Evening sea washed aboard a tired man and his sword. I didn't ask his name. He didn't ask the same. He just stared blank at me then fell back to the sea.
Evening Sea
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Tag Archives: man
Man in Nature (Brevettes)
nature n u r t u r e s man
man f e a r s death
death c h a s e s life
man e x p l o i t s nature
life k i l l s man
nature r e c e i v e s man
death l o v e s nature
Thames Gin Headache
Chipped polish on keratin Formed instruments of misery Against the carved ivory candlestick, But played in time and one half Between clicked wooden heels And shuffle scuffed leather toes. Shrieking warped wood boards Bemoaned the restless pacing Until eased by the storm’s drippings Rolled from the oversaturated linen. Youth kept the nightdress white, Precisely creased on double pleat Perfumed in almond and rice starch. The insipidness of immaturity Creeped up the ironed dart lines To satiate the linen’s thirst for spoil, And seeped into the recurring path In a bogged mix of clay and blood. The sludge had smudged the vows Between the ruby and diamond ring. Lightning had taken exception, Or so it would have seemed, To the metal cockerel above the well. It’s striking boldly lit the sodden grass To illuminate a solitary jacquard spat Encased, leather, side button boot. He’d sworn himself inconspicuous once, Yet adorned himself so pretentiously For the eyes of the unwed maidens On the night he was intended to wed. The dusty manor house windows Did not hide the ostentatious footwear From the overwhelmed on looker As she bit her nails cuticle bare. Had he simply fallen, she’d be asleep For the drunkard had overindulged On pints of overtaxed Thames Gin. But he cracked his crown on limestone Before his legs lost the ability to hold His brainless form to full attention. Inebriation settled most heavily In the bones of his shaking wheeze. Had not the split of his mindless skull Incapacitated his conscious movement, His well wished departure would be, To the greatest of detest and chagrin, Replaced by opiate coma numbing As his bride rode Peeler’s prize In a carted cage of lucid lunacy And cursed language of wicked folk. Luck had been her bedfellow, Strength her mightiest gift giver, And determination: her kind muse. No sooner could he groan in ache Than his moaning was quick silenced In the crunch of crumbled spine That met with a barren dark age well. Her hand warmed by the liquid wax, She stopped pacing to reflect with joy At the sickening sound of lifelessness.
Anchored Beacons
Dew swept wind hills of May morning Captured moments in sprinkled droplets That begged passers by to be collected. We knew to wait another hour or two Before stepping into their damp tracks Lest we become entranced by their tales. Humanity bled memories into the valleys. Tiny beetles feasted in the chaotic morning, Their shells glittered in the gloss of droplets. When the night's trouble was collected They'd disguise themselves in a minute or two Before the songbirds could recite hunting tracks. It was finally safe to leave our sacred cover. Humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. The glorious warmth of a sunny morning Reflected in our eyes like twinkling droplets Of youthful hope. It was our courage collected, Shared and displayed between only us two, That we may complete our pilgrimage together No matter the troubled ground we may cover. Humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. So few survived when kin killed beloved kin. A journey of miles, trudged through a morning. Stepping rhythmic, drenched in sweated droplets And woefully feigning we were calm and collected. Fear was painted behind our mission worn mask As we checked the mapped route together, Arguing the shorter path as we replaced it's cover. Humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. So few survived when kin killed beloved kin, Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity. Legs aching from the endless walking morning, Bodies craving sustenance, but surviving on droplets Tipped from the final flask of water, and of hope. You snatched the final sip, cracking under your mask. It seemed we'd outlasted our journey together, Our separateness apparently hidden under cover. Humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. So few survived when kin killed beloved kin, Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity: Those who fought for the beauty within us all. We parted with the last seconds of the morning, Silently wishing the other would reconsider. Survival now was only built on an anchor of hope That outlived the violence and psychological masks. Hope, that final chant uniting the distant together In a melody no imposter was able to falsely cover. For humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. So few survived when kin killed beloved kin, Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity. Those who fought for the beauty within us all Are anchored beacons of hope in dirty waters.
Vermin
Bitten through, Tough to chew Burnt sinew Set the trap Necks to snap Peaceful nap Bred again Ten plus ten, Outman, men
Written in response to an Ampersand Prompt
Buying Happiness in Room 208
The cheap cotton shirt Rubbed on his plump neck As he sat on the edge of the bed Watching her adjust her cheap polyester bustier. They’d discussed pricing. He’d already paid half. He was nervous, Hesitant, Didn’t think he could So she cut him slack. She pursed her lips And tugged at his zipper. When she was bobbing her head He was positioned staring at the ceiling Unable to sit. Before long his face, Once a grimace, Glowed from completion. Slipping out another twenty, He passed her a tissue and left.
An Angel on Fire
The feathered wings smelt the worst, Like plastic had fucked hair and created hatred. The smoke those feathers created Wrapped itself around every breath And burned our tracheas raw. At first, His visit was delightful, But as judgment reigned on our indiscretion The townsfolk yelled witch And bound His wings with the rope They bound their wives with at night. We were entranced by the screams Just as we were oft enraptured in each other’s sex. Gleefully we cheered melting skin, And screwed as the fat charred, Breathing in roasted celestial. The final flames danced at the messengers’ feet As townsmen recovered from climax, And wives licked each other's wounds clean. We satiated all violent and sexual desires, The day we set the Angel on Fire.
Separate Duality
The states are incomparable, The calculated intellectual, Genius beyond all marks, And the heartfelt emotive, Embodiment of an empath. Is this duality of self, Truly inseparable in life? Or are they humanities mark Of man's bipolarity? Does the intellectual function Upon emotional grounds? Or does the empath employ Compassion upon reasoned basis? Is true harmony expressed Betwix the numerous lobes and Cortexes? Or does one central focus Outweigh the neurological development? Is cognitive ability a separate, Harmonious, isolated duality?
In The Rain
He stands in the rain, Palms up to the sky, and he SCREAMS. Water rolls down his skin, tracing new paths on old, As the sky cries his tears. His chesty breath, hitches, says not but one word, why?.. must the clouds collapse? Does the sky know? Is this pain mutual? He just stands there. All of lives work, Summed up in one thing... This man in the rain. He begins to laugh, perhaps it's insanity? Or is he sanity in action? I don't know for sure, but there's one thing I do... He just stands. In the rain.
Another
Glass in hand, Tongue in mouth, A poor excuse for an escape. Glass in hand, Liquor in mouth, One fine way to drown it out. Glass in hand, Mind still thinks, Maybe a bit faster will help. Glass in hand, Eyes glaze out, More is needed to settle. Glass in hand, Thoughts command, Just swallow pride before this one.
Glass on lip, Eyes closed, One more breath to swallow. Glass on deck, Another in mind, Perhaps the thought will stop. Glass on lip, Liquor tips, The heart begins to race Glass on deck, Burning neck, Just one more to ease the pain. Glass on lip, Feelings split. It's time. To have another.
The Poet Armistead 