Contenders

Flew atop cloaked mountain peak,

Ozone-succoured breath,

Weighted wings, view too steep,

Headlong, certain death.

Rendezvous with eagle there,

Chastised love forbids,

Stumbled step on heaven’s stair,

Inhuman sought rebirth.

Feathered fall, angel trips,

Teardrops form as ice,

Canyon echoes empty lips,

Heights to precipice.

All for naught, a chorus cried,

Relinquished for one kiss,

Fallen wings, to hell descends,

Temptation’s dark abyss.

Eagle soars from vantage point,

Dives with all surrender,

Angelic thus to human anoint,

Sinless, soul contenders.

Gondoliers of Light

surreal pic 1

Navigated clouds, we did,

Packed for journey’s end,

Gondolier’d beams’ passages

Through gate of soul’s best friend.

Rode on waves of denser mass,

Cast shadows far below,

Soared to heights of ecstasy,

Paid dues for Peter’s show.

Lived the light, drank in its worth,

Streamed it through the night,

Believed in dawn, its heraldry,

Basked in glory bright.

Travelled far in torpor’s wake,

Languid in our bliss,

Transcended life in heaven’s arms,

Partook of its warm kiss.

Image courtesy of sattva / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Catching Grace

If you can close your eyes

and catch grace

in the image of a face

ever or never seen,

inhale tenderness

fragrant with soft murmurings,

let their whispers drift

through internal alleyways,

reaching and searching

inner outerlimits,

breathing ever more deeply,

for one precious moment

infusing all 

– not one drop to be lost –

you have channelled love,

paused

on the threshold

of heaven,

looked into a soul

and known.

We Became

You

saturated me,

poured scented unguents on oldest wounds,

rotated my mind

with fingertips

tracing

temples’ ragged edges,

breathing calm into my hair

from behind

where I could not see 

the belonging in your eyes

but felt it flow,

airborne and tactile,

as arms around my whole.


Your

healing 

wrapped round my relief,

touching

deep,

reiki

to soul’s silent

pain.


You

fed my thirst,

quenched my need for soothed release,

old child to new woman born, 

fast-forwarded time by touch and breath

and whisper’d nothings

unspoken.


Your

being

became as mine,

tendered lips

proferring union,

chosen in one single, breathless kiss

to flame a glowing taper.


You

became

me

as I flowed

into you.


You

left on a breath

with part of me,

two divided

but one.

We became.

Rebuilding Bridges

Our realities were where they lived. They had always lived among us. Mingling and breeding, filtering the external ugliness over millenia, shape-shifting within families, extending their reach and influence, feeding their appetite for souls. We bled spiritual plasma to these psychic vampires; the Trolls piercing, sucking us almost dry and moving on to greener pastures while burning our bridges between the possible and the proscribed. Sometimes the medication helped, blurred the edges of the fairy tale we lived. Sometimes nothing helped. Spent souls huddled in silence awaiting the Banshee, keening their need to end the days, pleading for the stake that would ease their pain and transformation. Some bridges remained. We began the Rebuild.

A Schoolboy’s Sins

Obsidian eyes

strip colour from his whipped soul,

volcanic centre

pulsing,

pushing,

thrusting

to tensioned skin and beyond.

His haloed aura

shooting sulphorous, searing flares,

purpled haze of rage, a scarlet maze,

nothing muted in violent

whippet thin lips

twsting, ‘fuck you’s’, to all,

his sundry, motley enemy

of stunned football laughter and giggling girls.

Absent abundant charm,

intelligence,

humor,

wit,

gone with his glorious smile.

All this,

in the shortest of longest moments

before the tears,

blind, burning anguish

of a silent voice,

forbidden to reveal

the cost no child will willingly pay.

So silent.

Then violent.

Souls warping nicely for future

atrocities.

Blessed, burnt souls –

the child sacrificed –

on the altar of adult

duplicity, supidity

and,

quite possibly,

the same reasonable rage.

All our sins.

May Music, Day 13 – Never forgotten

The only person that fits the category of ‘former friend’ according to my initial understanding of Twindaddy’s 13th question in the 25 day music challenge is one I choose not to remember, except to say:

Pernicious she was,

Vampiric bleeder of souls.

Better in the past.

I’ll take it instead to mean friends I’ve lost touch with for one reason or another. I still think fondly of them and know it would be like picking up where we left off should we meet again. Those people I consider as friends are never lost to my affections. One, in particular, I hope to catch up with in the fairly near future, all things going well.

For all friends that I may have lost touch with, because life takes us different places, I think of James Taylor with ‘You’ve Got A Friend’.

 

Sepiaed Adoration

couple in swirls

sepiaed adoration

tonal love

muted into

lost

in each other

swirling whirls of

embodied souls

 

Thanks to Rene for the image and challenge. I can’t make out whose name is at the bottom to give credit for the picture but will gladly do so if claimed.

Reunite

In River Styx, life stories slow at last,

Pregnant with the words of all those passed.

But voices from the water linger still;

Breath of gentle murmurings without will.

On bridge there stands a maiden all too fair,

Reposed in form though heart beats such a dare;

To heed the whispers floating to her ears,

So plunge to depth, negate the wasted years.

To ponder life below the surface seen

And drift in currents never more to preen

For suitors; such a futile, thankless task

When one departed never more may ask

To share her life- if only once again

To recreate the timing – then no pain.

Give ear to river calling out one name,

Rejoin lost love, extinguish all past shame.

In dulcet tones, from once upon a dance,

One soulful voice requests one more and final chance;

To purge the crime, the ending of it all.

“Reunite , fair maiden, hear my call.”

Hope

All-gifted, all-giving, the gods did provoke,

Relinquished the right, them so to invoke.

Promethean crime, aid for mankind, aroused ire,

Retribution, from gods owning fire.

First woman among us, moulded from earth,

Bestowed by all deities, heavenly blessed.

But cursed by the gifts duality knows.

Determination, Zeus overthrows.

A gift bearing ills in a jar or a box,

Pandora relents and evil unlocks.

But hope still remains for good or for ill

Perception is all when hope does instil

Belief in the story of why god would choose

A mixture of gifts, some evil to use.

Is hope then a curse to action instead

Or essence to reflect on when life’s all but dead?

My hope is a blessing, that hope is a gift,

Enabling souls to elevate, to lift,

When all feels too empty, like box opened wide.

Let hope be the light that remains still inside.

candle 3