Kingsley Station

Original Poetry | 11/25/2003 | January24th

[January24th]

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That's it. Now, get busy and write!

[January24th]

Sunset

Fiery culmination of Day's
anticipation,
Meeting Night on
reluctant terms,
Day surrenders
to his
sweet nocturne
but not without
fierce protestations.
Her attending maids fiercely blush
with knowing pleasure, and
usher her to his ebony chambers
strewing their retreat
with glittering gems and sighs

[Neuromancer]

what strange
precipice
looms
beyond
reach
in an untimely
snow

[Kay Syrah]

Studio cats

Cats curl parenthetically
around the urban legends
that cross over the steps
of the old store
that they guard like
sleep takes a dream
for granted knowing
that some good stories pass
the test of time if not truth.

Like churches that have kept
their faces clean
against all odds
and spires that reach
vaguely skyward
in Lanenstone
and attenuated
arches they bell the toll
recorded on sooty bricks
and in city blocks.

Ringed with smoke stacks
and blues bars,
the tones of tell
it to someone who cares
confessions consign
those lacking nine lives
to a category of dereliction
of morality, sins of….
indiscretion, that fall
with a human name
snow and ash upon

every edifice
that designs to
collar the
payday dollar.

But the best stories still
are found in the asides that
cats holler, in deep night
shades outside the photographer’s
studio that occupies
the old building now and
advertises,wedding portraits ,
hopeful smiles for posterity
which are not predictive
of prosperity or happiness
for that matter

but having traded glass plates
for plate glass fronts,
bread and butter for
the unsure pay of predictable
celebrations in artful albums
he plays the shades of cats
future, present and past
and salutes time, as really
the only merchant who
prospers tomorrow
over the threshold,
a photojournalist that has
no choice but to hope
to catch a moment
between ecstasy and angst
and make it memorable

But cats slide into the spaces
between the feral and the fed and
circle the abandoned and
the wed, with the protective
grace, that forgives and records
in sgrafitto the vows
exchanged marking what
is scratched in a lottery
ticket prayer and recording
in spray can artistry the graffiti
that blooms in spite of
the gleam and glow
of an important
plaque designating
the building marked
for historical registry.

between the idea and the form
is laid the beginning and the end
of all dreams, but the sinuous curl
of cats punctuates the story
that is wafered with
the reality of the scars
of distress
that manifest hopes

stranded in dust
upon the stoop of
this particular history

and cats remember
to carefully clean
the feet that they always
land upon, before entering, as if
memory is easily offered,
and forgetting is is dispatched
to doorstep absolution

[Kay Syrah]

we were stranded
in a square
where the musician
fingered an erhu
coaxing from two strings
that never meet haunting
vocalisings tho we didn't realise
the ambassadorial value of
the artful bowing

that teased the threads
to harmony while hoping for
the ping of a coin
tossed into the open
invitation to converge.

punctuated by the dinging
of the mercantile thunk
that seemed to be the reason
for all music , still

there was a delicacy we
understood in plein air
but closed to interpretation

we chose under it's influence
a direction, from the intersection
and remembered the tune that played
when destination wasn't critical and
and the choice of streets
that never meet
remained
underplayed

[Camachee]

culture current
torrents
inundate
the late
night monopoly
on what to see
think and drink
in the coolest
kool aid
conformity
to the lowest
common
denominator

[Camachee]

we were stranded
in a square
aware
of midnight
silence
squandered
on self-protection
and an akward
affectation
towards
disillusionment

[Camachee]

still silent gestures
lines amount to admissions
easels too far back

portraits in winter

[Camachee]

he knew
appeasement
as an understated
surrender
to daily chores
and the singular
snores
of separate
beds

[Camachee]

your desire
is the source
of my
sighs

[Camachee]

sensibility
is the logic
of a plurality
awaiting
a winner

[January24th]

natural seasons
outrun their borders
eclipsing the
solstice standards
rain in May
wind in July
late-seeming
Autumn breezes
snow in October
tumbling the necessary
fences that make
seasons
good neighbors

we expected
to leave galoshes
and slickers
by the door
another month more

untimely time
looms large
reminding us
we're not in charge

[Neuromancer]

cusp-like air
swirls
nature's
denouement

[Kay Syrah]

not all reasons
are seasonal
and break upon
the edges of
expected changes,

across the dew draped
diamond shattered grass,
the repeated retreat
of hope leaves traces
of footsteps that
remind us of
the path,
continued
forth and back.

[Camachee]

hearing
his coming
she prepared
her heart
with shadows
of fall

[Camachee]

i know
the nature
of your nights
plights
that don't end
in a dream

[Kay Syrah]

Yogurt is to milk..

Like it matters
could be conveyed
in the oat meal
congealing in the
bowl, its milky
iridescence revealing
the essence of the universe,
our band of stars
in which we head
infinitely away
from collision in
our own colloidal
suspension
without solution
or perspective
tho contained by
cultural textures
of earnest tinctures
and solar system
solipsisms,

we remain

without admission
an omission
to the particular
way we understand


the nature of decay
what a way to start
a day.

[January24th]

Man, I hate it when that happens! LOL!! It must be Monday...

[Kay Syrah]

halloween's harvest
sweet destruction incomplete
snickers for breakfast.

[Neuromancer]

imperfect moon
linger

share
these
days

[Kay Syrah]

lingering in
incompletely
committed arms,
waxing and waning

sweet seasons of doubt
glide to gibbous
promise and beyond