Sunday, May 1, 2016

Incognito, Indistinct

Incognito, Indistinct

In the killing fine fabric
of inflorescent flame
we walk, we burn,
dwindling from kindling
to inglorious smut
alone in a dark
our dying lights up.
Murderers in red
boil a soup from the dead.
In our hollowed heads
honed hidden things move,
their inhalation our blood,
their exhale the air
where the fire fed.

~May 2016

posted for     real toads

Image: The Return of the Flame, 1943, Rene Magritte
Fair Use via



Friday, April 29, 2016

Rainbow Wrapper

Rainbow Wrapper

I'm just the torn wrapping
from a pre-packaged rainbow,
a rider in the sky's pocket,
mischance given breath.

I'm the flare of a spark
struck between strangers
burning alone
in the slums of the storm--

a pinwheel, a Catherine wheel,
a somersault of fires
not safe to play with,
not warm and not yours.

~April 2016

posted for      real toads

Challenge: Words Count

Image: Lichtkreise (Kosmischer Regenbogen) (Cosmic Rainbow), 1922, Otto Freundlich
Public domain via



Saturday, April 23, 2016

The Dark House

The Dark House

"Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, 
deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do;..."

As you like it
so it will be.
So we said in cadence each to each,
dark and deep our eyes' forsaken night,
smoky our sighed, incited, worn insights,
and yet nothing was; indeed
nothing could be,
for we were whips alone, and well
deserving of the darkest home.

Now the sixth age flips
its skeletal slippery pantomime,
the mirror's jest, the frankly fumbled lines;
never jealous enough
in honor or enough bold,
sans heart, sans mind, 
sans everything but role.
(Do you not know 
I was a woman?)

So I speak to myself in this room of the voided cheek,
as false as the vows made in wine I used to seek.

 “Men have died from time to time, 
and worms have eaten them, but not for love.” 

 ~April 2016

Posted for    real toads

Both quotes from As You Like It, by William Shakespeare, as well as several other lines extrapolated here, including the ones concerning the sixth age, the woman remark, and of course, the last lines.

Image: So Long As You Like It,  ©  Liz Huston via internet. No copyright infringement intended

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Thunder In Mourning

Thunder In Mourning

Thunder mumbled all night,
thunder subdued, a cello played
by a sobbing storm,
or the beat of a drum: an elephant's steps
on the following walk, trunk to tail through
the wrong end of the kaleidoscope
up the curved wall and
down down again toward the moving end.

As the stained-glass lights blind,
she shows me the way
to balance my bulk
up on a ball, on one oak-like foot,
small eyes sunk and kind
too old for my mind.

She's a thing born for trust
despite what we've seen
from killers and users,
pale abusers who'll never hold
the blowing rose that drops away
as they push close.
She knows
all our possum secrets,

our summer fades,
how we murder our minutes
to buy our day.
She sways, a grey
forest that grows wild and wide;
she blocks the dead light

that increases night.
She'll let my feet slide
down the dodger's paradigm
towards the planet that struggles
to be a star, to the music
womb-warm but
played from so far. She bends
down her great head

to let me ride, for going there
might take a fall, and all
that's left of our lives, drums in the rain,
footsteps patient--cello gone soft
thunder subdued,
thunder in mourning.

~April 2016

posted for    real toads

Challenge: Elephants

Images: Top: Warrior Mounted on  an Elephant Overpowering a Cello, 1983, Salvador Dali
Fair use via
Bottom: author and source unknown No copyright infringement intended.

Monday, April 18, 2016

A Turn At The Asylum

A Turn At The Asylum

I was looking for the
miracle office when I
walked through the unlocked door to see
no trace of a sign, just
Monica at the front desk offering a full
line of cosmetics, lipsticks in drawers
red pink and black,
each shade sheathed, chicly

From the walls gazed the founders
benevolent and plump, framed
in pince nez and patents,
spats and Van Dykes. No strait jackets here,
just the soft pavane smoothing
the sensitive system of Dr Tarr
and professional stars
and a ceiling of doctoral feathers.

And there I found you,
the last thing I expected,
thick and hot and immediately tangled
between my legs when the warder
walked in, unaware of course for his secret
success was a modest mind, 
and kind.

While the cashier was distracted, 
divvying up the day's
proceeds,(bales of hay and clockwork bears
and a chiaroscuro Tintoretto) we slipped like smoke
out to the veranda, covered safe 
in the polka dot patter of
St John Stockworth Sinclair, whose plans
were about to quite soon
reach surprisingly lush fruition.

You found us a dry corner
on the freshly hosed concrete
and blew up yellow as a daffodil
our rubber bed of air
and the love we made there
was enormous, a theatre of smiles
and soft screams, for the whole point
of the miracle office is that
everyone gets their own dreams.

 ~April 2016

 posted for   real toads

The Grounds Of The Asylum, 1889, Vincent Van Gogh
The Madhouse, (Detail) 1814, Francisco Goya
Public domain

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Time And The Reap

Time and The Reap

Time may dull away pain
that drives you mad
but time is slow

while madness will grow.
So long ago
in a nightingale's gown

I sang for you;
when I was a wren
I wove.

When I was a reed,
I bent for you
and all the while called it love.

When my breasts were the apples
on Yggdrasil
when my eyes were Lethe's mad run

when my arms and legs were
the loom of the Norns, you found a way
to use each one.

Time remakes me
a bird dying in snow,
a reed gone hollow

missed in the reap;
only my heart
is living yet.

Have you
a use for that 
before we sleep?

~April 2016

posted for    real toads

Yggdrasil:Scandinavian Mythology: the world tree-- an evergreen ash which the Norns water and where they sit weaving the fates of men.

Images: Freya, Das Rheingold,
The Fates on Brunnhilde's Rock,  by Arthur Rackham 
public domain via wikimedia commons