Scented Island Mystery - Carry on Tuesday #31

My hands...
open the curtains of your being
My eyes...
drink in the softness of your seeing

Storm casts shadows on your wall
crescendo builds as tremors fall

My head...
spins in island scented mystery
My heart...
aches in solitude's aimless destiny

Darkness warms with coming light
washes shadows from hazed sight

My hands...
close the curtains of our being

Fresh Cut Broom - 3WW ClXVII (Grave, Lithe, Offend)

And the litheness of her body
helps lift her to the heavens
transcends her earthly binding
as the grave of life offends

The scent of earthly rigor
hangs deep within her mind
and stretches past the flicker
of bonfires left behind

Stranded on sullen highway
with sunburst fired chalice
there's no place left to stray
she scorched the propped-up palace

While tracing stardust questions
the sisters cross the room
and stare at frozen memories
in the straw of fresh cut broom

Reality's Grasp - 3WW CLXIV (Obscene, Accident, Loyal)

Lucy lost her diamonds
as death rained from the sky
Honolulu Harlots
just goose stepping in time

As obscene is the night
searching hard for the sun
an accidental flight
finds solace on the run

Loyalty trumps anguish
the curtains fall away
sunshine blinds the seeing
the darkness lights the way

Transparent the porters
of yesterday's high mass
It seems she's losing grip
on sweet reality's grasp

Beneath Time's Current - 3WW CLXIII (Errant, Hanker, Murky)

Errant rambling - stumbling through a stagnant land
Hanker - suppressed - stranded exactly where you stand
Lost in confusion like the murky lust of yesterday
Skating through the heavens with flask of old pulteney

Where are the children - torn from sullen mystery
Swept beneath time's current - in a flash of ill travesty

Sour are the memories of a menacing decree
Crouch beneath the stars - staring down on me
Someone rolled a thunder across a leaden sky
Stripped to molten core I hold my head and cry

When were we children - in a life rewound and played
Straddled by the living times - now wishing we had stayed

Living Ink Pt 3 - The Hunger - Sunday Scribblings #180, #181 (Tattoo, Hungry)

The Gathering finds itself held within the grasp of an emerging horror - one in which they are each intimately involved.

Their feelings of self doubt, realization and guilt builds into a violent frenzy that involves self mutilation, gnawing and slashing of the once cherished pieces of body art. The spilling of blood and ink onto the park grounds, walk and defunct storefront combines with cries and screams of self induced torment to blur the lines of reality.

The red and brown ink - clearly a distribution of the blood of the victims that are buried in the basement of the old building.

The frenzied violence and incessant buzz suddenly stops. A cool wipe across the finished work pans the view back out to me in an artists chair.

A beautifully rendered image from my dreams upon my arm - the red and brown so vivid and alive.

The insanity of my pain induced vision still lurking beneath the surface - I head out the door into the Miami sun to show off my self expression.

As the faithful turned in heavy silence
a hunger built within their darkened souls
stretched across expanse of time and space
the ink begins to burn and itch as if to throw

each into a panic to quench a troubled thirst
the red and brown ink deep within their skin
urges the breathing mass to feed - but first
sink their teeth into the burning sense of sin

ink and blood run from mouth and outstretched arms
blood and ink - the same - yet different sources
scent of rotting flesh - beneath the parlor charms
sounds of harvest pain flood like drowning horses

as the burning stops - thoughts racing back to me
intense - the red - the brown - a vision - or a dream

Bar Haiku - 3WW CLV (Hanky, Thick, Drift)

Wine - drunk - mind adrift
the air thick with sound and blur
slowly hanky falls

Living Ink Pt 2 - The Gathering - Sunday Scribblings #180 (Tattoo)

Like a pilgrimage to a sacred spot - the customers of the long closed Living Ink begin to flock to the urban block within the once vibrant Miami setting. The faithful aren't entirely sure why they have made the trek to the closed shop.

Just to stand outside the shop where each had endured pain, excitement and elation over their self expression come to life - so to speak.

Soon the crowd must spill into the park across the street in order to accommodate the numbers of inked up visitors.

The absence of the spotlight has abled the growth of the feelings of unease, doubt and fear. In a mass, sudden awareness the entire crowd falls silent and turns toward the darkened corner shop across the street.

An acknowledgment of the violence that is somehow related to the success and fame of the small shop.

Lurking still - just below the surface - a glow of the horror seems to emanate from the very foundation.

