Kingsley Station

Original Poetry | 11/25/2003 | January24th

[January24th]

tender shadows
soften the years
kindly carressing
the cares and smiles
that have left
the landscape furrowed
but verdant
with love

we shadow-play
at youth and passion
in the kindly night of dreams

[Soaring Feather]

Silhouetted figures
danced the romance
and I dreamed
the waltz with you
would not end
in separate tables
or wandering under
starlit skies alone

[Camachee]

caught
without a cart
in costco

:)

[Neuromancer]

Furrowed
but askew
tilled
hearts
renew

[January24th]

until
hearts renew
we
must
make do

[January24th]

A Holiday
no longer
Holy
still points
to miracles,
birth
and rebirth,
presents
and Presence.

A Holiday
spent
consumed
carted, crated
and tagged,
straightens its crown,
looks into
a dark stable
of dubious shelter
not understanding
but
not doubting
the brilliant
Mind that pointed
to the
unfathomable
Breath of Heaven--
soft as baby's sigh
hard as Truth
old as Hope...

...and kneels

[Soaring Feather]

Lovely piece J24. Thank You.

Wishing everyone a Holiday Day. :-)

[Kay Syrah]

Picking blackberries
spring water distilled sweetness
on sand slide barrens
bird barriered in brambles
seeds fall, renew from within.

Side sweep Autumn winds
comb back the dry grasses from
land's fevered forehead
memories rustle in the leaf drift
winter's cool palm strokes relief.

Yet ineffable
inactive wordless waiting,
the mantis stalk still
strikes the hummingbird in flight
So the flower drinkers sip.

Disputing doubting
the divinity students'
certainty soliloquies
fast falling uniquely snow
crescendos swell till white noise

Your Upanishads
translations falling spine split
to the floor marking
the place where questions failed you
and you surrendered to sleep.

In heroic tales
chivalry armors its quest
in metalled desire
breastplates form reliquaries
holding safe the unfound heart.

[January24th]

breastplates form reliquaries
holding safe the unfound heart.

Oh! Nice finish, indeed!
:)

[Neuromancer]

SRUDI

In the wordless wait

I found my heart

[Camachee]

imagine
your best work
tear jerk
reaction
colored
by care
and desire
graced
an otherwise
bare wall
in barstow

[Soaring Feather]

I was imagining you
here in my shadow
under a starless world
inhaling love
breathing you into existence.
You'll be my love in the end-
is desire exhaled?

[Camachee]

can symbolism
survive
the morphing
of metaphors

[Camachee]

what colors
would you paint
a lady
dappled
by the shade
of her own
success
and failure

[Kay Syrah]

Paint your lady
in the palette
of your preference
all likenesses
are projects
of singular
interpretation.

At the edges
where the
compliments
clash, realise
the planes
that are
lost in nuances
of neutrality
shaded by
exigencies
of experience
which signal
the open mind
and summon it
to a broad brush.

[Kay Syrah]

There are cloth bound books
of blank pages,
hardcovered inviting
the application
of words to important
paper in one's best
handwriting.

But I'm not sure
I don't prefer the
ephemera of electronic
impulses, posting malaprops
and misspellings in compelling
word urgency, unyielding
to backspace and delete
can one really unwrite
time?

And tho the winter storm
beside itself in white,
a foot stomping hissy
from the north takes
ownership eventually
of all that it covers
and conceals, yet memories
footprints stamp resurgeant
in the whiteout field,
you cannot unwrite
neither the foolish
nor the sublime.

Ever yet
winter storms'
petulant little sister,
spring sun shakes, its
golden ringlet clouds,
around its little rosebud
Shirley Temple pout,
and melts the crystal
cover and takes ownership
to the giant sucking sound
of the good ship lollipop
going down.
Fame, I want to live forever
but words will live between
some cover or other
and credit every line
to some mariner
whose compulsion
to grab the lapels
of the reluctant
wedding guest,
will annoy and irritate
enlighten and maybe elevate,
oh still the words
sail on.

[Soaring Feather]

The pages locked
without a key
lives lain down
in poetry
wounded hearts
wrapped in lavender
cooking with the fish
and riding horses
on dry plateaus
and songs of Autumn
a little prose
some wit some tears
splattered the page
now it's locked
some might rage

And hissy fits
did run amok
some poets
ran out of luck
some had a lucky
rabbits foot
in hand
poetry flows
on like the Rio Grande

[January24th]

I rage at
the cliff that you are
dashing my hopes
at your feet

you stand
while my mad fury
is surrounding you
pulling you
to me if I could
but you remain
unmoved
whispering sweet
wants and calls
of love drawing
me to you still
it’s no use
for these hundreds
of years you have stood
will stand and call out
to me

I will ebb and
flow for hundreds
more years
and never know
how to dwell
in peace
with you

[Soaring Feather]

I will ebb and
flow for hundreds
more years
and never know
how to dwell
in peace
with you

Lovely.

[January24th]

you
moderate love
like too much of it
is bad for you
steal a sweet morsel
or moment
it's all the same
too much will
ruin your appetite
spoil your plans

and i, one raised
in poverty will grab
every morsel offered
and yearn for more
just once to be sated
and free enough from
hunger to pay attention
to appetite
get choosy
or say no
mete out my passion
in delectable minutes
and say i'm
not really hungry
no i couldn't really
not another bite
this much is just fine...

but love is
not a hunger
to be curbed
called to heel
at your command
and be happy with
glorious morsels of you

so, pass the sugar, please...