Sunday, July 31, 2011

23. Youth!

You are always belittling me
with the damning epithets of youth.
"I am not your dear", I'd like to say.
But would you listen?
Laugh, perhaps.

But there will be a day
when even
the most endearing smile
has creases and crinkles
'round the edges.
The lips
pale and shrivel.

I will have
the coarsest, grayest hair to comb,
if any at all.
My slender arms, by gravity sustained
unto limper means,
drip and droop.

To you - what am I?
Doll with raven hair, silken;
lips of ruby red -
skin of flaxen gold.

I am always trying to re-label this,
projecting some stranger image.
But this is all I have,
and all I ever will -
so as I treasure it,
I use it as my vendetta,
hopelessly ensnaring you.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

22. Mélisande

She reaches out – an arm outstretched –
the mid-day sun igniting her.
A ring belies the fatal bond,
malicious in its innocence.

They played as children play their games:
unwary of the time or place.
But as the fountain sang its charms,
the moment held its memory.

And as the sun was smiling too
she clambers out an inch too far.
Then with a final, fateful throw,
she heralds the dénouement.

But even in this horrid hour
she has no grand remorse to grieve,
no haunting aria erupts
beyond those startled, slender lips –

As if her star-crossed, transient life
is happier than mine, for she –
this Mélisande – grows lovelier,
reborn: each night, each matinée.

Friday, July 29, 2011

21. A Spectacle

Tribal markings circulate,
denoting where the knife shall graze.
Orb-like suns float, unseeing;
fluttering hands prepare.
Blue jellyfish heads dance -
bowing, waiting: solemnly.
The victim lays unconscious -
tongue sprawled out, eyes withdrawn.
These final moments hang in silence,
dangling on the trapeze wire.
As the violence starts -
sacrifice begins.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

20. We view our limits

Reality is a poor substitute for fairy tales:
I am always laughing,
in the same red shirt,
as if I was always cast to play the same victim,
Over, over, over.

Crueller to mourn the unknown,
not having a body to bury.
It’s a luxury to grieve –
but I cry for my unborn, my unrequited –

Spiders do not have the time
to remember
before they are

There is no ending
but I – must be thankful.
Thankful for having met you,
for having let you go,
for carrying on with this
hapless play,
for living.

Friday, July 22, 2011

19. Remembering San Diego

Beneath the breathless, weary stars,
acknowledged by the phantom breeze,
We rode at day’s end side by side,
unwinding in the crowded cart.

In silence sat the docile night,
but we were not as well-behaved.
The infants wailed and adults cooed;
mementos could not pacify.

Exhausted by the lurid day
and whistling in the lukewarm wind,
The palm trees, finally satisfied,
were gossiping along the way.

There are no flashing coloured lights
that dance upon this final eve;
No cheery costumed characters
are looming swiftly into sight -

But as we stop upon our start,
a strange relief begins to dawn.
And as those rising, bright balloons
float, twinkling near the moon-kissed stars,

There was no greater grand enchantment
that filled our hearts that midnight hour;
As moon-flecks shone upon our arms,
the journey really’d just begun.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

18. Wedding Day

Lanterns floating overhead,
Bubbles dancing in our path,
This is the first night –
Sparkling laughter, sparkling champagne –
Sweat glistening; darkness dawns.

I am happy for them,
but I am removed from their joy, their love.
It is not that I am resentful –

Trees whisper, some indescribable perfume lifts,
Mingled smiles embalm the honeyed air –
Perhaps it is in their exuberant youth
and hapless grace
That I so clearly see the distance grow –
My lonesome self, twisted by the cynicism of time,
growing weary –
having only celebrated the joy
of others.

Friday, July 15, 2011

17. Tiger Lillies

Orange Tiger Lilies by Marilyn

You are the most resilient flower,
Rising before the others and
Retiring late,
Model employee of the
Emerald fields.

Nearly as tall as the fence,
Slicing the wind with astringent orange -
Parodies of Renaissance virgins
With hoods of modest luridness.

Lascivious yet benign,
Sailing the low-lying zephyrs,
I do not know the
Suitors you attract.

What lucky gentlebee shall
Peek between these coy petticoats,
Painting brighter vermilion
On your sun-baked

Saturday, July 9, 2011

16. Morning Glory

the burnt honey brightly trickles,
drops of fragrant translucent liquid
plummet to the jugs below:
Columbian, chocolate macaroon, crème brûlée

aromas fill the darkened hall,
nasal cavities resound with waking sense
(and now we wait, stuffing the trays
like horizontal Christmas stockings)

I am alone for these first shaded moments
crouching in the darkness, thinking;
behind the metal lattice things prepare themselves,
waiting until the moment they shine

it is almost therapeutic,
these exotic beans -
tickling the senses,
emboldening the eyes

Friday, July 8, 2011

15. A Love Letter

There is something about your haughty attitude
that makes me loathe each fibre of you.
Sardonic, domineering - oh, infernal grin.
How I wish to tear you limb from limb!

Then why must I be so foolish,
Exuberant, wary, hurt by turns?
How many times has an "innocent" twinkle
deceived me to no end?

I have become my own mother,
chiding myself to
no avail.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

14. Sarcophagus

I stare out at these moons,
Orbiting me, curiosity my
Gravitational pull.

I am Ra the Sun,
Agleam in priceless gold leaf,
Layers of slaughtered trees
Nestled like matryoshka dolls.
Scarabs and cryptic hieroglyphics
Ignite my painted arms,
Sapphires adorn my funeral mask.

I am not a reincarnated horror movie -
In my gruesome regal present,
You pass by, imagining
Just how powerful I was,
How battles I won, how many
Slaves bowed to my whims.

It is beyond your mortal estimation
For I transcend man.
My organs eerily preserved in
Dislocated canopic jars,
Crocodiles, falcons, cats,
Undying -

I am immortal, staring forever
From these bandages,
Sunken eyes eternally ancient,
Mysterious, enigmatic,
Proud. I am
the Son of Horus.

Monday, July 4, 2011

13. The Upset

So many broken dishes,
broken glasses too;
shards upon the floor –
irrevocable damage?

Clay cups and earthenware,
tumblers and vessels
can be glued together,

Hurt feelings, ingrown jealousies;
distrust, misdirected malignance –

fester: growing like a fissure,
starting small,
growing larger,
seeping through the heart,
ripping, tearing
until the trust dies
and enmity remains,
sparkling as only
malevolently glinting
glass does.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

12. Farewell, Stones

Discarded pebbles,
ground up by the Scylla and Charybdis
of Ontario:
remnants lay
upon the eternal patch of ground rock
beneath our feet.

White shards roast,
smooth and benevolent,
worn by the seas.
Whatever dangers lied in the broken bottles
evoke no harm,
tamed by unseeing hands,
sultry amber in the
glinting sun.

Shaven bits sift through the toes
as effortlessly as water, though
erosion shall soon make sure
that even those grains of sun-baked rice
will cease to circulate
amongst the naked
Farewell, stones.