Desiccated
mark and ponder
the desiccated mariposa
the hack poetess harkens
you don't say, but you do
pretentious papyrus un-furler
compulsive navel gazer
tri-hard, try harder
you couldn't just say
it's a dry, winged insect
it's sucks that it is dead
faded and turning to dust
no instead
it's all these waxy
esoteric opines and poetic
have-ons, have-nots
go ahead
perform interpretive
macramé
pretzels go well
with aged fromage
and cheap plonk
swallow whole
your self-indulgent
feathered quills
grind them to down
to pebbles and digestifs
in your stork-like gullet
go on
stick that florid
neck out
recite another jaundiced folio
sniff the natron that preserves the derivatives
you put to verse, and tell me how the pages
flip and flutter like a drunken papillon
NERD
enough precious
heart-plucking
already
you are a fumbler at best
relinquish the pinions
of those forgotten petrified
detritus butterflies
flap the silken, gilded sleeves
of your stolen kimono to the tattoo
of every haiku ever written
your heavy thoughts
will never grant flight
Ouch, right? Mean? Absolutely but I was talking to myself. Now for the flipside.
Somnambulist Penning
Link to Spoken Word
somnambulist penning
cursive in silken repose
trance-like reverie
lines, rolls, and dips
vapour trail verses
condense from thin air
decedent digits
enliven again
give over to fluttering muses
just close your eyes
take a leap
trust and let go
set your fingers free
only on phantom power
does the pen sprout plumes
the keyboard has no feathers
still stanzas grow wings
in the dream-state
remember, you're no zombie
far beyond the writing dead
for you, dear spirit, can fly
just take a breath
spread and steady your quills
listen ... now, translate the wind
37
This is the power of the soft and subtle
The caterpillar to the butterfly
So the ego-bound to the master
The butterfly cannot take to the clouds
With heavy wings
It does not gain its colour
Without first knowing the black
You abort its heights
By grasping at its powdered flight
The butterfly has no interest in decay
Choosing flowers from which to nurse
The stench of decay fades given air
So it is with the ego, the internal foe
Stay still and remain gentle
In time the butterfly will land
Link to Spoken Word
***
Words and Images are my own.
Desiccated was first conceived and published today on the HIVE blockchain.
Somnambulist penning is published in Monsters, Avatars, and Angels and available in paperback or digital through amazon and your local libraries and bookstores.
Click on any title below to further explore and support my writing.
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