hold me
billow sail
silvered with
lust

the rust of mermaid
hair the streamer
calm

changeling heart
we play the part
The hero racing
the Villian proud

the mirror whispers
like waves on sand
the slither tongue

and a jaundice moon
slides like clockwork
through the ruins

"What are you waiting for"
exhaulted exhale
I can taste the salt
I can feel the depths
your scales writhing
with your turns

warm
slippery
love

in dreams
the corridor to you
remains open
you say
"enter, my Love"

no bridges, no rivers
to cross,
nothing to say
nothing but this
opening

there are no words,
only poems,
there are no poems
only poets, there are
no poets
only lovers who dream.

Last night,
The crumpled bed sheet
Indicated the sojourn
you undertook
In the middle
Of a stark helpless,
lonely night,
as you braved
The surf alone
Oh what a bone!

this time
I won't do that again
so what do I do
I do it again!

the human psyche
is a bitch
full of shit
mostly

but then, though not often
brilliance times ten
from the same mentality
who repeatedly
puts his boots on the wrong foot

If you are not crazy by now
you haven' lived long enough
for some it takes a lifetime and a half
but, as you see
once again
there is something wrong with this logic

I won't do that again

yeah, right!

To be human

I do it because it is there
And I love to be home and hosed

I take wrong risks
And want to be settled and married.

I have met my soul mate, often,
And loved deeply

I spread my memes,
Not my genes,

I give, love, lose and win

I live.

and I meditate on mortality
having lived extremely,
passionately and fully,
if I died tomorrow
it would piss me off
but it wouldn't kill me.

These are hardly poet's hands
far too scarred and gnarled with age
with skin as dry as desert sands
yet they still scribble on this page

life goes by
as fast as hummingbirds
on tiny wings
too full of motion to see
she's not restless like me
she knows her place
finds her duty and
applies it

searching for nectar
stopping only
to realign herself

i watch from the balcony
her busy attitude reminds me
i cannot be tied
cannot be settled
always knowing there is more

and like the hummingbird
the next flower is adventure
next new scent
next new person i meet

This one is a "textural tone" poem, in the sense that it needs to be RECITED to better understand the intended rhythm and texture of the piece.
I'd be interested to hear any thoughts on howc successful you think this was.
P.S. The reference to "sectional fantasy want" is just an internal architectural joke...
Psyve
.
.

LADY IN RED, LADY IN WHITE
-------------------------------------------
© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala

deep under the green
rivulet run
I cast away the masks
and feel the soul bleeding

there is much of histories
torn from diaries
aflame
embers rising
like snowflakes
climbing

the slow whirl

timeless the dark
where dreams
lay in wait

sharpening their claws
and licking their paws

OK Jess, here's my "angry " poem. Await your pastoral............stan

I go to make withdrawal now
from the place I used to bank
where everybody smiles at you
..........like sharks

The place that I made payment to
for over fifteen years you see
on a home I'd come to think was mine
and lived with my family

until I lost my job

as result of
BANK FAILURES