Buzzing bee spring petal lie,
flying weightless in blue sky.
Often returns to beloved queen,
gifts of labor and all that’s seen.
Deep in hive she reins on golden throne.
Lonely she cries for the world unknown.
There’ll be no daily sonnet today.
Thought has wandered and gone astray.
Nimble quill won’t dance on parchment bare,
seducing lonely on table near.
The well is dry from which I must drink.
Chair is empty were journeys to think.
No inky tears shed, blotted or smeared.
No blackened hands bloodied and feared.
Letters scrambled all over my mind.
Their chosen order I cannot find.
Brittle wax puddle proves candles death.
The darkness swallows my daylights breath.
Blindness shackles a masked and heavy head.
I shrink into my unwanted bed.
Heart and soul content for tomorrow.
When ink, I hope, once more will flow
Afloat in red stilettos, hair, nails and lips
Shimmering in black satin, taught about the hips
Blue green eyes sparkle as they glance my way
Smile wide across her face, yet I’ve nothing to say
Subtle hand reaching softly touches mine
Nervously reacting I nearly spilled her wine
Leaning ever closer, whispering in my ear
Sweet sounds alluring, words I’ve dreamt to hear
Standing stunned, throbbing chest
Twisted tongue on a tortured quest
A racing mind all aflutter
An uncertain stutter I did utter
With this mutter she did chortle
A pen less poet’s just a mortal
I was out to lunch this early fall,
with my sweetheart, disturbed by a call.
Tried not to answer, boss wouldn’t wait.
“Go to the harbor”, he yelled, “before it’s too late”.
Duty calls, I sped to the pier,
swerved through traffic as fast as I dare.
Screeched to a halt at the dock by the bay,
the boat’s motors revved then underway.
Holding on tight I asked what’s the fuss?
The skipper pointed up at the blob over us.
It was big and gray, no particular form,
battered and tattered like a dingy in a storm
It hung from balloons, one at each end,
letting air out slowly to descend.
It kissed the calm harbor with hardly a swell.
A slit appeared then a putrid smell.
Followed by a ladder of rope dropped to the sea,
then an old head popped out “Ahoy thar matey.”
We climbed aboard the blob that fell from the sky.
Inside appeared to be a ship with no sails but masts high.
A portal to the past or future, it wasn’t clear.
My eyes wide open, couldn’t fathom what’s near.
Bos’n whistle blowing, ships bell ringing,
Captain’s on deck, old sailors singing.
Adrift in time for many a year,
brass shone bright, decks scrubbed bare.
Beards grown long, spirits grown weak,
searching endlessly for the end they seek
I asked many questions and he of I.
“How did you come to fall from the clear blue sky?”
He shrugged and answered “balloons in the sun.”
He asked how the war went; I said “you won”
Pleased by the news, great joy was abound.
The captain and crew, spirits were found.
We told him our location, name and job.
He told us the story of his great flying blob.
“I built her to survey the rogue enemy.
Launched in the spring, eighteen sixty-three.
But she rose too quickly and at too fast a pace.
Caught in a current and thrust into space.
She’s wrapped in layers of thick blubber.
Fin of spruce to serve as rudder.
A ship out of water floating in space,
propelled by methane made from our waste.
And in her belly the mighty tree grew;
wood for repairs, air for the crew.
Trimmed to perfection, nurtured with care,
the trees demise is all that we fear.”
“The tree is the living when all else seems dead.
Greens for the birds then eggs we are fed.
Twigs feed the fires for heat and our light,
the roots of survival the engine of flight.”
The captain paused for word from the mate.
A decision to make before it’s too late.
The blubber was oozing in the midday sunlight,
absorbing seawater, soon too heavy for flight.
He called out the order to make all lines taut.
Bid us farewell and shared one last thought.
“No matter how far our souls may roam –
the journeys not over until we are home.”
The blob sailed off high in the sky –
then disappeared in the blink of an eye.
The captain and crew homeward at last,
seeing the future, choosing and the past.