The lauded parlor - closed so long ago
crowds build outside - steaming dusty glasses
former patrons, artists - a legend grows
old musty charm - though expanding malaise

Each devotee shares growing disbelief
colors capture feelings approaching dread
dichromatic thoughts of awe, desperate need
a swirl of unease tormenting their heads

Living Ink - pilgrimage - The Gathering
the park - draws - professional and homeless
embracing, supporting - searching, scattering
pieces displayed, hidden - ashamed, senseless

All at once the crowd turns - sudden silence
realization - seems living ink is violence

Living Ink - Sunday Scribblings #180 (Tattoo)

This - the first in a series of three - introduces the Living Ink Tattoo Parlor. Known for its exquisite design and especially its vibrant red and brown colors - customers come from all over the country to have their visions rendered by the famous artists.

Something insidious dwells just below the surface - but the celebrity spotlight outshines the nagging feeling of unease - for now...

Exquisite the colors, dimension, feel
lost in a moment that stretches what's real
forms that dance upon the sleeve
stories lost like dissipating dreams

The red and brown - so real - alive
ink in jars - in bags - in time
swept beneath the shop of art and pain
artist's palette - life's ink from vein

Flesh discarded - ink drained and mixed
too much red - older vintage - fixed
upstairs in guns - the ink transforms
breathing canvas into dancing forms

Living ink on colored limbs, back and chest
stalking the night's pulse - color obsessed

Time Out of Mind - 3WW CLIV (Engage, Disarm Mayhem)

Eyes engage the thoughts within her mind
she stands - stares - mind out of time
struggles to breathe as the mayhem within
wreaks a havoc - yet revealed on her skin

Disarmed by the weight, energy - the feel
someone cried softly as the floor began to reel
struck down in fire with more life left to give
lingering gently as a rainstorm's scent - she lives

Twisted, battered - torn - finally left to die
stumbles to her feet attempting at last to fly
swallowing cool, thin air - falling - sailing - alive
her mind soaring - at last feeling - her life out of time.

PKI - Sunday Scribblings #179 (Key)

symmetric, shared and complex
crossed, twisted and indexed
strength, advanced and subtle
stored, protected and troubled

revealing, initimate and true
exchanging, public and shrewd
imported, aliased and trusted
revoked, verified and busted

compromised, exposed and stolen
authenticated, engineered and golden
cracked, violated and ruined
scored, rated and truant

pubic, private and essential
sniffed, spoofed and elemental

Space Enhanced Tone - 3WW CLIII (Glare, Luster, Threat)

like the calm before a gathering storm
the threat of space surrounds the tone
and the singing luster of a fingered form
brings forth emotion like waves gone rogue

stepping down to the glaring, whispered love
setup for slaughter on an ambush trail
the crescendo building from far above
the seas are boiling - tearing the sail

smell of surrender - surrounding the play
strangling vision in a passionate rift
set against portraits of sensible fray
the ship is off course - silent, adrift

now bring back the journey to a feeling of home
with elegant phrasing of space enhanced tone

One More Day Away - Sunday Scribblings #178 (Poetry)

With pixilated chunks of yesterday
The old world begins to fall away
Some hold on as if to stay
the new world from the come-what-may

Syncopated rhythms pound
against the once forgotten ground
Memories mix in a river's sound
as the faithful gather round

Once vivid recollections fade
into storied tales of gathered haze
and the dawn of yet another day
chases it but one more day away

Harmonic Resolve - 3WW CLII (Noise, Fracture, Vanish)

Philly's ride like fabric of summer night noise
Snare snap fractures the steady rhythmic lull
Trane's tone - acoustic curtain summons joy
Miles floats above rich tapestry below

Expand the voyage to the red hot sun
Stress the time passage with sounding tension
Resolving suspense - looping back on one
Smoke filled room in New York City session

Rain soaked streets outside - lazy summer gig
Homeless shadows seek the cover of rain
Vanishing thoughts - a mind about to break
Miles' tone against the backdrop of their pain

Crawl back in - to witness the story told
Feel the wash of their harmonic resolve

While Still Lying in Bed - Sunday Scribblings #177 (Adult)

Swept out by the undercurrent of time
Rocks beneath - not so gentle reminder
Stopping to feel for the moment - he dies
Swirling credits of memory surrender

Adulthood the dream - afforded the young
Whose play's grown tired and the wind has strewn
Subject the tragedy - story that's done
Years beyond time all too often run through

Quick to the heart the war stories run past
Summon the hunger - insatiable thirst
All of the angels in line for the cask
Watch over abyss - expecting the worst

Holds hands to his head while counting the dead
Gone is the dream while still lying in bed

The Fire Shadows - One Single Impression #77 (Copse)

