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the edge

 

anger buttressing

lesser emotions

 

death leans on life

as its prop

 

its target

-- its last reward

 

anger often not clearly

defined or even invited

 

to the party

 

shows up nonetheless

to crash the show in progress

 

standing next to the

edge

 

gazing into brilliant

blackness

 

light at the end of the

tunnel

 

in the pit

 

a banal phraseology

for certain -- used again

 

although it is well-worn

 

in dance of poetry

we live -- love -- and die

 

edge always there

for our company

 

never takes a back seat

but next and near to us

 

always

 

while men who purport

to be pious commit most egregious

 

of travesties

-- women do, too

-----------------------------

but men, dear true saints!

what are they thinking

 

while not thinking

at all?

 

-----------------------------

 

life throws curves

-- no doubt about it

 

waiting at a bus stop

bus might just run over your sorry ass

 

not the buse’s fault

-- must be the driver’s

 

------------------------------

 

out of the mist

 

on a clear clean pond

of water

 

blue sky is

reflected --

 

a fish rises

-- to feed.

 

-------------------------------

 

what is it with white men

and

 

fences?

 

vcp

 

16 May 2012

anticipation of a kiss

 

I met you by chance

but there are no -- mistakes

 

I heard your voice's inflections

before I saw your mouth

 

~~move~~

 

your lips ~ I watched ~

articulating words

 

knew your tongue was in

on word making, too

 

but your mouth, your lips

~ a longing to kiss them overcame me ~

 

to hover just near them

feeling the tingle of waiting and wanting

 

knowing once joined

five gunas will be

 

dispelled, dispersed, and dissipated

at last

 

in time flesh will corrupt

to dust

 

for my life a kiss from your perfect mouth

before we go

 

or perish -- stricken blind --

directionless

 

just a nibble

a lick -- long . . . wet

 

with heat born of desire

for perfection in a kiss

 

will cast us beyond reach of time

and change --

 

just one kiss will do

 

I met you by chance --

there are no -- mistakes

 

eternity for your kiss

infinity to taste it.

 

vcp

 

18 February 2011

other side

 

it’s right there in front

of your nose

 

that crack you’ve been

looking at all your life

 

the one you think needs

fixing

 

but you never did

-- now you’re finally seeing

 

through it

-- and it isn’t even a

 

squeeze to get through

 

the place beyond

-- place where dreams

 

come true

 

sign says ‘do not enter’

but rules were meant to be

 

broken

 

step on through

spit in the face of your

 

fear

 

drop your bag of bricks

-- be free -- I mean really free

 

one short step does it!

 

it feels good

-- trust me

 

see you on the

other side.

 

vcp

 

6 May 2012

starless night

 

ahead -- there lies a darkness

I now cannot see through

 

behind disheveled past

of tragedy counting two-times-two

 

15 degrees

a starboard list

 

gale of winds begin to

blow

 

captain’s been in his cups

in his face it starts to show

 

where in life is justice

ongoing question often asked

 

this sailor always asking

this sailor wants to know

 

stuffing leaks of a sinking ship

with bits of cloth and tallow

 

pointing her in -- to the wind

mountainous waves in view

 

straight on ‘til morning

second star to the right

 

with not -- a star  

so bright

 

dead reckoning

-- between the waves

 

only way to sail

a ship being tossed and jostled

 

in a starless

night

 

a port

-- a port not far ahead

 

rest will come at last --

 

then --

I’ll join the captain in his cups

I will break my

fast

 

but in this night of

sailing fear

 

there is naught but

dread

 

wind is beating masthead

tiller’s all we’ve got

 

to sail on through these

waves of life

 

thoughts made out of

lead

 

dragging down

the forehead

 

dragging down the

heart

 

high water’s risin’

bilge pump’s working smart

 

light of sunrise

horizon’s -- azimuth

 

caught between the mountain waves

and falsely retold myths

 

all sails taught

-- starless night lies dead

 

waves becoming

calmer

 

solid ground ahead

thoughts on auto-pilot

 

centered nonetheless

on a dream always in my -- sight

 

to see beyond the darkness

of this starless night.

