Just Another One of Those Poem Things in the Works

Making a Meaning

Can anyone make sense of life, real sense?
Who can call the cards before they fall?
Who can sing the song of the prophetess?
Life is splayed before our eyes and
even then
the sense has left us.

There is no waiting in the wings for the
Bird of Paradise has gone the way of the Phoenix.
The electric sensation of the heartbeat filled kiss
prolonged and left for wanting
in the memory of
beings.

Singing in the soul the creation of beauty
the lifeforce of the fermata
which slips into silence and
exhilarates the blood in the living creature;
we who crawl into the
world of forgotten midst and
burst into fury.

There is no collar for the savage
creator of our own mind.
The deck cannot be stacked or
counted on for anything but
the toss of the dice and the lady
whose luck is not her own.

Beyond the door of the setting sun
the fire ignites the path of recollection
and foresight.
But who is it that can gaze on the
corona and still contemplate the fate
before them?

Where to Now?

Time for a new poem. I felt the need to create today and so, here is the first draft. Where it goes from here is anyone’s guess. Don’t mind the picture (45grave); it doesn’t really go with the poem. I just felt like being a bit obscure.

Far Away

Far away the world falls
into a blackend oath after
scaling the nerve of
scratching nails down the chalkboard

Watching letters of no one fly
past the window of opportunity
into a dark night of
anxiety and pleasure

Shock absorber walls keep out
undesirable thoughts
and deeds
Inside a trapped innocence
battered, broken, bleeding

The lives of many hold
the few torn remnants of a
wishing world turned inside out
Ready to take on the
Master

Far away she sings in the garden
looking out into humanity
feeling, pleading, loving,
vigilant.

Caressing the moment of respite
that has become her anchor
of redemption
creating a new life within
the tattered womb of isolation

The beginning moments of a
charitable love fall backwards
through the last sentiments of
a long ago day where time stands
still then erupts into echo

Far away they leave
forgetting that they once lived
sheltered in the garden where
the echoes of birth have faded