Occasional Chaos

Slipping into Greyness

The skies are greyer today
late-winter pigeon-like
dulling any ambition
I might have of venturing
from my hotel room.

Why had I not noticed
how sterile it feels,
the low sky seeping inside
to dampen the stillness,
choking the recycled air
denying its promise of refuge.

I stare at the pages of my book
that only recently had begun
to capture my imagination
now just strange collections of words
hammered together against their will
into meanings not intended for me.

Night arrives too slowly, and the bed,
that long-anticipated
respite from a cheerless day
cunningly becomes my cell,
newly-familiar demons
returning to a playground
that pills can't dissolve.

My attempts to twist time degrade
from a slowly fading wish –
a few more hours until daybreak,
just a chance at fitful slumber –
to the resignation that the dawn
might at least chase my torments
back to their otherworldly lairs.

Conquistadors and Nightingales

She loved him. 
She thought of him every evening 
as the nightingales – 
unattached and optimistic – 
warbled their love-laden song,
taking to dance in the woods
of her childhood dreams.

She saw his reflection in the waters
of the fairy tales
her mother would read to her,
drifting asleep swaddled in the comfort
of a familiar voice. 

He loved her. 
He loved the excitement he felt
when he watched her move, 
her curious smile hinting
at the intoxicating dangers of
new worlds to explore. 

She breathed life into his desires, 
fattened him with the willful
recklessness of ancient conquerors. 
Through her, he would rewrite
the broken-down dreams
of his father and grandfather before him
confident in his ability to bend
the generational arc. 

They couldn’t find love
for each other. 
Conquistadors and nightingales
move in different worlds
each colored by shared instincts – 
survival and ego, power and lust – 
happiness the unfortunate casualty
of only seeing through one set of eyes.

Immortal

The jagged edges of youthful desire
that tore at my heart in violent rifts
of despair and elation
agony and ecstasy
are now eroded by the heart-aches
and heart-joys of time
dulled to their lifeblood essence
smoothed by your earthly embrace.

I gave up my immortality to be with you.

Paris discord

From the ancient city-state of Syracuse to the Inuit lands of the North
rise the hollowed cries of tomorrow’s shackled children
the wrath of the gods an eternal damnation
for the sins of one who fell into power
through the Devil’s telling hand,
blinding many into fools who ignored their smallness
avarice and rape coursing through blackened veins.

Their anger becomes muted by the rains
burdens lessened through forgiveness born of innocence,
washed of original sin even as they inherit another.
With upturned faces they feel the stain run to mud
mixing with the earth, aging mother of mercy.

Tomorrow

The sea air tastes of love
sweetened by the evening sun
soft coral as it sighs towards bed.

We danced in the cool sand
barefoot
our lost-child laughter
carried to tomorrow
by the dream breeze
west to east
which I vow we will catch
before Death

The Course of Love

One day – I was already an adult – 
I slipped unknowingly into my love story
a chance smile disarming me
veiling my shadow of fear
long enough to jump.

“I’ve known you forever”
unspoken words sparking the dream
that began for me generations ago
a heritable memory from
the haphazard grace of natural selection.

Distractingly intense at the onset,
love stories, like love dreams, often end
way too early
dying as we grasp for what was
failing to imagine how the story might continue.

Where does our love go
as decades fade its youthful zeal?
A skill to be practiced
arousing memories of an unknowable future
that holds you near to me.

Contrast

Fortune's distraction
twisted into you
as you cried
in unison
into a feverish sleep.

The night river salted
morning's promise of pleasure
Fortune's apology
patiently swirling
at her mouth.

Listening

The dove tilted her head
and I paused to listen
not knowing she would tell me
her name was Aphrodite

A minute passed, or much more
and she cooed that beauty
would tumble me in love
separating me often
     from the bonds of time

The sunset by the bridge
the lyrics and the music
a spring garden daydream
the dark lure of shadowy eyes

I’m falling

But beauty is ephemeral
and my dove flitted away
mocking the pleading eyes
of yet another fool

The sun always sets
while the music fades away
the garden cedes
     to weeds, or winter
and those eyes –
     they look away so quickly

I’m hurt

Had I been listening
I’d know Aphrodite will return
tomorrow, next week
     next year
it’s her course of love

An achingly disorienting fall
settling into a soft cadence
waxing and waning
promising new wonders
     for those who listen.

Abandon

My dreams
have served me well
aimlessly smashed
     on the rocky shoreline
          before dawn
brilliantly realized
     only to fade
          with the evening sun
teaching me well
to love
     with innocent abandon
to cede gracefully
     where love has lost
to live in wonder
     at today
lest by inopportunity
     I suddenly wake.