 

vcp

 

4 April 2012

answering an angel

 

he lay there

looking from where he had come –

 

dusty, rain-slick road

spate of gale

 

sculptured his face --

for all to see

 

investigations continue --

quite alone

 

collecting data

serving up datum – each at a time

 

endless hypotheses –

and there is an end on it!!

 

searching each face

reading each heart

 

hearing sounds of souls

to share with none, but one

 

cut from a mold

fine, unique

 

uncommonly adorned --

loveliness

 

with gentle tongue

that speaks

 

words that flow from her

unsounded deep –

 

walking – waking –

in this world of lights –

 

all those who see her

see only her corporeal shell –

 

not guessing or caring

to guess --

 

beneath comely extrinsic --

is a soul so old

 

a blink of her eyes makes

flowers bloom

 

turns skies

blue –

 

scents follow her

of her very own

 

passing, resembling

place from whence she has come –

 

if by chance

one should sense them

 

in her

presence

 

find peace in a moment –

possessing no idea why –

 

like a waking dream

forget – again

 

but always

recall --

 

were once in

presence of a miracle –

 

to catch her

gaze with courage

 

to look into

her eyes

 

having no

bottom

 

power of will --

present must be –

 

to see beyond her

perishable beauty

 

to that that shall

never die

 

angels that walk among

us --

 

go oft unseen – unheard

in din

 

deafening din --

in this world of lights.

 

vcp

 

27 June 2011

back stage pass

 

back stage gabriel

is tuning his horn

 

blowing intermittent

blasts through it just for

 

drill

 

out here on the lawn

no one is listening for

 

that mythological freak’s

bugle call

 

who put the horn in his hands

and why?

 

who made up the myth

-- what for?

 

fear to stalk the intimidated

 

forcing constipation and more

trips to doctors who

 

“practice”

medicine

 

and don’t have good

bowel movements either

 

what a fucked up world

we live in~!

 

millionaires running the

show that is more a side-show

 

than anything

 

give me some cotton candy

and a clean date

 

to take to dinner

no more bullshit -- please

 

I have had enough

-- more than enough

 

to last until

my backstage pass

 

has been rubbed between

my fingers so long

 

the type can no longer

be read by the bouncer.

 

vcp

 

30 April 2012

earthly possessions

 

this square room

offending proximity

 

of blurred vision

 

unnoticed by most

--heavens

 

most have never

seen it!

 

not larger than a fly

speck

 

under a jeweler’s

loupe

 

on a clearly illuminated

light table

 

counting the dust

not worth a tinker’s damn~!

 

but it’s home

for a moment

 

all I’ve got

for all traps of my earthly

 

possessions

 

retrospect notwithstanding

future possibilities

 

unencumbered

heretofore

 

shall not be withheld

 

at once or

forestalled

 

in the hereafter

by any such as wish

 

to henceforth

come forward

 

to afford evidence

this late on a spring

 

evening -- to

evince anything to wrongdoing

 

anywhere in this

worldly vision

 

of place, point, or time

 

goodness knows

it’s been long enough

 

in this square to make  

saint a sinner

 

but quaking heart

is above dust of such

 

as that

 

after any fashion of

flesh

 

that knows such

remorse

 

than billy-the-kid’s side arms

his rig, his trigger finger

 

his crooked

teeth

 

his expiration

at last --

 

or equivocation

of grief

 

-----------------------

 

eschew nap and palaver

-- coxswain points to inner channel

 

safe harbour

no pilot has yet steered

 

ongoing steerageway

home port -- sweet smell of home

 

hearth

 

not yet occupied

but soon shall   

 

orange zest

the fragrance

 

meringue the confection

burnished crust of

 

lilac as rainbow’s rhythms

 

constant in rime

 

where nonetheless

spiders continue to inhabit

 

these corners

silent as church mice

 

but with more

eyes

 

lying abed

staring at a ceiling

 

in perfect

dark

 

sprays of starlight

visit vision

 

as if for

fun.

 

vcp

 

19 April 2012

miracle

 

precisely --

 

possibility of perfection

-- how many rolls of the dice

 

does it take

to feel flesh of miracle

 

touch yours?

