Clutter of the Past


Out with the clutter of old ways
Cast aside every shrine
That dismally, glows, forgotten

Burn every merciful bridge
That lends its retreat into former glory
Into a faded day’s joy

Uproot and set fire to every shrub
That once promised you new heights
A view far and wide

Defer from the nourishing past
Dismantle your roots
Drift away and take flight

Still Lifes and Landscapes

Working Title/Artist: Abraham Brueghel:  Pomegranates and other fruit in a landscape
Department: European Paintings
HB/TOA Date Code: 
Working Date: 
photography by mma 2003, transparency 7B, 8x10 front
scanned and retouched by film and media (jnc) 10_15_07

There are only open plains
And still lifes on a loop
In this cracked frame of mind

So few chaotic words
To claim the disturbed
For uprooting the stern
The cool and assured

I have nothing surreal
To budge the unashamed
From their angelic forms
To the arms
Of their snarling madness

The truth
Is too perfect to thrive
In this blank state of mind
Where the landscapes unfurl
In their passionless shades

Food for the Wastebin


I’ll crumble, at my own rotten hands
A fate better than the wrath
Of traitorous friends

I live to implode
To unravel myself
At the hour of my choosing
When I can squeeze nothing more
From this life

Desolation awaits for me
When the wires in my mind
Have frayed
And my voice grows tired and shrill

That hour is mine
To fill with the trinkets
With the few joys, I hardly knew

Out of this Cavern of Death


I’ll be damned if I remain
In this low-down, wavering state
Under the phases of the moon

Farewell, to this spell of mourning
For these victimized bones that spoil
Far after their demise

There can be, no more of this night
For I yearn to dig
From the wood and the satin
That has bound me in sorrow

I will praise the great day
When the surface erupts
When the sunlight may spill
Into this cavern of death

Tragically Uninspired


The day is so tragically squandered
In the closing vise
Of an indisposed mind

The vileness it crafts
Looms through to the dusk
Through the barrenness of night
Once full and inspiring

And barely alive
By a weakening thread
It implores for peace
And to earnestly breathe

In Eternal Reverse


A mother fears for this world
How easily it unfurls
As her son, is enthralled to embark

A mother’s fear is within
And by daybreak it swells
And roars to a thundering collapse

He is sullen, penniless, and mute
In eternal reverse
On a homeward trek
Each hour

Succumbed to the terrors
That were never his own

The Unconquerable Beauty


She’s just as withdrawn and winded
Being kicked along
By the cruel trudge of time

She is honest and drab
And faithfully morose
Engulfed in her past
By the blare of her war-time trials

She has carefully aged
To savory perfection
At home in the ether
Somewhere, I’ll roam

On a day of great fortune
On a kindred
And merciless trail
Through the night


If you enjoyed this poem, you can find more like it in my latest book, The Slums of Nightfall. It’s available for purchase on Amazon and  Createspace


Reeds in the Mire


Through the high arc of the reeds
As the black waters steam
And my limbs are reduced
Into ashes adrift

Like a family’s farewell
A funerary quest
From my seasons of quarrel

Soon the waters will calm
As I grind
To a pitiful gasp

And my thrashing
Will dismally fade
As the reeds arc higher

I’ll be far from dismay
In that untimely fall
Of vigor and sorrow