Inspired

Miracle Muse
brought color to a life
tuned to a dead channel,
set to sleep.
To dream in color.
Hair the medium
of tortured desire.
The matron, the mother,
the lover, the lady,
the intellectual, enigmatic
soul desired.
All with the toss of the lock
said she, “Life is full of bitter irony,”
bringing sweet tenderness
to all.
Epiphanic irony.
She bleeds, she weeps,
She Seeks.
Experience deep she offers,
aloof she remains.
Hell is the journey to reach her heaven.
Only one has traveled Styx
for Miracle Muse.
Stealing herself away
fearfully daring fools to follow.
Precious.
Entrance to her musings?
Broken hearts strewn with shards,
deep facets, painfully so.
Filling the Green
with passionate red,
deep thinking blue,
upheaval amethyst.
Unplug the life before.
Her artist reduced
to a sick sycophant.
Wishing, expectant,
In love.

Woodland Waltz

The lengthy languish
is lost
to the passion tide
that succumbs to the most roguish
of waves.
The Knave of the mayflies
impiously pilfers
the rumors of spring
for ballast.
Through the ambient
fundament of the weaveworld
he climbs,
susceptible to the unbearable.
Gazing on high
the ekistics of love, life.

Revel nudely
the infalling.

Surreal sighs echo
from the unfrequented niches;
nocturnal panoramas
that dance only, jointly
held apparitions.

Euterpe plays
Terpsichore directs,
Thalia enters.
As the numen cuts in
the chord is struck.

The Comfort of Her

The mermaid witch that has mesmerized
ensorcells with her plush-pillow lips
steering me from the dungeon
in the sunken ship.

Her eyes hold the key
to the open blue sea.
Her tawny tones
tenderly transverse the water
to fill my burning breath,
to ink my spirit
with memories of her.
I am swept up in her current
as she turns the tide
to a life that is lived
within the envelopment of escape
she captures with each flash of her fluke.

I let her whispering wake
wriggle and wash over my
wasted dream of life,
a life that has led to the commonplace
not to the circumstantial commitment
that she grins to the groaners.

The smile that shivers
the shoves the shallows,
the laugh of the landless
singing softly for the insanity,
like some cosmic echolocation
steering the sightless.

Her nape beckons
to becalm
harkening the half-hearted
to hold her hand
feeling the ferocity
of the fire
immune to her waters.

I feel the skin
I have yet to touch
through the water.
She has electric entanglements.

Unexpectedly she reaches out
for my hand.
I feel the holding thrum
of the warmth
she maintains despite her waterworld.
and let go to the flow of her timestream.
as she pulls me down to the depths
which are not so dark now
because she is with me,
wet and pregnant with possibilities.

The derrière dimples
twinned to her smile
thrice reflected
in the small of her back.
Hold such power
the water vortices
play and splash
like Neptune’s offspring.

Her smile strokes
the singing
refracted rays,
coaxing the confluence
of the world above the waves
and her wonderful waters
to follow and frolic freely.

In her eyes hide
all the seas shimmers
and pierces through
the mysteries of depths.

She tightens her grasp
pulling me towards her.
I become haunted
by the harrowing currents
of her cleaving the open blue.
She turns tantalizingly,
whispering words
at the edge of hearing,
yet I feel them
alive and alight.
Upstaging all her water-born
choral cacophony.

I listen to the sounds
that emanate from our intimacy,
realize that we have struck a chord.
Like the twin tines of a tuning fork
that when sounded under
will carry through the big blue
echoing for everyone
yet known only to us.