July 17, 2010

Four Poems

Filed under: Poetry — Russ @ 2:12 am
A shredding moment of frost isn’t enough
To change our attitude –
The fresh seal of morning stooped to grace
Our yawns with beatitudes,
And almost piqued our interest.
Time rains so steadily, an uncaused storm,
Steady patter and white noise is a stifling erosion,
And everything muddled by jade.
I look across to your eyes, a haziness
Clouding ideas with cold coffee to perk it up.
A fine museum of weariness slouches by.
An empty space for daydreams,
Memories enchant with drowsiness,
Bland smile a residue of a long-dead moment.
Alone I can laze, stretch, drag outside and ponder,
Losing time with reminders of dying,
Like these slow hours dying by.
Where did all that shine go?
How did the rain drench this discard of my soul?
Right and prayer, weak effigies, dilute through the stops
Like failing strength, and fail, and fall, weak like we feel.
Or they’re just a mirror of what we are.
I don’t need the shine any more.
I’ve forgotten enough to turn and go,
And follow you out through a different exit.
This is for a moment, one recollection of where we diverge,
Balanced, twenty minutes history,
And then it fades like a ghost summoned then blasted by the wind,
Just fuel for its spiteful play,
As it disperses the hopeful lonely face away.
Our pride and drive to conquer makes us worship
Freedom down the centuries.
In our age of the tyrant’s good hunting
Where our souls sleep with freedom,
It makes sleep violent; we awaken constantly.
We scan the darkness
But can’t see where freedom lies.
But the wish inside our vanishing sight,
That freedom shares its own dream and seeks to be lived again,
As we could reach to touch it,
Just a minor glance, not truly felt,
To print the dream’s periphery,
To edge it softly toward us…….
Are we certain of this night?
Is it an ecstasy we dream?
To awaken, we could fear it was never phasing there.
We try these windings of thought
To mark out the path from our spirit inside to the life without;
The magic wave across the moonlight suggests
This spangled plain as sky to us and not the darker fate,
To wrestle silent all night and fall asleep too late,
To wake again beside the faith in freedom,
The counterpoint to fearful dreams,
Contrasting toward our yesterdays, another silent tide.
If we felt the next reminder we were reaching through the night
As if loneliness would be negated and blessed by reality.
Where the appointed sentinels of night
Patrol the milestones lost of light,
Each midnight receding as in a backward flow of time,
Each a false sanctuary which helpless tears of memory try to render tangible
In hours of waking prayer,
We cast this dream between us as the last struggle to share the night;
We can cross ourselves with interludes of silence.
So I sleep with you, beside a silent harmony,
Without forgiveness of the silent fate
My night has doomed for me.
Summer’s pageant, judgement to appeal
Of distant wind, tomorrow’s promised ice –
The wish for love is a pastoral
I dreamt with you, one summer, long ago.
The new dream is a colder spring;
A rain of hope and haze over the aftermath,
Sprinkling starfall evaporates back to the sky
To resume its fixture as stars;
So the rain and hail becomes affixed.
The spangled banner of night is our history
Written across the night sky.
The waves of yesterday still radiate;
They pretend the rush of lovecould renew
Our dying feelings, lost like love was bright
Reflection; still I wish to see you there
In the moonlight clearing,
Beckoning me to you.
Summer’s poetry wished its rain between us;
The empty range bleak truth can call its own.
I reach through the hail-blight, the rushing lines like comets
Calling me to step across the line of light.
Do you wish to move slow, is delay the secret
To mortgage more time for the old harmonies?
The love which compasses our childhood dreams,
The tears, the drowning joy, the religious faith?
And the antique travail, glowing like a sunset;
Faith in fate, dying, but still a sensation.
Do we lie our liberation into ice,
And life’s generation into violence?
Death was promised as well, and we want to forget.
So love becomes a played-out tragedy,
And shelters in the shadows of collapsing truth,
Stale echoes, soul fabrications.
This song of faith is an afterthought of being,
Like the nonexistent starlight that still hypnotizes heaven.
Here a sort of life lingers, pretending,
A promise we pretend has no threat to reveal its lie,
Never to pass into treason, lost like love was bright.
Still my eyes follow traces of your memory,
As if you still existed
When I finally thought I saw you.
Destiny, please wait, just a few more hours;
My tired limbs struggle to hasten to you.
The circling stars measured endless time’s seeming,
But the seeming’s now fleeting,
Trailing waves of dead sentiment,
And now opposing winds push me back while I pursue.
What sound directs me, in approaching you?
I glance off tangents, mesmerized by chaos.
I wilt upon a thought of death, never having found you.
Yet I stumbled once upon a moment of belief,
And there, a glimpse of heaven beyond you.
There I mark your silhouette,
And there I find the strength inspired
To run again toward you, to clasp the flesh this time,
And not just in the dream of a thousand times before.
I always say today’s the time,
And my sedimentary utopias pile up.
I dreamt I found a way to love and promise you divinity,
And forget you ever walked away from me.
Then, drunken in the starlit waves of specious sanctity
I dream lame melodies, tinny chimes of fate stirred by empty winds.
History might miss us,
Storming wildly over the horizon’s massing millions,
All eyes blurred away by the violent stirring light.
I could worship you before this,
I could wish your fate forever,
You could answer me with comets,
Pulsing symphonies of beauty, marked by fireworks,
There to drown us all in ecstasy.
I shiver, I fall tired between the darkness,
Hearing magic trails of crystal sound to echo from the ends of time
To lead me onward, as fate tests weakness and strength.
Dreaming you, I was always dreaming me,
And climbing up from the memories,
If I sometimes stumble and fall back a bit,
I no longer feel I begin to fall forever.


  1. It’s all good, Russ. My particular favorite parts are the last paragraph of the first one, and the last sentence of the last one.

    Well done. Thank you.

    Comment by Bloodgroove — July 31, 2010 @ 11:42 am

    • Thanks, JD, and you’re welcome.

      Comment by Russ — July 31, 2010 @ 1:00 pm

  2. You know, you’re getting pretty good at this poetry gig.

    Comment by Bloodgroove — July 31, 2010 @ 3:23 pm

    • Thanks. I just put up a new one this morning.

      Comment by Russ — August 1, 2010 @ 7:00 am

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