It all started with poetry

It all started with poetry
Had to be poetry

Now look where its gone
I’ve lost all respect for Syntax
My grammar’s shot all to hell
Punctuation was never my forte
And ellipses. . . let’s not even go there
so many dangling phrases
(At least my participles are secured)

Let’s not even talk about spelling
Any kind of Authority . . .
(I’m every grammar nazi’s dream)

It all started with poetry
Who knows where it goes from here

Don’t do poetry

If you want to keep your life
Don’t do poetry

Try cross-stitching or toll painting
But you would do well to leave poetry alone

Real Poetry is food from the Heart
Strong medicine
It is not for the weak

Real poetry springs from the place
where the cold comes from
the barren house of spent desires and sorrows
The frightful down under place
where cathartic moments thunder against the rocks of your soul

Real Poetry slips into the world
through the crack in the sky
The place where the Sun and Moon
enter and exit
Pass on poetry
if you’re not ready to embrace the light

A Dragon and a Fire Angel Turn up in a Bar ~ D’l Kyrug

The Silver dragon says
“And so fair fire-angel
what has happened to your wings?”

“They got stuck in the gates
whilst I was trying to escape the forbidden gardens of desire”

“Hon, that has got to hurt
Not unlike the time I got my tail caught
in the tilt-o-whirl of love”

Nodding agreement the fire angel remains silent
swimming deep currents of memory in her thoughts

The Silver Dragon stamps his foot
shouts, “The Service in this place leaves a lot to be desired
Can”t a dragon get a drink in this dump?”

The fire angel turns towards him, eyes lowered
and hands him a silver mug with potent red wine
He looks confused but takes the proffered cup with appropriate reverence
and mumbles something in dragon
“You are One So Rare
most hallowed and revered. . .
When did you start tending bar?”

But out loud he says
“Thank you m”Lady
and may the day of your healing be hastened”
then he breaths fire across the beverage
The vapors spill over
Cause a fog to rise around all the patrons of the place
Most don’t seem to care
and the rest are smart enough to know better

He drinks deep
as only dragons are prone drink

Nyl, the poetess

Nyl is over the sky
Floating among poofy clouds
That remind her of the white linen sheets
Her mom used to hang on the clothes line
How the wind puffed them
Into alabaster flags of surrender

Nyl remembers a time when she was Earth-bond
When it all seemed . . .important
So compelling and . . .
Compelling and . . .
What was it that was so important?

Nyl is looking for something
Searching for one True thing
One undeniable, inestimable, inevitable Truth
She hungers for a picture of that perfect moment
When she will hold the Truth . . .

Nyl is over the sky
Floating among poofy clouds
That remind her of the white linen sheets
Her mom used to hang on the clothes line

For the Lady Margot and Sir Pablo

Everyone wants to speak of
of the Lady Art
with sure and certain words
To verbalize the things
that can only be seen
only experienced
Spoken about
but never spoken

When i say
do you understand the song of a bird?
You may say any number of things
Might even use binary numbers for the record
but the song of the bird
is beyond any numbering

When i say
do you understand the velvet Night
Understand the green slade Sea
the dance of the Fire . . .?
What will you say?
What can you say
that is worthy?

Can you say with words . . .
Perchance with the shared experiences
behind the words
But only with words
all there is to say
about a Thunderstorm at Sea

I think that perchance Sir Pablo
considered any one of us
Any artist
to be a ribbon blown and shaped
by the Wind
An imperfect mirror
reflecting the ‘Verse . . .

Lost Flower

I found a flower
With a heart behind it

which is better than gold
to those who know
And it was lost
Longing for home
Longing for warmth

Afraid it would be
shuffled into the trash
and alone forever

It was a silver heart
With a fortune in it
(OK, I peeked)
And though I held it to my ear
It could not call your name

Is it yours ?

note; One time while cleaning up a dressing room for actors
i found a flower locket . . .