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Saturday, December 13, 2014

Spread Eagled

Denitsa Stoycheva



Spread Eagled

I am the lost loser in this tangle of lunatic endeavor
I tread a milky way of mind lost amid spinning planets,
lashing language spilling sinister soliloquies–as toxic rain
falling ferocious from the spacecraft in which you hover 
cutting incessant circles-as day finally falls surrender to night 
you send even my angels to scurry I watch them rise in a 
flurry of anguish – I sob as I hear them weep with their gentle 
bewildered frustration – confused, at their inability to say or 
do anything to loosen the tortured tangle by which I am 
forever bound, hostage to your hurt, to your rage, to your 
vilification,all in the contorted, distorted, name of care
Yet, I shall continue, forever, to seek sense
even as I know that I am the lost loser
in this tangle of lunatic endeavor –
we call love

~





The Sunday Whirl


Saturday, December 6, 2014

The Cave of Sweet Oblivion

Petr Kratochvil


The Cave of Sweet Oblivion  


I lived in a cave wrapped regal in a velvet cape
peeking through a haze of love-light glowing.   
A few threw labels as rotten tomatoes splatting 
Deranged” they might call out – “Ridiculous 
they sneered my belief in light, love and peace –
But, these were but a few. Easily, dismissed nay-
sayers who would have me in chains bound by 
behavior, age and stage, constrained by convention.
Unknown to me, their drive to sustain, to feed, to 
enflame the anger at my perceived rebellion raged. 
They ran, wrote, raced. Dressed in damning despair, 
on tip-toes did they traipse sipping coffee, clinking 
glasses of sweet wine served with tidbits of soured 
 charges – As, I lived happily on, in my sweet cave 
of oblivion, wrapped in my cape – breathing easy 
in the sweet air of certain love–love already invisibly
bleeding oxygen. Peeking, now and then, through a
haze of glowing light – breathing deep and calm,
believing myself invincibly loved I ignored the odd 
strain of cacophonic voices drifting from the others …  
Until one misty day a child crept to the mouth of my
feather-bedded den and whispered that I wake and see –
See, that as I slept they had deboned the legs on which
I had always stood – Tall and strong, safe and invincible. 
I smiled sweetly at the child, unbelieving, not attempting
to rise. As proof, she knelt in all sweet innocence before me,  
and in her hand held a small long mirror. And, I looked.
In the soft golden glow I could see the filet of me – as she
with soft sad eyes retreated back to the others. A chill began
to insinuate itself through the filigreed crevices of my cave 
crushing the delicate pretty designs into jagged cracks. 
A cold hard wind blew and away flew the haze. In that glare 
of awakened light – I found – Myself. – Impotent, 
Unable to exchange nor feign my boundless belief in love 
for this new normal of shattered legs. Crippled, I lay alone 
listening to the howl of the wind as in the distance familiar 
voices cackled in cruel laughter – and I in a tumbled whirl 
of time found enough strength in trembling fingers to pull 
my cape around shoulders shaking in the winds of isolated 
indifference.
Waiting. 


Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Difficulties





Difficulties

There are shoes that come untied
As you are crossing the finish line
Tumbles and mishaps falls and spills
Jealousies, envies,cries of this is mine
There are word problems with letters
Or numbers jumbled whirling all about
There are sureties that with an eyebrow raised
Turn a stomach flip-flopped with sudden doubt
There are grim faced doctors opening doors
As you sit chilled with fright in a paper gown
There are those you thought you trusted who
Cavalierly- just as you need them – let you down
Knots that tie your mind, start your head to ache
Betrayals personal and streaming to the Universal  
Chests pressed with boulders until hearts begin to break
There are those that scamper by catastrophe without a single pause
Until they are effected personally and then take up screeching cause
From shoe laces tripping at an awkward time, to the dying of the planet
Difficulties on parade in all shapes, sizes, consequence and fame. Humans
rise, fall, overcome, ignore, pray, reframe, laugh, repress, stumble persevere
around, up, over, and through. The wise ones knowing it is all a simple game  


From womb to world





From womb to world

Rocketed from womb into the world
Eyes bright, deep and warm – seeing
already a future ribboning like satin
Unspooling into aquamarine frangipani
Air
Nursed and nuzzled, rolled, stood, walked
and ran on strong legs browned in the sun
Shining
Days tumbled into monthed years –
Joyous
Rocketed on two-wheelers and Jeeps
Picture books to legal tomes –
Eyes bright, deep and warm seeing
Sharing, loving, leaving, skipping
Across campuses and country
Writing his own name for himself
In a firm hand with a dimpled wink
Rocketed with steady sureness of step
Love whirling – 
eyes bright, seeing his child to come as did he
Rocketing 
Loved, held, and released unfettered by any  
Difficulties   
Soaring 




~

Saturday, November 29, 2014

Sweet Adelaide


Ken Kistler


Sweet Adelaide


Grandmother A. had always been a plain woman.
Her gaze steady, able and implacable even as that
young girl who stared back through  the scattered
memory of those who knew her then – Plain, solid
“not one to rattle anybody’s cage” Uncle Ed said, yet
in the back of the chapel there sat a white haired gent
bent, back aching on the hard, hard pew, and remembered 
in the midst of the droning secular service – remembered the
splendor of that harvest,  and Adelaide’s skin, luminous, satin
velvet under his trembling farm-roughed fingers – mystic skin
gathering each cloud of his storm troubled mind sweeping it all
away on the stiff breeze cooling them lying together in splendor
Oh that harvest, of the splendor long ago – as Adelaide blossomed 
in his heart as no other ever would or did. 
On the service droned to its end. 
Her grandchildren safe-grown, scurry-filed past –a parade of condescending ignorance – Smirking at the dozing bent gent, sated smile, mouth open, head flung back, arms opened.
And finally. Alone, in the emptied chapel he rose, walked to her coffin, held the edge of the smooth wood –  under hands gentled with age and bent in open reverence to his forever secret Adelaide 
He, un-named, unclaimed lover of his Adie. Keeper of their stupendous scattered harvest splendor. 
His luminous Adie, only  now rippling his title in the dancing dust of memory sunbeams. 
Her voice now, 
clear as then, 
releasing 
their secret 
smile
swirling
on the moving breeze, her hair lifting, tousled again as she lay on 
satin-smooth-as-her-skin 
back on that harvest plain – 
Sweet Adelaide chuckling now, at the young fertile farmer 
above her time and time again moving,  moving,  moving 
where her earnest husband could find neither time nor place
Finally -trilling on the moving breeze, clear as a songbird, his rightful title,
In their rightful time. 
Now.
Grandfather. 

~

The Sunday Whirl