Guided by an autumn chance near-exchange
They both felt compelled to crane their necks back.
Backtracking, their gaze raised swift interchange.
Faster than light flew unspoken feedback.
Wordless vibe flowed as they knew they should know.
Even so, their paths diverged from sidetrack.
Though they lacked the knack to drink in the flow
She craved his sunrise, he thirsts for her past;
Their passing repast teased as afterglow.
The smile they shared, brief, yet spirits were vast;
Lifetimes compressed to one heartbeat phase-change.
They blushed with the fall, two leaves falling fast.
Their outlier fancy the mean dubbed strange
Guided by an autumn chance near-exchange.
***
Surely you felt the same
rolling over and seeing
my displeasure at a
brand new day, didn’t you?
Do you have any idea
how many poems
I’ve written about you
only to have to file them away,
snuffing-out their wicked truths
like so many birthed stars
that ate through their fair
share of hydrogen
long before Ra set
the table for you and me
to ignore our own nature?
Can you fathom how every kiss shared
will be compared to the caramel of your lips
nibbling mine in our candlelit shame
of being exactly who we are
exactly where we wanted to be,
exactly beneath the weight of
who we wanted pressed into our flesh
exactly the way we needed?
Do you also wish to shake
the morning gate of heaven
to its foundation for fating us
a taste of what could be,
only to allow our respective free will
to choose to loosen our firm midnight grip
on respective flesh before the black sky
blushed soft purple with promise of new day
separating me from you
as earth from firmament,
forming boundaries everywhere
instead of simply being
happily entangled in
undefined twilight?
On some level, I know
you were just as selfish,
just as grateful for those broad,
quiet charcoal strokes
shared in faint starlight,
silently sucking our
pigment from sundown,
but no matter our
moon-soaked efforts,
morning always comes,
doesn’t it?
***
If you don’t raise your voice
no one will hear you sing
losing the gift of choice,
we wait for what squalls bring
Did you cross my mind, love?
Or did I dream our bliss?
Your voice fades with your kiss
Ruby dreams from foxglove
Tearful visions fall, blurred
smeared what’s left of your song
seasons blended and slurred
where our voices belonged
Could you hear my song too?
Was I brassy? Off-key?
Hope you remember me
as currents convey you.
***
Aretha Franklin’s death is weighing heavy on my mind this morning. I immediately thought of both this soulful Aretha original and the slick Mos Def sample. I was happy to see that YouTube had a mashup of the two. Listening to it got me thinking in terms of Shakespearean-level star-crossed lovers missed connections, and whatnot and so-forth. It’s funny how the brain works sometimes.
A familiar summer scent
smiling, embracing our path
you’d sprung onto winter’s end
before knowing our spring need
unexpected kiss warmed us
your lips activated mine
your tongue filled me at love’s loss
What manner of spell is this
where I can relive seasons
of past-lives unlocked by smell
as weaponized nostalgia?
Will you cling to innocence
as you move to turn the lock
sealing us within our vice?
Lock me in; I will not flee
pour yourself upon my chest
envelope me in warm breath
crash and strain, power exchange
slake your thirst and wring me taut
plum our depths and bottle them
encrust us in lush reprise.
***
Fueled by misery,
Sloth rose, slovenly
grunting barely a half-laugh
with minimal effort,
easily overthrowing
Lust and Greed’s slipping,
thirsting, ravenous,
needy rule,
observed passively,
inexplicably so, by Wrath,
whose fiery talents
faded into the shade of
obsolescence and age,
creating a clear path
to the buffet
for Gluttony to feed,
leaving nothing nourishing
for Pride, who died while
withering away on the vine,
once green with Envy,
now ashen and drained.
Once upon a time,
you guys were so much fun
to attach myself;
to affix my banner upon;
now my attachments are
afflictions of fleeting spells,
seemingly over before
they’d even begun.
Ah great.
See what you’ve done?
Now I’m even fatter than before.
Fatter than I’ve ever been.
I surmise
we’d never have arrived here
if Pride were still alive.
In case it’s quite unclear,
I liked us much better
back when Lust and Greed
were allowed to steer.
Hell naw I don’t want any more
fried chicken and beer.
It’s wrong of you to ask!
Of course I want some more
fried chicken and beer!
Why ask this of me when
you already know the answer?
I just sat down, so
if you could bring them here,
that would be easier
for our new masters.
Pay attention!
Did you even notice
the stream changing course?
Or how labored
your breathing has become?
Or how indifference
feels heavier than struggle?
Daylight won’t wait for you
to caress her anew.
Idleness is its own endgame.
Time is a river,
eroding monuments of attachments,
revealing the true nature of suffering.
If we’re not mindful,
we won’t mind
or scarcely notice to find
that we’re all being worn away
under new management.
***
This poem was inspired by dVerse Poetics: 7 and 7 prompt, which as you probably guessed, is a meditation on the seven deadly sins. Other poets have contributed to this prompt here.
I could’ve gone deeply personal with this one, but confessional poetry is pretty much my whole “thing”, so I decided to zig instead of zagging by keeping things a bit more abstract.
Two poems in two days? Am I back? Nah. Not yet. But I’m starting to find my bearings again. Thanks for being patient with me.
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 