The Peregrine


The Peregrine


Some things are Lost That You don’t Get Back. Thoughts are consumed by memories put on replay. An endless loop of hope filled Happier times.

One always grieves for what and Who is Lost.

Losing yourself is the most deeply felt. Rearranging atoms and molecules.


So many Thoughts went on in Her head as she sat by the empty bed. Sometimes at Night She would lay across his bed not so much for sleep as that had eluded her for weeks, but rather to absorb his scent which was slowly dissolving with passing time.

His bedroom now a divine sacred place where I shower altars with copious tearful offerings.

Fading like dissipated mist. And that bird. Not native to these parts. It first appeared two weeks before his transition. Warbling with all its heart it’s song brought a peace to my suffering child. Eased his pain. Interrupted nonstop seizures.

Comforting my Paradise child through his Souls transition from Time into eternity.

He once terrestrial in the blink of a moment became Celestial.

On the day of the funeral, a Gravesite service entire flocks of various avian species serenaded better than the most skillful singers.

The Groundskeeper


So Many Wrong Doors. Wrong Doors are open while Keys to the correct Doors are Lost.

The Repo man stole Her heart then Her Life. She was found among Laurel and cypress trees.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to Dust. In a daze waiting for someone to wake her up telling Her that it was all a bad Dream. As the Funeral Director guides her through the motions She realizes that this is her New reality.

She is an open wound seeping blood and pus.

Heaven Gains More Angels.

While all Left to She and Her are gravestones marked with Names, birth and death dates. Only Her and She know the story behind the dash.

Yet lately I’ve heard a familiar warbling. A persistent chirp. A persistent breeze turning the spokes of his old bike not ridden in months.

A Vague flash of Angel Wings caressing face engulfing my being with his presence.

Mommy it’s alright now. It’s alright.


I Can Only Imagine by Mercy Me



After Edward Hopper


AM I THE ONLY ONE?


Isolation

Dedicated to Zoey and Cecilia who both lost their disabled children to the Angels of Death.

Seed among Thorns


N – Utero — Seed Among Thorns

The Unborn


Milk leaking from too full breasts

Breasts Longing for a Babe gone before birth.

A cold stone in Place of a Son.

A shooting star dissolved into a million Universes. Icarus too close to the sun. Sunset before Sunrise.

Poisoned amniotic fluid your River Styx. Extremities bubbling in wastewater.

Rachel wept for Her children because they were naught.


He hexed my Womb. Did he? Who knows?

Didn’t want to be a D.V. Child.

My son will never be a Pinball Wizard.

Hijacked by the Spermazoid Svengali.

Charmer. Bon Vivant.

Your initial false luster did me in.

Your handsome face set with marks of confidence, flecks of intelligence liberally sprinkled with jutting arrogance. Your voice once mellow and melodious became a Raging Storm. Clacking. Cracking.

Uprooting thousand years old Forest. Paving it over with sharp jagged rocks that produced poisonous suffocating vines.

Enwombed embryo sensed futures forlorn.

Traded gray and grainy for silver and gold.

Seed among Thorns.


So twisted that if you Swallowed a nail you’d shit a corkscrew.

Ours was a household filled with Madness and Mayhem.

Anger and Pain.

Your Anger. My Pain.

*D.V. Domestic violence


Thoughts Become Beings


Things Become Beings


Don’t Get Involved with Others Lips.

For Thoughts Become Beings.


Beings Who become small gods. Small gods whispering idolatry.

Beings Who take up residence within your mind. Illegally. Occupying your Brain. Then when you least expect it they Leap into predictions, projections predispositions and predilections.


Dressed up Fancy yet out of Place. Spaceship aliens conducting probes inside dark sweaty caverns. Pulling every stalagmite and stalagtite out of orbit.


Rearranging vines and moss. The vines settle spreading horizontally while the moss climbs entwined round thinly dombed cranium rooves.


She keeps going missing. Never knowing where She’s been.


At the Age of Ruin. In between desecration and Destruction.

She was called Ladyfingers for not partaking of wine or grace nor jute or hemp.

Was it Her Stiletto High heels or snuggly fitting Red dress who emphasized hills and valleys?

