With A Touch Of Rain

a head up in the clouds
could be painful these days;
crammed between
all those categorized, frozen smiles

I never imagined
clouds could run out of space —
but man makes it possible.

2525

filtered sunlight caresses
chalk hearts on mag(net)ic pavement
and i salute those rebel kids
for still knowing
how to play

there is a myth, clinging helplessly
to the bare branches of March
officially permitted
to drown in wifi waves –
stamped and notarized

life is in a hurry,
sporting business suits and clenched jaws
(get out of my way! no time, no TIME!!)
and i wonder
if there is a code in these fateful digits –
the true message:
2525.

Care

turn your back, playfully
and fumble
for your identity
in a lipstick-laden purse,
smiling butterflies upon
the ones who never care (to dare).

when Goldilocks hits the pavement
she will take the fall
in bright red stilettos,
fishnet stockings
and well-worn dignity.

would you dare
to care?

Perspective

9 Dali oil painting - Archaeological Reminiscence of Millet's Angelus

in the flapping lives of vulnerability
lies the secret to unwanted treasure.
forges belch mediocrity & shackled minds
hammer Gods to plated earth ~
seamlessly.

it is the twisted path of the ancient
we see crumbling at our feet;
and forth we go
to nominate oblivion
as our shepherd.

is that all there is?

____________________________________________________________
artwork: Salvador Dalí’s “Archeological Reminiscence of Millet’s Angelus”

Life 2.0

manicured nails chip
scratching society’s flawless surface
& thoughts turn rObOtiC
while we frantically count ourselves
through the days (1:35:40 until dusk).

we have to squint to see the sun
among exhaust fumes and pesticides,
neatly fold dreams into filing cabinets
& spasm home to the guttural sounds of
late afternoon traffic.

isn’t it time to
inhale the mud
and breathe roses
upon stainless steel?

Ghostdancers

Miyelo6b
– Miyelo 6, Viggo Mortensen

Tokša wanweglakin kte
Tokša wanweglakin kte
Nihun k’un he heye lo
Nihun k’un he heye lo

Later I shall see my own
Later I shall see my own
Your mother said it so
Your mother said it so

(Oglala Lakota Chant)

***

heartfire roots
grow beneath a crust of modern life
and struggle
not to be forgotten

what we don’t see
isn’t there
isn’t     there
i    s            n    o       t              t       h        e             r                  e
& we firmly grip the leash
on our minds’ journeys.

what we don’t see
isn’t there.
Isn’t there.

a blink,

is it there?

__________________________________________________________________
Claudia over at dVerse invites us to write about Fata Morganas and summer heat illusions for Poetics today. Grab a pen and join us at the bar!
photo credits: Viggo Mortensen

Reli(e)gion

knees scraped & bent
i cower
before “Thee” –
coins weigh my palms
for the sake of my soul;
submission equals holiness,
the Self is devil’s tool

& belief
gets trampled underfoot.

__________________________________________________________________
inspired by a piece i wrote earlier today – guess i’m not done with the subject yet.
(find it here if interested: Pay your religious fee… today!).