 

vcp

 

17 April 2012

thin as a whim

 

thin as a whim

scent of an afterthought

 

jarred as caprice passing

in retrograde at mid-heaven

 

on a magic carpet

made of

 

cancelled checks

 

multitudes concerning

themselves with transient

 

-- dreams

 

while I wish for nothing more than

a pair of -- matching clean socks

 

and a dry place to

shit

 

--------------------

faces afloat with

messages in their wrinkles

 

conspicuous or

no

 

absence of clarity

or joy

 

living taut

-- as banjo heads

 

raked by time

alluding to mirror’s

 

reflection

 

as if pulled like new barbed wire

through a narrow rusty pipe

 

expressive as wings

of a peacock in flight

 

gelid as

glacial wind

 

-----------------------

 

racing ahead of my own laughter

and grief

 

pursuing light in the distance

that seems to recede

 

as it is approached

-- but always there

 

as a tease

a figment -- a mirage

 

so many believe to be

true

 

-- I cannot accept

or forego inner knowing

 

the mirage does not

exist

 

never has

-- but for its invention

 

to placate -- sooth

and make suffer to a higher degree

 

those who

do

 

-----------------------

 

impunity -- the lie

raper of truth

 

buried -- botched --

and embattled  . . .  truth

 

but I see the light

know it’s there

 

but in a different

realm

 

a singular

sheen

 

about which

no scriptures are

 

written

 

----------------------------

 

hands of time leave bloody

prints

 

on a whim

expiration lets itself

 

in without courtesy

of knocking

 

-- it is over

no more time

 

for departed

 

scene of the crime

littered with sanguinary prints

 

time

-- left behind.

 

vcp

 

17 April 2012

Warning:  This piece contains over 1,000 words, so if you can't read that far, don't read this, although I hope you will.  This poem is not finished, but I have been recieving lots of flack for its length~!

halls of waiting

 

unwithered in shadows

of themselves

 

my thoughts

gather

 

as one -- in

halls of waiting

 

I see back road

sometimes in mist

 

-- its valleys, plains

and hills

miles uncounted

I’ve no wish to know

 

in terms of

distance

 

what would it matter

-- that cognizance?

 

nothing -- naught

 

-----------------------------

 

unbidden -- memories flow

from thoughts’ shadows

 

compelled to regard

-- them once again

 

lessons

yet in progress . . .

 

shone on screen of inner

vision

 

------------------------------

 

road ahead

-- a mystery

 

with its curves

-- ditches -- and smooth places

 

for sailing free

 

Ah! but those bumps

-- those pesky bumps

 

bruised ego here

scratched elbow there

 

a smile from time to

time

 

more steps to climb

-- ungainly ladder

 

in

 

halls of waiting

where all thoughts go

 

casting shadows

in the show

 

as reminders

-- it ain’t over

 

not by a long or

short shot

 

--------------------

 

infinity stretches

its rigid way

 

ahead

 

unused as yet --

infinity

 

looks like a wash

but it isn’t

 

still there – watching

-- waiting to see

 

what choices will

be made – along individual

 

ways

 

but original lines

spoken

 

as scenes change

-- et al?

 

what is left to

be said

 

-- acted out

in brevity of soliloquy

 

heard only by walls

in halls of waiting

 

that must have heard

same before

 

tired mortar of its

joints – yawning

 

for something

new

 

-----------------------

 

if now there is a place upon

Earth where there is memory

 

of a time without evil

I would find it -- see it

 

before I leave

 

to go to halls of waiting

and wait

 

for end of all endings

 

where circle

begins anew.

 

vcp

 

12 April 2012

 

continued . . .

 

-- and thoughts’ shadows

do dance in darkness

 

not weary or worn

out

 

to a tune I taught them

on a hot summer’s night

 

while we walked a narrow mountain

road -- with its ups and downs

 

-- carefully so as not to stub

a toe -- or trip while dancing

 

-------------------------

 

comes winter into each

life

 

hopefully -- another

spring

 

halls of waiting rarely -- if ever

take note of passing time

 

‘tis much the same within

its spaces – no matter

 

clocks’ tic-tock!

 

no matter water that

has flowed far away

 

to meet the sea

 

that once was under

a bridge -- far from her shorelines

 

and scent of her

salt!

