Sweet Murmur

Sweet Murmur

Your voice is just the murmur

of the wide windy moon

after the storm passes over,

love is just sweet murmur

grinding grit and gravel

as the tide rolls in too soon,

salt over sweet murmur

of the far windy moon

~January 2017

for Brendan at   real toads

Image: Moonrise, Beaumaris © Clarice Beckett

Spider Ascendant

Spider Ascendant

The Fat God preens

on his eight stick legs;

no one tells

how he got so fat.

No one cares

who he ate last night.

 

In his ceaseless spin,

his angry twit,

no one observes the

arachnid eye

fixed cold below on his

appetite's end.

Five hundred mirrors

twice turn back light

on his blinded flies

their wings bloody buzzing

through broken glass

their deathwish devotions.

~January 20, 2017

Image: Ghost Spider © Ceecore, deviantart   fair use

Song From The Underworld

Song From The Underworld

Below the mountain

still 

you were there.

Warm in the dark

my breasts flew out to you

like two ringed doves,

your lips were snowmelt

fading on poppy-fields

white to red, winter to

spring--

springing

soft soft

on my back,

your hands that saved the world

for last,

below the mountain

where the dead abide.

~January 2017

a belated 55 for the new old year..

Photo: © Aurore de Sousa  Fair use via internet

New Year's Fool

New Year's Fool

I am from yesterday,

but not.

My veil is the cloud of a dozen

dead species of moth,

my too-short skirts some dismal fabric

that only comes in black,

like bombazine.

My face is from nowhere,
but not.

My hands namaste,

my hair is a madwoman's coif,

a harlot's passport.

I stole my maryjanes from

a Harajuku girl

stoned in the Mission,

I have no eyes

but 

you feel me watching you.

Some say I'm a fool,

but 
I'm not.

 ~January 2017

 posted for     real toads

a very impromptu write for

Fireblossom Friday:Escape to The Past

Image: artist unknown, fair use.