Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Writer's Block IV

Constructed, constricted,
The hand lies down unannounced at the side of the curb.
Where has Calliope left her bread crumbs for me?
It all connects upon this finely honed dot,
So light that a mountain would waver before it,
So small that the ocean forbade it,
So inexcusable that I cannot sleep;
Not anymore.

Obstructed, obliterated,
My mind takes in the surroundings in a long flaying motion,
Now undertaking a dodgy worthy task,
Now burying its outcomes deep in the upheavals of the past.
The foggy moors call out loud,
But if a man hangs to dry at the city,
Who will hear the call?

Petrified, pitied,
I sulk again at the now closer images that threaten to run down
Pillars of ribbons and scaffolds of grey,
Towering within my empty self,
Single, unique, lost.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Sun Beam

"What is the fragrance of a sun beam?"
The bee asked the dark spider.
"I do not know, small prey", he answered
"But it is most unnatural to me".

"What is the fragrance of a sun beam?"
Squeaked to herself the honey bird.
"I do not know, rose petal", she chirped
"But it is clear as clouds of rain".

"What is the fragrance of a sun beam?"
Asked the lover of her mate."
I do not know, beloved", he replied
"But it is all over in your hair".

"What is the fragrance of a sun beam?"
Asked the goddess of the stars.
"We do not know, our queen", they whispered
"But the deep wine flows freely in our midst".

"What is the fragrance of a sun beam?"
Asked himself the ailing poet.
"I do not know, bloody lips",he moaned
"But at last I see it in full bloom".