Figures dancing in front of the fire
the shadows fall and collide on the trees

the copse itself - now seems breathing
white cloaked figure in the darkness sees

sadness grows deep within us
the ancient grove in a dire way

old trees dance in the fire shadows
close your eyes and feel them sway

the leaves whisper a tale of anguish
quiet your thoughts - discern the sound

senses reeling with new found knowledge
seek the wisdom on forgotten ground

The Graceful Dead - 3WW CLI (Decay, Graceful, Riot)

oils on a backdrop screen
air but full of stem and seed

signal decay out on the lawn
too far to see - too far gone

stranded there yet swept away
dancing, twirling forget the day

someone screamed or laughed or cried
the graceful dead in riot rise

Autumn Leaves - 3WW CLI (decay, Graceful, Riot)

autumn leaves beyond the hill
graceful flight to decay and spill

a sensory riot into the night
anchored rapture in fight or flight

what once was strong has fallen down
the snow shall cover the frozen ground

and as the trickster owns the laugh
the time that's spent at quarter past

has sent the giant to sprawling knees
until spring arrives and thaws the leaves

A Common Disillusion - Carry on Tuesday #14 (When a journey begins badly it rarely ends well )

A journey's every step
a galaxy of awareness
defining the road forward
the past - proven braveness

imperfect is the path
to a hazy destination
evolving to an endgame
through varied calculation

pivoting on an instant
the journey changes pace
the stamina of the traveller
worn upon his face

parametric processing
lost in the confusion
controlling every outcome
a common disillusion

The Garden Stream - Sunday Scribblings #174 (Fantasy Dinner Party)

Lamb in a mango, curry sauce
outside on a garden stream

Last gone first and first gone last
birds of song to complete the dream

Guests - ideas, philosophies and thoughts
family, love and surrendered lost

Final guest - the summer breeze
late too come - but last to leave

Longing for one other presence
that - the arrival of the endless day

To surrender my seat to this very end
just to keep the garden stream this way

Of Transient Time - 3WW CL (Capture, Jinx, Qualify)

As the sun melts
into the bay
the captured blood
of the passing day

Quickly traverses
the water's surface
like veins in ripples
the current traces

Feelings of loss
jinx the sultan's swing
straddles the horizon
and the waters bring

Skeptical thoughts
of shadows and time
qualify fears
of transient time

The Day We Part - Sunday Scribblings #175 (New)

after a life of
only twenty two
what has celebrated once
is ordained anew

taken too soon
in a moment's sound
a heavenly birthday
replaces earthly bound

a nephew, a son, a brother,
a man
delivered to the heavens
fate's unfeeling hand

leaning on the stairwell
as I heard the news
my heart stopped beating
my blood running slow

how could he be gone
and the world still turn
world consuming drama
and my heart in a churn

can we have two birthdays
one of earth and one beyond
the day we enter - conception
the day we part - being born

The Singularity - Carry on Tuesday #12 (The story is in the journey, not the destination)

Our final destination is always the same

only our journeys remember our name

Digital journey, a breadcrumb fable
indexed, sampled, semantically stable

Swallowed by circuits, processed by silicon
Preserved by storage in a cloud of intercon

Transcribed, distributed, digital, immortal
Sorted by media, ubiquitously available

Our destination - where our carbon's replaced
by an avatar of texts, mails, blogs and trace

Our story is our journey, our destination

The Singularity.

The Sting - Sunday Scribblings #174

Reaching deep to best the last
pushing the limits clearly past
the feeling as close as a lover's whispering

feeling the rush of the moment's thrust
his mind to reel with self mistrust
he anticipates the coming sting

scream muffled in surrounding drink
the longed-for-best lost in a blink
at last he surfaces with reddened skin

lookers cringe - they smile, gasp
relieved to see him rise they clap

Dejected to the Core - 3WW CXLVIII (darkness, patronize, weaken)

At times the darkness
patronized her mind
her weakened judgement
tantalized by time

Mythic gods of anger
in darkness and in light
attempt the soar of angels
disguised in fancied flight

Come down the weakened staircase
inside chronicles of lore
Her mind is lost in darkness
and dejected to the core

Where in the World - Sunday Scribblings #173

Looking past the crackling fire
a boy stands tall and asks his father
Where in the world is my first time?

A man wrestles thoughts in storied battle
Torn from page and whiskey bottle
Where in the world is my next chance?

A woman cries in soft reply
to only daughter's questioned sigh
Where in the world is my last dance?

Blue eyed child in a grown-up way
looking for a closure to a tortured day
Where in the world is my blue sky?

All mankind it shrinks in fear
the cellophane's finally formed a tear
Where in the world did it go awry?