a dverse poets prompt; image (c) Walter Smith (click to go to his website)

it’s like i’m stroking air

when the last muses sing faintly
a Christian hymn; their music sways
as waves swallow the trembling

it’s like i’m molding winds

when the whispering sprites (Ariel?)
concoct sorrowful weeping of magic
the ocean brings to mind reincarnation

it’s like i’m with you still

and even Caliban’s eyes have strained
his brick of a face to withhold the burning tear
as wise shamans look from beyond the bush

it’s never like your absence

like loss that pyre seemed eternally aflame,
but the only thing that lasts longer
than the heartbeat of attachment
is the ocean

and to it i won’t pray

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Photograph (c) Reena Walking, available at http://www.missingthemomgene.com/ (click to go to website)

In response to dVerse Poeticsprompt.

I’d nurture those expanses why not?
far across where the horizon smiles, too long
for it to be coincidence. Its cowardly
cold distance, its barrier; laugh at me will you?
Come closer! let’s settle this, man to man,
No?
Craven! I shout, outshout planes overhead
those that feel like pinpricks with their decibels,
like insatiable crows feasting on memories’, desires’ soft tissue.
To scare them away, I need wings. Stop boasting, share, you dumb bird!
Of course you won’t.
I’ll eat more fish, to garner strength.
If I pray to planes, one
will in its pity
enable my ascension. So I’m taught.
Then this meddling ocean
will be no more
than a sweet lake is
to a pelican’s flight on its strong fearless wings.

You – the enclosure of the universe
Why?
1.
the crossroads, the forking path, beyond which the clatter
of unknowns, the din of ignorance, the pursuit
of signposts, enveloped in the milks of fog;
one constant; the staff on which my heavy step depends
made of evergreen, undying oak.
2.
eternity, perfection, lightheadedness caused
by unstoppable motion, that always brings
a part of my soul to that sacred place and time
where trembling flesh turned to the word.
3.
the streambed, the smile
the source, illumination of my road
alongside it.
And the bridges emblazoned with
the pearls of your laughter.

in trembling crescendos, so it goes word by word

in multiplied silence

how impotent the pretense conjured by mind,

meagerly dwarfed by absence vast as heart

palpable as flesh

 

how stultified loss becomes, a parasite on routine

fed by devotion, fear, memory’s soft pain

for life had the potential to be

to be good, or not to be this futile

a trope, for sure, but clung to,

for lack of all regularity

we cling to rituals of grief and forgetting

and the frightful/fruitful thing is they work

The roar of griffins over translucent mountains

Shakes the air and quells the tearful contemplation

A study in parting, from a bird’s eye view

Is only a figurine and then another figurine

And the objectively measured space between them

The tears’ infinitesimal volume makes their burning

Unbearably on our skin, negligible as a contribution

To the air’s temperature.

 

Amidst the fanatical efficiency of leaving

The consecrating touch of the skin on your fingertips

On my fingertips, remains as unforgettable as a frame of reference

A reminder that they shall connect again, soon, again soon.

And the soul crunching agony of emptiness

As always best expressed in naïve lyrics of a pop song,

As always wrenching the mind, flogging tears.

But it will soon be over, won’t it? Won’t it?

I no longer had the power of truth in my eyesight

Flicking through canopies of fallen trees

Abiding by the color of the magazine, making amends

With the wind, howling soundlessly just outside

The memory of your warmth that attached to me

Strong as Jim Beam on the rocks

And floating

I no longer had the power of movement in my feet

Sucking on promises of shrinking spacetime

That you will inevitably want of me

Soon, so very soon

I can’t tell myself it can’t be done

I still hold the picture of you imprinted on my temporal lobe

And so I am enthralled

And so I leave you

As paralyzed leafs hush your gentle tap-tapping away

Away.

The floor is incomplete,

The air is incomplete,

The smile of a Cuban woman selling vegetables at the corner of the street is incomplete,

The thought is incomplete,

The riding to work is incomplete,

The coming back home is cruelly incomplete,

The feeling of mild satisfaction is incomplete,

The reassuring presence of common sense is incomplete,

The shopping list is incomplete,

The night is incomplete,

The sleep is incomplete,

The waking is incomplete,

The evening out, drinking is incomplete,

The handing in of assignments is incomplete,

The talking to friends is incomplete,

The lack of somebody watching Glee, Good Wife actually hurts,

The reading is incomplete,

The song is incomplete,

The frustration at general stupidity of people is incomplete,

The frustration at particular stupidity of oneself is incomplete,

The writing of poems in secret is incomplete,

The incipient measuring of ideas is incomplete,

Those tears are incomplete,

Perception is incomplete,

Reflection is incomplete,

The family is incomplete,

Life is incomplete,

Because you’re not here.

Come to me.