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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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Nomadic Dreams and Discourses


 

 

Giles and Niles Take On The Town

 

What is it to Occupy a Body that is not Your Own?

 

Oily rags on Fire

 

In My past life I must have been a suppressed Pyromaniac for whenever I smell smoke or see sparks and flames I get horny. My only desire is to merge with the intense inferno of whatever nearby flesh.

 

Fragments of explosives were distributed like Holy Relics

Monocle smeared with rancid body fat

The smell of putrid body odor pushed Convulsions up and out of my Center quickly bringing me to the surface of blessed relief.  Flotsam and Jetsam of  Orbiting lives coming together then separating

During his ramblings around the canvass stopping as he spied me. His eyes dissecting and classifying me as a new species of insect or bird

 

No nod of the head but his eyes moved up and down my person as though my body was an ancient scroll or flag being unfurled. We riff and reverberate off each others bones.  Licks and Riffs all night long.  Conviviality shared.  Towels and Cocktails all around.

 

No Galumphing around.  He had pride in his stride.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Incendiary Guest House


 

 

Incendiary Guest House

 

Splinter Stories from the Hardware Store

 

Every time I left the Boarding House to explore the town outskirts my fellow lodgers gave me looks of lit torches ready to set me afire first change they got.  Malevolent Bleak-stone Villagers Willing me to return with Blazing Fury.  Her was an abandoned Bohemian kept on a short leash. Apparitions wandered about seeking solace with the solitude.  Slaying dragons only they could see.

With the Ascending Sun ushering in Daylight we are bound by the Eternal Truths of human nature not easily displaced or dispersed by culture, religion or tradition.  For the heart, emotions and feelings over rule dogma, doctrine, regulations and rules.  Skies willfully approached us beckoning forth our path.

 

 

 

 

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. Babies manifested like flies on dead bodies. Despite dusty streets kicking up sand and sawdust, shaky hovels ready to collapse if the occupants sneezed too hard the Town was Vibrant and Overwhelming. Attacking all five senses encompassing the wearer in pure pleasure sensory of overload. Each individual sense fighting for its turn to experience Village Succulent delights. The inhabitants levitated elevated on unseen puppet strings guided herky jerky marionette Punch & Judy Dance moves.  The church that sprang up in the very spot where a journalist was blown to bits not many years ago. His blood and entrails mixed in with adobe mortar.

 

 

This small city was like a Grand Bordello in tastes, textures and sounds all reverberating off each other.  Walking the streets was discovering  a series of abandoned unlocked room that had been sealed for 200 years. Push aside the cobwebs and dust to find hidden personal and historic treasures. Interiors frozen in time still waiting for the original owners return.  Invisible inhabitants ~~ Ambassadors to times long past.

Merlin snapped his fingers, wiggled his nose, clicked his heels together and waved a magic wand transporting us to a city ideal in imagination.

 

 

Stepping from the heady aroma of fragrance filled perfumed streets visitors were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us a surrealist Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.

 

He waited an lifetime for his passion which never came.  The poorly dressed country boy from the backwoods was now an elegantly attired Metro-sexual, fop, a dandy of no substance.  He knew the price of everything but the value of nothing.

As he walked out from the restaurant where we had all dined his body shivered and shook in the 90 degree heat.  Such quaking was a premonition of times to come.

Not my type. Not my type at all she thought at first glance. He was tall, thin with curly hair wearing a handlebar mustache and mutton chop sideburns that had gone out of style ages ago.  But he proved to be a sorcerer, wizard and warlock drawing her gently into his web.  He spoke images, pictures and portraits weaving together words that appeared onscreen before your eyes bringing you places you only envisioned in your dreams.  He said I was a Rosebud of Great Elegance and I bloomed before his eyes. 

He was tender. Oh so tender. Like slow cooked meat falling off the bone.  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, said my mind.  Fall inside his soul said my Heart.  Fused into one.  From this Fusion came a girl child wild and free willed.  So much like her Father.

 

 

 

He had not a penny, peso nor centavo to his pocket and I am not one to live solely on air and dreams. His claim to fame was the largesse of his friends.  Such generosities soon ran out as his artistic abilities ceased to translate into food, clothing, baby food, diapers or rent.  Our lives resembled Cubist paintings populated by beings with both eyes on one side of their heads. 

I had to become a She-Wolf protecting my lone cub. Zasu!  Zasu My Love!  I could hear his cries as he ran alongside the train. But I neither looked or responded for to have met his gaze would have melted my resolve.

Even long after I left the bond was still there. So strong. Unbreakable. What is joined together in spirit cannot be thrust apart by circumstance or physical distance. Later his best books written in the depths of poverty were celebrated and honored long after his infirmities prevented him from accepting previously designated awards.  Undiscovered he had worn his books like a Dunce Cap.

Books once frustrated and flustered now burst forth bursting with confidence and pride.  Posh parties, syrupy words and embarrassing praises sprung up out of nowhere. Famine had turned Feast. Gentrification aliens spouted slick words of little understanding for experiences  only glimpsed from behind gilded windows, Red doors with brass knockers leading to golden paved streets.  Claiming a world known best to their maids, nannies, butlers, doormen and house servants.  Those who live in mansions and estates know nothing of tin roofed shacks and shanties bereft of indoor plumbing or expected amenities.  Then you know that it wasn’t rain that hit you but a flock of birds resting on the pole lines above your head.    .  

 

Figures on the Paddle-wheel encouraged us to sing and dance to pass the time.  Sparks of madness couple with insanity flew out from street cars and trams attempting to ignite my swollen spirit. Broken down Market Boats moored in temporary docks became Non-Stop parties until parts could be found to continue journey crossing.  Such a trip morphed from a Vacation into a Vocation.

One event can easily split history in two: Before and After.  Narrated stories like Jig Saw Puzzle pieces come together from different perspectives as though looking at the same event from various angles and distances.  Yours could be a date stuck in history like the Ides of March, Armistice Day, Dec 7th or 9/11.  The story and the people are One.  Always.  Revolutions, Revolutionaries eventually become the Establishment Status Quo.  There’s that flock of birds again. Blessing all those who sit below them.

Her was an unknowing prisoner in that house for a long time.  Her mind a thicket of brambles and nettles. Stinging with cunning hooks and sharps.

Her ~~ 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, pounding sleet and frequent blizzards.