Connie’s Song- a prayer in 1400 miles of bluesky redclouds, fossils

Castles Burning in the Sky

Crazy colors,
across the courtyard,
temporal mirrors
full of rusty murmurs,
and futility. Under a
brilliant light on
a tall pole clever
smoke intoxication
keeps you going.

A ride in back-
deeper penetration
curtain spark flesh
nimble moons in
darkness between
warm wet play. Taste
flower blossom garden
green dreams nodding
mutely. Stars bring the
black fieldsky to life
above night castles-
spaces left open
waiting for a response.
Lace under fingers
falling to dust.

Clear wonderful
introspection-
scrolling lines
and curves make
us think we are
not caged- shifting
light cascades-
a soft radiance
of fire arouses
wholeness-
falling flute
breath- beautiful
skin fire
ablaze like
dream castles
set aflame by
your breath,
and in your
brain first
winter’s
burning snow
enchantment
everlasting-
bonfire hearts
everaglow-
forever
immaculate
cohesion.

Candlelight Nightsong

A little wild ray of light
from the dying summer moon
that runs blue through
splendid cities abandoned.
Each and every skull is
pierced with light and
slowly floating away.

As campers we find
our shadow s
leap ing
in the foliage
the golden river glowmurs
our feet outstretched
submerged
feeling the sand.

Angels divine
by the light of
their halo s
as lightning
dangerous ly
strikes.

Lips feel like
streetlights
our fingers
intertwined
like bountiful
bird s nesting-
careless divination
amongst the wild
starlight loveplay-
waiting for a
blueblossom
morning as the
stars all
meltfadeaway.

With dreamy candle eyes
we fall asleep as the
stars float above awake.
And new horizons always
have a face, and the
willows rustle in the
wingflight of a
mockingbird’s
nightsongs.

My Heart Dreams

for Mandy- my forever

A dream of uncovering a
pebble, stone, or rock-
I don’t know which-
in the river by the
shore.

I pick up the rock
(I think it is a rock)
it is broke, and I
see it’s heart before
it crumbles in my
hand falling
back to the
river.

I turn to you, and grin.
You wink at me. We laugh-
we who need no words
have on our tongues
eternity whispers- as
echoes on the edge
of lips approaching
the infinite.

Bracelets, Ducky Love, Rings, & Song

<a href=”https://mattspotentialpoetry.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/image-062212-from-okc-pictures.jpg”&gt;

 

I realize when I look at you
baby, that I love you so,
and I need to hold you close
and dance-
bodies,
mind,
&
soul.

We started this dance
so long ago now,
and your eyes are
telling me you are
getting tiredearly
in the morning. Those
amazing eyes I dreamed
the other night I was
seeing through my hands.
My brain
interpreting
my heart-
science saying-

that I love you, and I need
you to stay forever-
and it was winter
when we met- and next
spring we will be
married. And I just had
to ask you that night-
I proposed- I could not wait
To hear you say, “Yes.”
Had to tell you that day
I brought you to the ocean,
and you brought me the
ocean motion love reaction-
but it was cold, and
I abbreviated a prounoun-
Do ya think I was
Nervous?

And tonight I caught two fireflies
in our Santa Claus Jar- and we let
them go early in the evening. I could
let those flashing bugs go- as the sun
set cleaning mirrors- because you
are everything I need- those
amazing smiles that ride waves
to your eyes- more than one
color.

Scenery don’t really matter- it
ends up all the same- it is that
sweet kiss I always miss- but
old mythology persisted to
raise its head- just throw
a mirror in front of the medusa-
save us from that turning to
stone- the sweetest honeyed
lips I ever want to know-
they make the whole world
disappear when they form
words delicate yet true-
you always talk to me baby-
even when I leap from here
to there. You are with me always,
baby.

I am
ripping down our sun blanket, and
saying we need to go stargazing-
a state of grace with you
&
the Universe.