 

--------------------

 

fancy friends

feigning fanciful foundering

 

falderal -- forgetting rules of

engagement

 

on this

furious road

 

ungently making way

trying to convince me

 

theirs is the way

to go

 

askance -- I view their

unfaults -- as I see mine own

 

brevity in all things

especially brevity

 

-- and right now!

 

I think . . .

 

but don’t say

the words

 

lest I damage their

fragile beings

 

as I know my own is

 

------------------------

 

shadows did dance

-- resin-scented darkness

 

tune of freedom

played on each shining needle

 

of trees above

 

making fragrant

-- a night that had no end

 

-------------------------

 

but every night does

end . . .

 

-- dawn often belies

night’s fragrances

 

and promises made

in the dark

 

-- in view of new

day’s light

 

------------------------

 

a shimmer of light

is seen as moon sets

 

and sun rises

a twitter in every leaf

 

of every tree allows

new day to dawn

 

birds sing their morning

songs

 

for all hearts to hear

 

come clear to ears of

listening

 

---------------------

 

halls of waiting have no

new days

 

only moment to moment

consciousness

 

not counted

in seconds, days, weeks, or years

 

that are inventions for those

who direly need them to live

 

out their brief lives

midst the circling stars

 

in heavens

above

 

while counting their

moneys – making their lives

 

miserable – never having

enough

 

--------------------------

 

vcp

 

13 April 2012

 

continued  . . .

 

-------------------------

 

tulips red

violets white

 

bloom in due

seasons

 

-- ask nothing but

petals -- in rain or sunshine

 

while wars make decrepit

land where other flowers

 

once bloomed

 

while halls of waiting

weep for each

 

and each religion says it’s

best

 

doubting persons

wonder if there is a

 

god

 

-- if there is one

it is absentee

 

-----------------------

 

crows roost – perched

in linden trees

 

mourning for elves

now gone

 

-- and their song

no longer heard

 

on these shores

 

-- also waiting in halls

set apart

 

from men

 

until last day of

days

 

when we shall once again

meet

 

-----------------------

 

 

for those doomed to go on

feet with no wings – it is difficult

 

at times to find open ground

and clear horizon --

 

birds see us stumbling

perhaps feel pity in avian hearts

 

as they fly above noise – dust

-- and commotion of the ground

 

-- free to soar

on winds we shall never know

 

------------------------

 

halls of waiting

see it all

 

never saying

word one

 

what would be the

use for it to speak

 

to those who

won’t listen?

 

-------------------------

 

a pale eastern sky greets

morning sight

 

as light broadens

 

storm clouds fly

overhead in tattered rows

 

at a speed

astonishing

 

swifts jostle

in the breeze

 

as if for fun

-- practicing prowess of flying

 

it begins

to rain

 

----------------------

 

shadows of thought

recall birds of the air

 

-- beasts of the

ground

 

pondering them

while they wait

 

for more wondering cogitations

to arrive -- and share the mix

 

of flow unstoppable

-- a myriad daily

 

to enhance -- burgeon --

and enrich halls of waiting

 

once seemed so important

of moments passed

 

events

expired

 

given to memories

that are nothing more

 

than that

 

O! sweet memories

-- elixirs in landscape of life

 

so quickly gone

best and worst

 

lightest and darkest

events

 

that thrilled

-- and downtrod

 

minutes

now expired

 

------------------------

 

halls of waiting

overflow -- expand

 

to take on

new arrivals

 

as if by

magic . . .

 

---------------------

deep clouds gather

rain pours on gathered throng

 

standing in midst of the

crowd as a stranger

 

longing to flee

to find one friendly face

 

-- recognizable

 

shadows of thoughts

stir violently -- try to recall

 

just one

 

that never betrayed

sacred trust

 

only one -- perhaps two

show themselves

 

nearly divine

for never having lied

 

in a world of lies

 

that drive people insane

-- and to what purpose?

 

vcp

 

13 April

 

-------------------

new and greedy swords

unsheathed -- drenched in innocent’s

 

blood

 

gap of

polarization widens

 

understanding between

those who know and those who don’t

 

-- not irreparable

but severely damaged

 

harbingers last days

when last battle blooms

 

on our

doorsteps

 

halls of waiting

shudder

 

as spate approaches

us all.

 

vcp

 

14 April 2012