Ghosts Marked Across Stone

I remember the day
when I saw the snake
encaged with flame.
Frightened teeth
jabbing at the dying
air, but the fire swelled
until the sky slid
from the snake’s eye.
Now the fire, quietly
huddled in another’s
valley, has left us,
curled-up shadows
removed from its being,
to where dust reawakens
and delegates renewal.


Written for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt.

A Lecture on Leaves

Not too long ago, I was outside and saw within
my gaze the swaying of leaves above. A voice
came to me. It said, “You need to make a decision.”
It was my own, yet, it came from somewhere.
There was this need to push my life elsewhere,
to build something. I was merely outside, existing.
Others, my friends, had careers, some even families.
The swaying of leaves, the sun spreading across
my skin. They were not for me. They could not be
enjoyed. The future sat coldly, a stone gazing out.

You’re expected to enjoy life, to appreciate
the warmth. But you can’t be useless. You are
not the swaying trees, the sun bending through
the leaves. I needed to move, I needed
to learn, to gain. The trees, the water,
the air, the distant birds: nice, beautiful things,
but they are objects. I could have sat there
forever, but it would have been meaningless.
Meaning. Purpose. Passion…I had been waiting,
but the day was almost done, and the silence
of this moment had gotten old.


This poem is a bit trash looking back on it now. May rewrite it in the future.

Another Epiphany

I’ve been summoned here
to toss up a new sky.
Some golds, some shadowy violets,
some distant wings to steal silence
for your eyes. Something occurs,
a cold voice shimmering in your chest,
a clever moment I’ve contracted.
Your mind compresses to light
hovering above the trees, until I drift away.
Suddenly, you return to this field,
but something sways upward
to where silence seals over.
Another moment breathed beneath
murmuring golds and violets
until sirens break into air, or tomorrow’s
assignment blazes in your skull.
You’ve had this before, but it is time
to step away, lose most of it
until it mutters like radiation.

Disconnection

The day slips out. Darkness
squirms as something slithers
into its being. You almost see
it, but the outline shifts. Your room
is an open eye. It reaches you.
Pain comes, a routine art.
Bones wrenched into a shape,
but they’re no longer yours.
Your mind floats into air
watching the sickly play below
until the sun decides to crawl
across the windowpane,
and the day becomes
another interruption.

I, Conqueror

I once saw a horse
As big as a mountain.
It stepped over trees
And smooshed tiny villages.
I saw all this and thought,
“I must conquer this horse!”
So I found an empty field
And started planting seeds.
“What are you doing?”
Asked my mother.
“I’m going to conquer the horse!”
I proclaimed. She shook her head,
“Son, the horse is dangerous,
It will crush you and not even notice!”
But I gave her the bird and continued
Planting the field.

I waited for months and months,
But nothing rose from the ground.
I went into the city to see
If someone knew the way.
“What are you looking for child,”
Said one of the merchants.
“Magic seeds,” I told the old man.
“I’m going to conquer the enormous
Horse!” He shook his head.
“You’re an idiot-child. You will die
Before you see a bud in your garden.”
I told him to go screw and then found
Magic seeds at a discounted rate.

I planted the seeds and went to bed.
The next morning came and the whole field
Was covered with trees, their branches
Heavy with bright red fruit. I smiled,
Knowing the horse could never resist.
“Child.” I turned and saw a man
With a mustache, smoking a pipe.
“What’s all about?” I asked
Who the hell he was. “I am a doctor
Your parents have called from the city,
But let us talk, as friends.” I told him
To piss on his shoes and ran into my forest.

I ran and ran. This is what I wanted.
This was my dream. To conquer
A big, giant horse. But as I ran
The ground started to shake,
The birds fled from the leaves.
I stopped to look and saw the sun
Turn to black. “It is here,” I said,
My voice quivering. The horse
Didn’t take long to scoop up
Half the trees with its endless maw.
“Now what?” Asked my mother
As we stood at forest’s edge.
“What was your plan to conquer
The enormous horse?” Before I could
Tell her to shut it, the horse came
And shoveled us into its belly.