Gaslights flicker, but one in three
These harsh fall winds batter thee
Soon the rains will pour and pelt
Yet with heavy heart nothing’s felt
Broken brick teeters beneath shoe-less feet
The stench of death fills the street
An island paradise – mine no more
Alas in this city to find a door
Thirty years lost at sea
‘Till found rescued, returned free
In search of a life I wish to find
Of futures not had and left behind
Now homeward bound to do what’s right
And share my tale of a dreadful night
With freezing sleet and gale, our sails torn
Splintered masts await the morn
Screams of mates haunting still
Silence came with the sunsets’ chill
I awoke to a native angel, urged to make a wife
Years of guilty pleasure pass of fertile island life
In a search never-ending of a foggy memory
Back to a decrepit city, forever lost to me
A vision of a woman I had no time to know
And a father-less child I never saw grow
Now I must roam this morbid place
In the shadows I hide this unknown face
With grizzled hide and toothless grin
Tis I this rotted hull of unforgivable sin
First I betrayed a young bride with family
I’ve betrayed my many brothers to a stormy sea
Betrayed my island flowers with my bastard seed
And their many blooms not knowing of their creed
In tangled webs of filthy alleys, doors locked tight
Shuttering out the dangers awakened in the night
Seeking boarded diamond pane, broken lintel I recall
My tiny door beckons just down the hall
Now steps ahead my future lies, one without a past
Decisions’ pondered long, yet always chosen fast
With a knock a ghost returns to those long at rest
Me thinks a splintered briny deck for all will be best
Behold this welcome image,
where a hill rises from a bay.
There a tiny sheltered village lay,
in the shadow of Windmill Cottage.
Pleasant breeze’s most every day.
Sails from afar spill their goodwill.
From their nets sea treasures abound.
Farms thrive above on fertile ground.
Good fortune trickles down the hill.
Sea birds fill the air with sound.
Ancient timbers shade from lofty stage.
Labored grain grows upward at the season’s rate.
Winds howl, warmth’s aglow on the hill-top grate.
Flour flows freely down from Windmill Cottage.
Where nature’s breath spins the wheel of a poets estate.
He attends happily to familiar chores.
Quarterly ledgers bulge beneath waistcoat fair,
a quarterly journey to the bankers’ lair.
His shadow alone opens Main Street doors.
Harvest moon will guide homeward the fortunate heir.
Dusk creeps up as day slips by.
Must avoid the many scrupulous gaze,
modest and ordered with nothing ablaze.
In the shadows inhibitions die.
A visit with strangers, heads all a daze.
Journeys end in darkness where hill meets bay.
Tufted coaches dash the posh up to their inns.
Others huddle by fire pits drinking homemade gins.
The trades of the night swap those of day.
Church bells echo, atoning for their sins.
He’s just another hazy face on the wooden shores.
Where the day’s death lingers and ships bells ring.
Taverns fill, ale flows and drunken sailors sing.
Fiddles play and jigs are had on the dirty floors.
Habitual killers all, Oh what joy they bring.
Few will stay, most homeward bound.
Some laugh loudly while others cry.
Some will fight, some will die.
In search of peace to be found,
in the deep or endless sky.
Faceless comfort fills empty space.
Men with silver are sick for a day.
Boys with gold suffer years away.
Moonlit romance lingers on perfumed lace.
Then life’s anew beyond the tiny bay.
Sharing much common thread,
In this moment they’re brothers all.
Whale lamps flicker on sooty wall,
making friends while breaking bread.
All await the Bosun’s call.
In a corner where shadows overlap,
the poet searches for his light.
Here the day’s brew flows all night.
Safe for now from his hilltop trap,
layers of darkness, out of sight.
Behold this most unwelcome image.
The seat no more where the poet presides,
now in his shadow a filthy little demon hides.
Return not quenched to Windmill Cottage –
And wait again for the new moon tides?
Lonely candle spews depth on a lonely face.
Unseen pests sing their unwanted song,
the scent of time ticking long.
His travels must be many, all left a trace.
In the darkness our senses are strong.
His hat brim low to hide the shame.
The poet stutters with utter surprise.