Molten Lava Peaks and mountains. Liquid Ashes sifted mining for Gold.


Soul shattered. Ashes Scattered in Paradise Valley of the Queens.


.


Bearing Gifts of Silence


Bearing Gifts of Silence


The Lonely Carrier muffles his packages of grief, sorrow, pain, and despair in Passages of Lullaby ruminations.

Lining them up by the bed ready for delivery.


We share speckled eye Language so discreet outsiders cannot detect our kaleidoscopic prism of splashes and flashes exchanged within our voluminous Silhouettes.

Sometimes Sea spray. Other times Waterfalls.

Often the Ones who Shine Brightest are easily broken.

A Nod. A smile. A hand held comforter. A barely there gesture. We are Luminous Lunar who open not our Lips. Only our One entwined Ribbon Soul. We Dream of Gossamer Days and Pastel Nights.

It’s a Long Walk Home My friend. A Long walk home. But the pier is not far away.

Shorter now as We make the Journey.

For we have known thorny biers that draw blood feeding majestic Trees for future generations.


Ferryman awaits us at the piers edge for the Sweet Home going Voyage

Traversing Sands of Time. Docking our Ships in Tranquility.


The Chalet ~~ Life Within the Colony


 

 

The Chalet ~~ Life Within the Colony

 

Lord Cantaloupe The Cat with Rabbit Ears    

 

One of them did it. But even now in the afterlife I still can’t remember which one?

Torso skin bubbled up bursting onto rocky pebble strewn shores as though seeking sunlight for divination or a more expansive tan on already sepia toned flesh.  Damaged dermis. Damaged dermis laid out like a carpet awaiting eager picnickers.

The creek was slimy with adipose tissue for a long while.

Yet my magenta cloche hat still fit prettily upon my severed head.

Watertight you might say.

Pieces of me here and there.  The police investigators only found my head, arms and legs.  My torso is yet to be located.  Someone please gather me up and put me back together again.  I be a modern day Humpty Dumpty. 

Always bring a gift or gifts when you visit a graveyard.  After all you are a merely a guest in our necropolis.

Shangri La 2.0

 

We got outside passes for good behavior so I don’t understand envy or jealousy?  In the midst of the Island peace shall reign forever.

 

https://youtu.be/8B1oIXGX0Io

Then again maybe envy and jealousy are just the tip of the iceberg.  The Chalet took relative strangers forcing them to become family if not friends.

Puzzlement?

 

The Colonies, The Freaks and The Frauds

 

But there were hierarchies within the colonies. A Caste system of drones, worker bees, Queens, Kings and their lackeys.  Lord Ashybottom who was always in desperate need of Lotion or creams.  Better yet a nightgown and pajamas that would successfully cover his bulging protuberances.

 

In The Day Room/Living Room/Rec Center

 

The Chalet seemed as old as the hills and mountains off in the distant horizon.  I was sent here so often that I thought of the Chalet as more of my real home than the one I was born in.

It still had an operational Cast Iron potbelly stove. Big Mama would load send one of us out in the wee hours of the morning to gather kindling wood.  On the top we would sometimes heat up small meals or use it to heat the big day-room especially when the power went out which could be quite often depending on the fluctuations of weather.

Sometimes we would get visits from woodcutters or Timber-jacks who would bring us fragrant woods such as ash, cedar, cherry, pine and even some white or red oak wood.  

My favorite was cedar wood which I found to be quite therapeutic.  Cathartic for my fleshy temple as wisps of aromatic smoke weave in and around my naked body.

 

Lord Cantaloupe The Rabbit Eared Cat

 

Those who have heard Lord Cantaloupe say the Cat has a sound that is a cross between a hissing snarl and an electric guitar.

 

Lord Dustbin. Dancing with Dunces.   One day staff at the Chalet challenged the residents to draw the dreaded Cat with Rabbit ears many townspeople called Lord Cantaloupe.  However once drawn it leapt off the page and ate several guests.  Banishing them to Cantaloop Isle forever or until their debt was paid in full.

https://youtu.be/GHhD4PD75zY

 

 

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TO BE CONTINUED…………………..