“Way to go, son,” my mother said
As we wandered the pits of its stomach.
“Mother,” I asked her, “why don’t you
Believe in me?” But she sighed.
As we walked we saw not just my trees,
But also houses, and other, smaller horses.
We soon found a campfire
Surrounded by dirty bearded men.
“Ah, some new residents!” They laughed.
“Yes, no thanks to this one!” My mother
Pointed at me. But I wasn’t embarrassed.
“Let me guess child,” one of them said,
“You too were after the horse.” I stared
At him. “And these trees were just a ruse
To lure the beast to your trap.” I nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “I am to conquer the horse!”
They laughed some more. “Child,
We were all like you, trying to tame
The giant horse. But we failed.
And so have you! Thanks for the apples though!”
My face turned red. “I will show them,”
I said aloud. “I will, one day, conquer
What could not be conquered
By weaklings such as they!”
“Hey!” One of the men stood-up.
“We’re not weaklings! You’re weak!”
“Yeah!” And their fists rained down
On me. Soon, my mother joined.
But as I writhed in the muck,
I did not feel the pain or shame.
It was nothing to me.

The horse continued swallowing
Up the world. Villages, townships,
And cities flooded around me.
The people that came were quite
Upset, but it didn’t take long
For them to continue living
As if they were outside. Some even
Calling the horse God. I cursed
Them and everyone else
Who had given-up. Cursed
My mother, who remarried,
And the dirty old men farting
By the fire. But I did not curse
Myself.

Years passed until I found
The next step in the course. I plucked
The apple seeds and continued growing
The forest. The trees grew and grew
And the forest spread to every corner
Of the stomach. “Son,” mother said,
“What are you doing? Soon we won’t
Have enough room.” And I told her
That soon there won’t be any room
And the horse will explode. “But,
We might die.” I looked up at her,
Told her that better to die than to be
Conquered. Everyone else disagreed
And soon I was tied-up, ready
To die, but it was too late, a rip, a tear,
A shake, and a bright light tossed us.
I woke-up and saw the remains
Of the horse across the land.
People were mad at me for destroying
Their homes. “Why?” My mother cried,
“Why did you ruin it all? Why did you
Ruin your years?” Lessers always ask,
“Why?” Isn’t the act reason enough?
I had my reasons, but they do not matter.
None would ever be good enough
For those who dream of sleep in the bowels
Of a beast, to sit around the complacent
Fire, bind themselves to a warmth
That demurs. I have no fire. I run through
The air. I have conquered. I will conquer
until there is nothing inside.


An “epic” poem (for me) that I intended to be almost a parody of tall tales, but it ended-up just being kind of weird.

Beginnings

A few days ago, the mind tumbled
from the trees, crawled across
savannas until a new world
was invented. The earth almost trembled
at this: something akin to the old apes’,
except bare and distant, scratching
at the golden sky pinned to the horizon’s
shoulders. Yesterday, limbs tossed
and buried, monuments stretched
across wordless bone. An hour ago,
something pale sat in a white room,
eyes burnished by an interesting screen
until a soul was nearly gleamed.
A couple minutes later, the savannas
empty, silence seeps through
the trees, the monuments speak
to the wind, and the old apes wander
an older world to gather into shadows
as the golden sky turns and awakes.


Written for YDWordPrompt.

Life at the Beach

Grey water lapping, empty
sun gazing over.
But the dead man is not considered
by the wave-tossed shells surrounding him.
They are too busy growing
new hands, digging into soft earth.
No eyes, no minds, just an impetus
to be hidden in watery sands.
They do not consider death,
but it’s there, a ghost
in their mucous arms,
a knowing barely known.
The shells soon bury themselves
and the man is left alone, on the beach
unnamed by any feeling.


dVerse – Open Link Night