Cycle: Numberless Wonders

Inhaling more doom these days
Observing my life bleed away
Even the grass grow faster than I.
. .
 
We suspect that the breeze which sighs through the trees,
Halts for a moment to ponder with me.
 
 
Then drifts slower again
 
 
 
 
 
Ever far away to the land where no one has seen.

Phantom

In a castle greened with age
There roamed a phantom full of rage
Methought I heard him whisper horrid
Things that chilled the wallstones Black.
 
In this castle silent, lonely,
Crept one thing ‘live: ’tis me only.
The phantom touched my hand, my face,
And in the silence I…augh…uuhh…ACK!

Wishbone

We take the wishbone by each hand.
I wish (secretly) that you get the bigger half
So, when you get that bigger half,
did I get my wish too?
 
But I’m not supposed to get my wish
if I get the smaller half,
which is what I now hold.
So now I cannot tell what is true.

The Pink Doom

The small block: a tool
Resting upon my writing desk,
Crouches just until I err,
Then works to destroy my first attempt
 
But it is unlike a predator
Who fills her belly as she eats,
Nor is it akin to conquering hordes
Which plunder and fatten as they war,
No, this is a most strange thing indeed,
For it erases itself while it erases my words.
 
And so I must carefully craft my poem
So that I can complete it while I can
Before I run out of my tool
Before I’m stuck with what I’ve said.

Enormicide

Written in filth: a mighty disperse
The chance to slay all the men of old earth
They sing in blood: gurgling up the throat
Trying so hard to hit the highest note.
Black mind, dark heart of the beast.
What lover eats the flesh of this bloody feast?
 
Red Fitigence
Fitigence proclaimed his hatred of Red:
 
Why did red have to exist?
Were green and blue not enough?
Why did orange and yellow part the way,
For the hue of red to break through?
 
It’s everywhere, on everything
On blood, on flags and in the evening sky,
Some malignant god deigned it be so
To curse our eyes down here below
 
Red is a creature, a beast, a sin,
How could the world just let it in?
There is no virture, nor any delight
In permitting red to share the light
 
With myriad and sundry shades
Whose manifest majesty displayed
Will cause a poet to more than weep
and an artist to rejoice always
 
It isn’t good, it isn’t sane
To let this tinge wander on the way
But here it is, in your eyes mingling,
All brazen and boisterously lingering.
 
Fitigence Has a Face
Two eyes, two nostrils, but just one grin
It stares right back, I wonder what it has seen
‘tis odd that now there is a dimple on the chin
Haunted visage and ghastly sheen
 
Every person who ever was born
Every person has had a frame
A face he or she has worn
Upon which their expressions have lain
 
Then why is this particular arrangement of features
So uncanny, as if designed by some alien creature?
O yes, now I recall from where this face I have known,
I recognize the reflection of my own
 
Evil Fitigence
He is the man of thorns and fallen leaves,
Of wasted seeds and misplaced deeds,
But through all that chaos reeks
A fouler thing on stranger wings
Which comes between the night and day
And snatches goodness clean away
 
Fitigence is Eaten
Believing it so, the cannibal came,
Now less than a cup of Fitigence remains.
So call for the priest, gather the lime
He needs a grave and answer to this crime
 
Lower him down and down and down
Lower him down and down and down, into the ground
 
Fitigence in Hell
What are these things so strange?
And where is the snow?
Vast and whistling is the shore,
 
Where are all those things I know?
Have I passed through the final door?
 
A cascading face within the roiling rush,
Upon the whistling shore I sit,
 
A tendril merely yearns to thrust,
And quietly, I see a slit,
 
Glimming silence yawns, then din returns,
A sting without the boiled burn,
 
No lips to whistle, no face gaze up
 
I have passed through the final door
 
Fitigence Home Free
See that Red star gleam in the morning sky?
I’ve got one solar mile to go before I die.
 
I just put my cold jacket on,
I’m home free, and I’ve got nowhere left to run.
 
The horizon’s a color I’ve never seen before,
I’ve got an ache in my bones that I can’t leave ashore,
 
We may let the creek run its course, but we’ll dam up the sky,
we don’t want to see the sun no more.

Haiku 0
Haikus are quite short
They can’t tell us very much
This one is over
 

Haiku I
This haiku will fail
Because I will not follow
The correct structure.
 
Haiku II
This haiku
Is about nothing
So it ends.
 
Haiku III
Limericks are long
Haikus are a lot shorter
This poem ends now.
 
Haiku IV – For Mother
I cannot tell you
How much I love you, mother
So I shan’t tell you.
 
Haikus V
You will disagree
That this poem is a haiku
But it feels like one
somehow
 
A Moonbeam Cannot Flutter Thusly
The heart in wonder
Cannot fail to gasp at the
Grace of a falling
Buttefly.