The traveler snickers, doesn’t rise.
With sideways glance he asks the poet’s name.
Honestly answered by the fear in his eyes.
When after long hesitation a hasty reply –
“A traveler like you” was all that he said.
But after some ale the silence was dead.
Yard by yard many distant words fly.
Palettes grow with faces shaded red.
Cider was next and followed by rum.
The traveler’s tales – all told in prose.
The wetter the lips the faster it flows.
He’s hated by most, loved by some.
That’s how a traveler’s life often goes.
The poet proud – a rather long fellow.
The traveler meek – a short poet by name.
So many ports traveled they all looked the same.
His heart pumped blue, the poet gay and mellow.
Opposite sides of a coin, no one is to blame.
“With little time to hone a craft –
with a draft from an open door.
To close then return no-more.
To open then evermore – the draft.
Spirits gone, gone the craft – nevermore.”
“What dribble do you speak my friend?”
The poet inquired in disgusted tone.
“The dribble I think when thirsty and alone.”
The traveler quipped with message to send.
“I’ll tell you another, that’s my own.”
“Silent words are never heard –
The voiceless poet stuttered.
Repeated babble muttered.
His rhymes always sputtered.
More mindless words would be absurd.
The air he breathed was glutted.
His helm so poorly ruddered,
his shirts all heavily buttered.
From his many toasts self-uttered.
His mind is so free and uncluttered.
His weaknesses many but unobserved.
Blinded to the Reaper’s shadow – deserved.
Soon the voiceless poet will be unheard.
Then blissful quiet on his paths wandered.
His silence welcome – forever heard.”
Drunken rabble roared with delight.
The poet withered belittled.
The traveler’s attention fizzled.
When laudanum’s sipped out of sight.
The poet escaped most grizzled.
Out of the dark into the night –
bellowing air; cold, wet and starless.
His poisoned lips know no finesse.
His state of mind out of time – not right.
The poet’s mind wanders aimless.
While the traveler tucked snugly in his bunk,
with help from many new joyous fan.
All loved the howls of this traveled wild-man.
His tales make perfect sense – drunk.
The favorite carried and a silent poet ran.
His boot heels clack on cobble slick.
The poet stumbles upward with achy head.
While his stallion slumbers atop golden bed.
If only to have aid from his gilt throat-ed stick.
This shadowy path he may be found dead.
The wind that is my fortune is slowly killing me.
This hill of heritage too high for me to climb,
with forceful push from the hands of time.
Drawing me back to a frigid sea –
my misery oh-so great – it is oh-so sublime.
Head tucked low, bottom up always slow.
Darkness wanes to purples then red.
Day is born, horrors of the night soon dead.
Hands and knees bloodied and bruised – falls of woe.
Alas the bodies of servants to guide to downy bed.
Winter behind, graven plans regress,
fevered sleep past, shadows of death dawdle.
Summer awaits, the poet’s lessons dwindle.
His magnum opus went off to press.
Journey’s soon to Main Street for praise to guzzle.
Surveying high atop his magnificent mount,
the poet exclaimed “behold this welcome image”
Deceived by the bustle – not he the homage.
But a tome by a worldly traveler, no doubt –
“In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage”
Contented with love,
content with life, tables turn
then battered with strife
I wait each year for the dandelion bloom
I sit by the window of my cold little room
Awaiting the blossom of sunny yellow delight
Escaping again from this long winter’s night
I ache for the sunshine and fluffy tops to blow
Grown up from the sidewalk where people don’t go
Like glass, shattered dreams
Can painstakingly be fixed
Though clarity lost
Colorless leaf crackle beneath sole-less feet.
The smell of death lingers sweet.
Bramble thick draws blood on paper skin,
digging more deeply the deeper within.
Then starlight fades to the darkness I fear,
moonlight shadows disappear.
Columns abound supporting endless night,
numbers multiply consuming the light.
Welcome dew hangs heavy in unseen air,
to drink deep I do not dare.
Outstretched hands replace teary useless eyes.
Senses heightened, alert of endless cries.
