it be so?

ALL of this CREATED by years of evolution, dear,

God’s part to start the breath of life, free and clear

Further than it seems, yet always close enough for the moment, mine

Therefore, each thing that breathes that life has beauty,

Not just you, with your hope of being a graven image of the divine.

            Omniscient though?  I also hope to be, and the truth, see.

Yet I am aware of one thing

That each being

Perhaps unseeing

Hears a ring

                     Of a distant bell

                   That may foretell

                  Of grove and well

                       Woodland dell

                     & A secret spell

                                                That conjures a watery trance

                                              Two stars with the same glance

                                                              A full moonlight dance

                                                       An unforgettable romance

                                                                Avoidance and rants    

                                                                    a forsaken chance

                                      that given intention,

                            not merely sways decision,

                but operates for ultimate precision

                                     of purpose and vision,

                                      and truth the mission

                                it rests upon intervention

                                                 of the intuition                                          

 which can not be caged,

 Lest it become enraged

     Passions unassuaged

     Sentiments outraged     

       Brick walls engaged

    Motivations regauged 

            New bets waged

        The game restaged.

                                         And now, we are back to nine

                                                          The number, divine

                                                           The moment, mine

                                                                 The only prime

                                                         Needed for the time

                                                      Is the stars that shine

                                        On my body arched and supine

                                                 And thoughts clandestine

                                                     Of a superior bloodline

Penetrate my mind

Offer omniscience

Of the loftiest kind

As I escape into subconscious.