I am left juxtaposing different
levels
and
kinds
of consciousness- from
strawberry milkjello
onward to dreams-
and ever onward-
a proposal-

soon a ceremony.

On an island will we be-
I really didn’t think
things could ever be like
this- the two of us
together-
my very
own
sweetheart.

And it is tired,
And I am getting late-
and that Mockingbird
is singing from his nest-
songs of home
that always
fade
unless
you
lock up
the rain.

This poem
when cut up
would become
simple clay
red clay-
scraped from
the wheels
of our red
Monte Carlo
with one
flat tire.
Home is the result-
Peace,
Joy,
And
Love-
Of course.
And I remember falling into
Your eyes well before it was
a late spring concert finale-
before I even knew ya, truly.
My phone flashed your two
Coloreye
Display- it to me was like
Some fantasy planet captured
By an amateur astronomer with
Kids, dogs, cats, like Tim-
Remember the menagerie
And his nerd cabinet?
Left hand:
One white thread bracelet- one month old-
Amasing- one thread, and it is still hanging
On!
Right Hand:
Red & Gold- black string knot- three months old-
Cape Hatteras National Seashore-
camping at Oregon Inlet-
flying kites on empty beaches-
teaching you how to
loop
de
loop.
Pink & Red handmade
in India across the
ocean a Christmas
gift from Jo Jo-
it had- how many bells?
Four?
Five?
Now, six months later- all the bells
have fallen off- but we have caught
them together in our hands.

Orange & Yellow
stringknots
picked up at that
uber strange
gas
station
slash
motel.

If we had not been so tired after
our cross country trek- and a
tire going flat- and the ole
Monte Carlo was a kroovy
red in that strange parking
lot- the cashier flicking us off-
remember that? When we first
stopped in Virginia back in late
February.

And a rope bracelet-
possibly hemp
possibly not-
braided
with a centered
groovy green
oblong oval bead,
and with small black
bead tieoffs dangling-
from Chippokes-
our matching
camping
bracelets-
nigh three months
old.

Other bracelets have
broken or been retired
for preservation.

And of course the rings-
it all started with that
fifty cent machine-
two white and black
temporary
engagement rings.
Now replacing those
with one groovy
ring we stumbled
upon in that little
shop-
was that on sidewalk
chalk day?
And the island of
Chincoteague is
thehorizon-
An island without
Traintracks-
We’ll have to cross the
Chesapeake Bay via
Three bridges
And two
Tunnels- a movern
Marvel of technology-
A wonder of the world
On a list.

And tonight there were two lightning
Bugs in the Santa Claus jar. And on
The island there will be a great
Wave of family coming-
Jo Jo, Aunts, Uncles, and
Nieces.

Shasta Daisy

Shasta Daisy cool and sweet
and hot. How I long for those
spring days we shared. Tasting
your sweet sweat in an abandoned
jeep within the old red shed. I
yearn again for the time
when your petals unfolded
and yielded to me, engulfing
all that was me.

Glistening
moist
panting-
we clung to each other
like religions to their
idols.

I devoured you,
you swallowed me whole,
and all around us the shed
was dark. Inside the jeep
that was old and wrecked
we kept finding each other
again and again until we
were both lost to each other
forever.

Caveat Lector

He laughed at sixty-five towards her heart.
Her eyes flashed call me again
There was a coolness cut close to the line-
a delusion for a walking man-
like deadly jelly she undressed him
lightning had come forlorn, weary, even.

This drunken binge and two women
with their faces against his face
between them time slowed sidewise, and
caught a whimper, growing weak,
nerve endings and life on other planets.

He had followed her to take the nightwalk as
the counterman turned shifting from the token
payment of everything and everyone, words
of pride of that great Earth.

He remembered what the salesman said:
“In love, always let the window fall back.”

He thought of the joy of living in this cardboard
covered ghostboat, adrift just off the shore
as the starlight shone in her eyes
and much of their time was spent.

