His Eyes


 

His Eyes

His hands trace every fold, wrinkle and crease remembering what was. Yet his dim eyes remember and smile at the wife of his youth is still there as she takes his hand and guides him along bustling sidewalks and across the busy streets.

Grays, Blues, and Greens now blurs. A well placed tap on his Bowler Hat. Extend my white cane. My arm in hers. And off we go into the future.

 

 

 

 

Featured

An Overgrown Pond


 

 

 

An OverGrown Pond

 

Where the Koi Jumped for Joy into the sky for the water comes from the sky then returns to the sea

Pistons, electrons, neutrons

 

 

 

 

 

By a Picnic Table caught up in sand

Beside a Piano wrapped around a tree

Where I had cracked an egg filled with red ants over his face

Where once I had tried two more times to plant myself on the portico of the place I had lived posthumously

Every day he would come to the drawing room dressed in a new wig and caftan ready to work on his latest illustrated sonata.

His goal ~~ The Chapel where the outline of an over grown cherub with upturned mustaches, a five o’clock shadow, cigar and swollen gonads graced the ceiling

 

In Her Long Flowing Caftan expectations were high.  Higher than ever before

As she crafted her Caftan Swung to and fro in the Breezes

Swirling & Twirling like a dance in Homage to the Muses and Goddesses of Ancient Times

Swaying Sometimes Billowing Out

Billowing Waving Flapping in Upturned Winds

Powered by gusts of frenetic kinetic energy her billowing Caftan swept over the town and villages spitting out flags, Semi-phores, and coded messages to family cemeteries

Leaving behind satisfied scripts which she added to her burgeoning collection

 

Sending Signals across the Mesa

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then the Joyful Koi began to play Ragtime 

They jumped up and struck the keys in sequence creating beautiful melodies

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Listen for My Name


 

 

Listen For My Name

 

If I had Listened for my Name I would have heard the Sweet Silent Saint Speaking & Calling of Destiny beyond my Brittle Brain.  I am a series of abandoned places and misplaced faces turning, churning learning.

If I had Listened for My Name I would have escaped the Family Plot and Indecent Mausoleum that keeps my bones on ice.  Dust would not have gathered in splotches and griefs within crevasses of spirit and soul.

If I had Listened For My Name my world would burst forth, setting free oceans of galaxies. Seas of synchronicity.

If I had Listened For My Name I would not have signed away my hopes and dreams into obligations and duties.

I would not be a lost one looking for a home.  Sequoias and sand bid me entrance. Forest and Green Hills bid me Welcome.

That voice though unintelligible yet distinct was getting louder and more insistent on being heard.

I a Scavenger of Blues  spread stardust seeds from journey seeking the Traveler.  An impenetrable Limbo foggy and heavy misty prior to a storm.  So difficult that staying afloat feels like drowning. My views are behind a steel cage.

The Storm arrives to clear the air.

Muddled Dreams and Visions receive clarification when passing through hurricanes and tornadoes.

For I am Most Awake When Dreaming.

 

Life Beyond, Behind and Through Green Cauls

 

Copious amounts of letters, alphabets, symbols and gibes fell to the floor.  Some fell into gestures others were barely held together by periods, adjectives, commas, semi-colons, verbs and apostrophes.  Weak chain links that were often smashed into derpish grins.

 

My Muse sprinkled the fallens with Holy Water and Anointing Oil keeping rigor mortis from settling in.  Here and There Muse Traveler plants and picks, prunes and shears. Preparing the landscape.

Mystic + Muse Join Forces with the Traveler Leading the Way Home.

My Name is planted deeply within foraging for nourishment.  Perpetuating eternal root systems

Once again I must Pray my Unconscious into Being.

 

This prose poem inspired by My Ghana SiStar and Sister-Friend  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia 

https://amoafowaa.com/2018/01/26/if-i-had-listened-to-maame-crazy-stanzas/

 

https://amoafowaa.com/2018/01/27/%E2%80%8Bwhat-you-dont-see/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Giles and Niles Poetry Brothel


 

 

Giles and Niles Poetry Brothel

 

Where the Aliens communicate with you via your headphones, headset or ear buds.  That’s not the heating system turning on that’s the spaceships from Mars and Venus landing on Earth.

Calm pebbles on a lonely beach.  The precursor to walking out a 10th Floor Window.

Rollicking Rivers have been testaments to many a debauchery.

A Vortex of Sex and Drudgery created by a fracture.  A fracture of faith, morals and betrayal.

Soon the curtain will drop on the Clown Prince of Gigolos

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The Evil Jester Coalition


 

 

The Evil Jester Coalition

 

Her Life consists of ramblings from One Psychosis to another

The Layout of the Caves leaves sounds greatly exaggerated

In the Caves I saw She who was without nose with bubs for fingers shoveling earth with scooped perdition.  Her looked into my questioning eyes spoke forth, “The Krocodyll ate my fingers and cut off me nose.  As she snorted, sniffed and shot up another dose. 

Frozen Dead stare out blankly from the casements as thick fog obscures, increasing the rift between reality and fantasy.  Embryos seemed to sprout from thin spaces of adjoining floor planks.

Figures on the Paddle-wheel encouraged us to sing and dance to pass the time.  Sparks flew out from street cars and trams attempting to ignite my swollen spirit.

The Grave is just a Bridge from Light to Light

We shall meet Midlands betwixt and beyond.  Her was an unknowing prisoner in that house for a long time. Returning to the home time and again.  It was a part of her distant past and daily present. The House was a gifted sanctuary to her brittle psyche. Within the burning hot coal city I was surrounded by icy cold rains, sleet and blizzards.




Oh for the Land of Fresh Cleaning Running Waters. Sunny Skies and Balmy Temperatures.  Where? Oh Where is My Paradise?  Alas Only in My Minds Eye.

Lost for Life ~~ Patterns for Mazes of No Escape |  Cyclic Wanderers

 

Murder on the Cusp of Entertainment

In his unspoken anger his white knuckles against her pure Ebony skin.  The Kill shot.  All part of their strange pale-skin Tribal customs. To choke the life out of wherever they landed. Leaving behind plundered Vesuvius. Merely witness to tragedy.  I closed my eyes and kept him moving. Further and further away. Hard Stop. Heart Stop.

 Enter into the House of Green Paper

MALICE IN WONDERLAND WITH HER HUSBAND KRAMPUS

 

To turn the earth into lands of shades.  Shadows walking to and fro yet never speaking to each other.  Sprinkles of birds. Anger within the codes.  These are the things that remain after Apostrophes.  Derailed trains careening into the wilderness powered by their own unique madness. Aztec lines leading to the Hinterlands.  Born wrong.

rELEASED fROM tHE uNDEWORLD………….

For I am Just a Glitch in the System.