Monday, June 25, 2012

The scent of jasmine, silken,  wafts through
the now open window.
A montage of breeze and balm and mercy clears demons, cleans house.
       I hum their death song as they flee.
      It’s a pleasant tune
            and soon the whistle of the wind chimes in.
                                     Warmed, I am like granite
                                       in my resolve
to banish all that’s flawed.
       Not a scrap or scantling left of that devilish dust,
                settled too long, here, where I make my home.
                           Tonight, I’ll sleep, unafraid of sunset-
                                  In this made new domain, affirmations ample silence accusations.
                                          Standing on truth, I am trapped no longer.
                                                 I take refuge in a hiding place I always knew existed.

The Sunday Whirl

Sunday, June 17, 2012

You think you have me on a string
but I know your rank and file 
                         and honey, it’s cut.
      I don’t know
                     what’s trailing after now.

                                    I hear the procession and I know the progression and that temper flared in perfect timing.
Brewing, spilling hot, I’ve had my education and I’ve seen that no maturation, preparation can stop the culmination in one
                  like you.
                                                       Exposed, you can’t digest, you can’t refrain and frankly, renunciation became your
highest sacrifice.
Draft it now, how I know you do.  I get that, too. I’m not new.
     This prototype an imitation of what is real but the parallelism make me think there’s some higher order not of man.
                          at strike two, second up, I’m smiling, calling game within my head because I can trace this back
                           and see the signs, the plays.
                                                              You pursued – I should have probed, researched also, all the proofs.
                                                                                                              But I’m smarter each next time
                                                                                                                            and this but a minor crack, a surface cut 
and stitches
      aren’t required.
      At current, I’m getting better every day.
                      I’m not a victim and I’m unenlisting, the latch breaking with the dam of dander.
                                Add a dash of sophistication and I’ll take a sip but I’ve acquired
                                 a taste for truth and your brew smacks suspiciously of falsehood
                                  and perversion.
                                                 Spare me insincere apologies. Toast yourself and drink alone.
                                                Swirl it, sniff it and I have no doubt, that in my absence you’ll find a way
                                                                                to spin it.
Check your treasure chest of vanities and have that story in by noon.  Rocket it off for publication. 
Quick.  I’m signing off.