Pacification - 3WW - CXC (dread, grasp, pacify)

Pacify your sense of dread
with a trip within your mind
lost in peaceful solitude
your troubles left behind

Quench your thirst for freedom
with a dance of terse sensation
climb the walled crescendo
in unbridled exaltation

Grasp the feeding ring of fire
with hands of tempered steel
lose your thoughts of memory
and trust your instincts' feel

RIP RPF - 3WW - CLXXXVIII (escape, hum, vibrant )

Escape at last, my friend -
though beyond my reach
still within the very hum
of a life once in tune

The very presence of your absence
a companion to my mourning
lost in the gray of sadness
the vibrant colors of memory

Profoundly sad and truly lost
the loved ones walk the day
searching for the answers
far too difficult to say

To dream...
To find those yesterdays
on which to base tomorrow's
song

Sleep well, brother.

The Green Fairy's Dance - Sunday Scribblings #204 (Big Dreams)

A dance with the Green Fairy
the fabric of life recedes
pulled beneath the comfort
he gives into the dream

Awake into harshest light
reality as it seems
loss of Eden's springtime
the fairy's rage extreme

Swept into the ether
as the dust upon a shelf
hopes and dreams and tethered lust
big dreams price - your self

Fractal Matters - 3WW CLXXVIII (Generate Meager Tease)

Teasing out the questions
life's meager salvation
walk atop the fences
on to her temptation

Generate an interest
numb in acquiescence
struck by his insistence
she loses carnal innocence

Stories told of fallen
angels in the substrate
transcending time alone
crashing golden landscape

Eyes toward the heavens
heart of glass in shatters
splintered rose in holograms
lost in fractal matters

Swim the lost emotions
like salmon on the falls
the swelling of devotion
sent scrambling up the walls

Stolen Souls' Cries - Carry on Tuesday #41 (In the darkness, he touched her arm and said ...)

Don't search for his evil
in the dark of the night
but in the chill on your arm
in the broad day light

on the edge of perception
shadows move in time
with the pulse of the river
dancing on your mind

cradle the energy
of the first morning's light
tread softly on the entrails
of the sacrificed night

swallow the colors
of the stolen souls' cries
and dip into it's essence
as the sea still survives

Future on a Shelf - Carry On Tuesday #40 (Fear not for the future Weep not for the past)

Hold not your head
Weep not for the past
For it is not dead
Nor is it truly passed

Woven into the fabric
Of our future selves
The past - far less tragic
Than a future on a shelf

Vagabond Princess - Sunday Scribblings #201 (Message)

Waiting for the message to bring her back from exile
the vagabond princess was banished sans trial

Main street palace of cardboard and plastic
from trashcans and trolley are fashions ecstatic

Ballroom gown of raincoats and vinyl
lipstick applied crooked thick with a smile

Ignored by passersby in the cold of the night
our princess is frozen to the very thought of her plight

Eyes fixed wide with dream finally realized
compassionate message ends her earthly exile

The Romb - Carry on Tuesday #37 (A room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts.)

The room - stretched across time
adorned with the pictures of unstable mind

The thoughts - darkness of a folly,
full of horror and crime

The scent - of nature's defeat
and true beauty's ultimate rise

The worm - consumes with a kiss
plunging at last into the abyss

The walls - breathing with waves
seeming at first to insist

Temptation - lost in illusion
reality's soul thirsty gist

One True Way - Sunday Scribblings #199 (Yes)

Swallowing the energy that surrounds you
your senses fall away

Replaced by peaceful resignation
that Yes is the one true way

Trained on direction not destination
our sight's on the path today

Somewhere out on that horizon
the hours - they drift away

Strengthened by the power of acceptance
only the truth of the journey can say

Yes

Whisper Beneath the Willow - Carry On Tuesday #36 (Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be)

Grow old along with me
and I'll meet you in the garden
sharing the secrets of our lives
we'll whisper beneath the willow

Search the world with me
for mysteries of the ages
flowing and ebbing with tides
like ribbons across the meadow

Carry the love with me
its far too much for one
indulge our palettes with wine
for the best is yet to come

Crash Horizon - 3WW CLXXII (Jolt, Ribbon, Zeal)

With a jolt
silence shattered
juxtaposed
torn and tattered

Lost in sight
plain and simple
ribbons bleached
and fabric wrinkled

Drink the sound
of misplaced zeal
stoke the fire
and senses reel

Crash horizon
in dixie cup
ride the rainbow
thought interrupt

Common Solitude - Carry on Tuesday #33 (We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear)

The melancholy temptress
and sentimental fool
screaming downhill races
nevermind the rules

Solitude held in common
searching for a past
straight into the future
the jesters come in last

Alabaster intentions
along a compost path
leave a scent of misery
lingering like the past

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