Her lips were the light purple of bruises and
they covered him- on those lips
again the heaviest reverential act, the
worship of the names of those who control
you.

“Damn you! You’re making it murder.”
She screamed in a farewell shot.

She lay panting beneath him shattered
like a partially human circus toy.

“Thousands of persons have died that did not exist.”
He whispered in her ear, and wondered if
she understood their joy.

“Leave me with strangers, may I love again?”
She posed the single question as she crawled
off the bed pulling on her shadow thing coat.

 

Please Say We Aren’t Done Yet

Transplants performed in hospitals
hospitals where love is not
considered carcinogenic.

She looked parched and
she bit her lip-
moving under my hands.

Her eyes winking and
lacquered toes and
butterfly fingers.

A whisper,
a smile, and
a laugh.

I plucked a bud off
a sweet shrub near
at hand.

An English dictionary,
a small tin container, and
a light?

Your burial of my
heart?

These words that you speak
to everyone are laughingstocks
to each different sort of person.

And every wound I’ve made could
heal. The wounds you raved over
them.

Your voice given over to
echoes in my
heart.

… Naturally it tickled
against my ankle- don’t know
what made me think of it.

Oh, the northward trek I do
embrace, and you speak of
tinny embraces under the
hunger moon.

The Kiss Was a Key

A man so grudging what he
asked of life was that
every win be a loss. He
kept with his reports
endlessly.

“I never touch it.’
he said in regards to
every drink every
offered.

Standing in front of a
glass case his hands
were in his coat
pockets hiding from
the world like him.

She would not leave. She
who stood there even
after he turned down her
offer. Strange words
strangled in his throat,
a taste of blood and
metal.

“You can’t stay here.”
Were the words he choked
out while still control
was his. Surely those
words would chase her
out of his office.

He took something out of
a file and read parts of
it into a recorder. His
mind no longer on the
reports. Things were
taking him in a direction
he did not want to go.

His face hung there in
that moment. Eyes blazing
green light. Would she
know the books if she saw
him hold them just now?

Her bronze eyes under the
sickle moon behind her
seemed to say- yes.

Yes, he was not without a
certain charm and there
was the simple straw
pallet nearby for the
patients to rest- not
now occupied.

“I’d love some tea,”
she said out loud with
conviction. She pictured
him naked, right knee
flexed, holding her body
a few inches off the straw,
his penis exposed.

Suddenly she was in front
of his mouth and nose. A
taste of blue sparks. A
kiss opening a door to
something he’d never
known or seen.

Strangers Smile at Stones Like Setting Suns

Flowers, those strange
and often dead friends
of spring
and romance
looked out from whatever
balconies nature
might provide onto
so many emerald valleys
thoughts slung
out into the woods
then tripping downward
in seclusion.

Hearts as light as
his oaken name
which seemed deepened
by his father’s passing.
His broken words echoed
in that instant. Hearing
them as if in sleep
lumbering. His mind ceased
swiftly at her demand as she
ascended the interior corridors,
so slowly the impression
she left reminded
him of which walls
could chain him.

He thought of her love
as priceless
therefore the guardians
never slept on their watch.
She closed the largest of
her little fingers around his
heart and with an unknown
smile given she seemed
to beckon with a rustle
as he was hanging secretly
in a resting-place.

It had been a killing thing,
surprised ruinous
generations lost in
those marble sheets.

A stranger remembered
and smiled at the stones
which he misunderstood,
and took for an ominous
sign.  Something at a turn
in the passage ahead
looked upward.
He turned and looked
over his shoulder
noiselessly,
all the sounds were empty.

She knew the many calculations
of the knife,
its full blade about
to be stepped
up from the point.

Out in the hallway walked swords.
Her eyelashes had mastered every
meaning, and none suspected a
war was going on below them.
A simple study of storms and
seven hats
turned to dust and
forming, a village of strangers
and smiling Saints which would be
made smooth by the centuries.