D U E

I fear I forget that  the frail,

nearly unable, but

when from a whisper of will,…

when they muster an incalculable

measure of Reach

to straighten, and lean up

for what’s due

That’s a lot to wait for

,

The  freshest  thing in the clearing

by the pond’s sunk boat,

near a nest, There’s this ringing

drop, I thought,   just now  dotting

one leaf, left,  just new

by the dew

That’s what I wait for

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big thanx for use of the luscious image to

http://charlotte-moon.deviantart.com/gallery/

Ending An End Chapter

 

 

 

 

 

If there would be woods where

Where  in a light clearing  inside

One could hear a pen drop  symphony

I’d see to it  I’d go back to it

I’d go back to a lower

Low key.

.

Sure, I can, and her, end an end chapter here

Here where sugarcane flourishes

Where swamp orchid garnishes

What you see

(Or maybe  maples run sweeter for her and me)

.

He’d hoped they’d elope to  low profile

In fact, go back to a lower

Low profile.

 

Tentative

 

It’s a wild shame that  the same child

That’s able to verbalize,

That  can  say

“Here today,

Gone tomorrow”

Is  so  fresh,

She shouldn’t.

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.                     No apologies to William Blake (& the Eternals) & all those tender, tentative  songs of innocence

 

 

Firedance

 

 

“A man can bare himself before others only out of a particular kind of love.

A love which acknowledges, as it were,

that we are all wicked children”

— Ludwig  Wittgenstein

‘

‘

Savagely,

I can dance around a fire.

If the spirits take notice,

If they’re drawn by this sight,

As  we   might  be

lured by the light

of dead stars, already,

If the spirits take notice of

Me at the blaze

My body and face,

(Not at all faking

What I choose  to let loose)

Shiny, and shaking  away my disease,

Let said spirits kindly

sign off on release.

 

Eaglets (Just Past Barricades)

 

 

 

 

When my time’s up,

I bet, When it’s time to settle up,

&  I’m front & back  up against the barricade,

I bet, I dare  to gawk and glare

Past the barricade.

.

I’ll scarcely be scared

Or  ever

The least bit biblically

Humbled by heaven.

.

I would

I could not  certainly see

The  foals  and fawns there,

Pups,  piglets,

&  All our infants.

Eaglets  soar  there

.

uncharacteristically,

I would not mind waiting.

still

My Own Parade

 

 

 

 

Walking, mostly in clockwork close meter,

Warmer ghosts  from my former  features;

All the roles, All the resume’,

Falling in line,  just the crew to rescue me.

Faded as sad old soldiers,

Vain fantasies say old glories.

Again, always, They had  heaved it all in a chest.

Again, always, they had heaved in their chest

& took it to heart.

.

I’ll call it for you  my own VFW

hall. I have my own tall tales to tell,

We’ll share lies, & libations.

I’ll wear my  mightier  pen.

I’ll share  sham wisdom  wide open.

But first, false memories in verse.

& what’s worst,  I’ll con, & confide  open.

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“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”

—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man”

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“Every hero becomes  a bore, at last.”  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

 

HER SHADOWS

 

 

 

from “The Seventh Victim”

in honor of the (bad)Dreamland of Val Lewton who blocked out such fear-laden imagery in his Noir

(OH  Chiaroscuro!) & also succeeded. I think, in blocking out that golden hour that filmakers look for,near dusk,

when the light is just right to clearly convince us all, on film  “There’s Beauty, There’s Good, There’s Hope.”

.

.

.                                            HER  SHADOWS

When the time is right

The camera Artist  blocks out,

Frames, focuses, re crops,

To go  on his very own shadow chocked shot

Oh, he shapes the shadows for

Her, a  ruined running fear-filled fatale

who can only be, somehow logically, lured  into her shadows

(within an illogical hidden zoo)

Where at least one beast pursues her

fast footsteps,furiously echo just farther back in the dark

synchopated chasesteps/ high heels on one end of wet streets, & pursuit

.

She must be drawn to

She must be lured to

She must fold into

Saving Grace shadows

 

Another Throwaway Film Review

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

what if

the differences

“menacing”  moonglare shadows;

stirred by high winds,

branches & loud leaves,

turn maniacal, turn  magical.

What if the differences  they made on

some moods some might have

early after just waking,

What if the difference they made was

benefitting  and lightened

awakening moods

like “I walked With A Zombie”  does.

 

 

Sounds of the night

“Here Comes The Night” – Van Morrison

The Hawkline Monster

Do you ever listen to the sounds of the night? I do. It speaks to me like the daytime never will. Not that the daytime cannot speak; I merely do not understand enough of its language.

As a child, I feared the night noises. Of course, that’s only to be expected. After all, a great many of them ten to be unsettling to an already-frightened ear.

All those clinks and clatters, those shatterings and chimings. Just where could they be coming from? And just what could be causing them?

Is there a stranger in the house, or a living shadow stealings its way stealthily along the walls? Perhaps something even worse. You always have to wonder to yourself whether it means any harm, and if so, why does it never just approach you and get it over with?

The world is not the same at night. It moves differently, it…

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Director

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Before  I can

Finally rest in peace

I hope  I can

Film  my  masterpiece

Hope I’m around

To get down  One P.O.V.

Though  honestly

Once embroiled in the dour

Toil & task  I’d more

Likely  less honestly…

I’d allude to  motion pictures’

Laws of illusion, facts mixed with fictions

And when signing off very late

Off to their too soft waiting cinema seats

(“Out there in the dark”)

I’d tout   toujour perdrix

French for “Too much of a good thing”, Oui?

As  the last resolve.

I doubt I’d  frame it all

In the ole  fade out

I’d bet  I’d settle for

A  last  dissolve.