Vibrations of night; soft, loud, far and near,
distant from all, we all hold dear.
Wanting now only to curl-up and weep,
my soul is still for the sickle to reap.
Return to the path I lost yesterday,
blackness turns slowly to gray.
Long nights journey in the forest of hell,
surviving again, except for my shell.
Slopes more treacherous
when bodies start rolling down
Like poetry a
migraine reminds us of how
little bodies do
Murder is just when
innocent’s die defending
their killer’s gun rights.
The end of an era,
the start of something new.
Good or bad is just a guess,
we really have no clue
We relish in our hindsight,
twenty-twenty it may be.
Yet the future catches up,
too late for you and me.
Nuclear cars once pondered,
but a bomb blew those away.
Now we arm the masses,
and send them on their way.
Holes in children’s heads,
breeds forever night.
Darkness will consume,
Till we all see the light.
Silence bears no witness,
when shooting first to defend.
The truth’s now one-sided.
When will this era end?
Illness in the mind
Bodies to follow in kind
Pain’s easy to find
Madness I fear will be the death of me
Consumed by the visions I can’t see
The seconds tick then nevermore
Till striking back as before
Each a check of our resolve
Chipping away as hands revolve
Digging holes to make a mound
Stood atop but gained no ground
Vistas grown, views confined
Points made with pieces of mind
Scattered thought eludes the pen
The gates of hell burst open again
Blackness surrounds the flame within
Awaiting the battles to begin
The angel of darkness hangs overhead
Above the light that swallows her dead
Mountains whither, canyons fill
All in time, time will kill
Consumed in shadows of mortality
Death I fear is the madness in me
By day I write
and hide from night
By night I hide from myself
That’s when the demons appear
escaping their hidden shelf
They spill my ink
won’t let me think
I’m forced to quit too soon
Then I’m left with nothing to do
until the setting moon
The sun will rise
to blurry eyes
And off again I’ll venture
I’ll try to have a brighter day
But darkness remains unsure
I know not how this came to be
Or when the sun shall rise
Or how the glowing sunset
Disappeared before my eyes
The streets are full of evil
The dead roam the night
Whilst the darkest of the darkness
Survive till mornings light
With every passing cloud
Across the lunar face
I step into the shadows
Leaving not a trace
Yet tread I must
Touch is unfamiliar
Fearing those of kind
Where all are equal
When none’s to gain
We all are free
To share the pain
All paths uncertain
When never to be seen
All life is questioned
When living in the mean
Colors may return
To these blackened eyes
Head facing upwards
Awaiting bluer skies
And in the hour-glass
The sands of time do fall
Space above buries the low
Lest the destiny of all?
Rushing to an end
That is but a taper
Slipping into despair
To bleed on sandpaper
While living the dream
I woke with a scream, to find
My dream was a dream
The world and I on a different plane
Though destinations are the same
Ticket bought for the morning light
Wasting time till the evening flight
Runaways, both it and I
Grading shades of clear blue sky
Rocks may roll, some may fly
Most just buried when they die
Scoops will make forever night
Landing time’s now in sight
Running late, none’s to blame
The world and I on a different plane
When the dark of night grows darker by day
And the screams in your head won’t go away
When the sun comes out it burns your skin
Parched of voice sound’s trapped within
When the mind is blank, yet full of thought
Dreams of horrors my sleep is fraught
Depths I’ll fall until I’m caught
By the arms of demons, forever sought
Where shadows frolic on the wall
Till an open window hides them all
Breezes blow sucking breath
When eyes open stealing death
Some days I feel big, some quite small
Some days I feel like nothing at all
Some days high and some are low
Some days I don’t know where to go
Some days I go left to find it’s not right
Or think I’m right and circle all night
This ride I’m on just won’t quit
Strapped in a chair, obedient I’ll sit
When spinning fast I’m often amused
Till winding down and feeling used
Atop the wheel, enjoying the view
Seeing all when they can’t see you
Spectators surround everywhere I see
The invisible clown is how they see me
Then a dash for the gate – almost there!
Anxious for home, strapped safe in my chair