Bluebeard

when he first left, I thought:

 “that’s strange”

he’s a decent person, after all

until the other hidden things came out

and piled up in a grinning heap of skulls

            adultery

            abuse

            abondonment

I won’t be surprised now if he turns out to be

  last year’s ax murderer

No more facades. Even cement can have air-pockets

I won’t feel sure until I’ve prodded every inch

and even then…

            how many blood-stained corpses could be hidden in one cellar?

Onion

doubled and layered

coiled and stretched

eye-stinging, mouth-watering

yellowed and blanched

smile on smile

frown upon frown

movement on movement

all fall down

Footprints

  Did you know I was walking behind you?

I matched my footprints to yours

       heel to heel

       toe to toe

We both had the same wide foot

  with a little curve on the instep

  and a high arch

It took great concentration

to match our steps

Did you know I was so dedicated?

  I was watching the steps so closely

  matching every little line

I did not realize or understand

when your steps changed.

       the curve of claw

       the thrust of bone

       the thread of blood

I stepped out quietly and put my shoes back on

  of course,

       I do not think you ever knew I followed.

You're still here?

Really? Well, wasn't that fun? Aren't you glad you didn't know me as a college student? A real bundle of laughs, that was me (-:)

Well, let's move on to some of the poems I wrote for it but that didn't end up in the Communal Sight group. In case you expecting another cohesive group, sorry! That's the only cycle-ish thing I ever did.

Communal Sight #11: Reflections

I move more cautiously

than I once did.

It is unprofitable to meditate

upon what might have been

I’d rather know

            well…

Yes. Yes, I’d rather know

that all faces hide still masks.

I see how the faces

change behind my quickening run

I hold no merit in the frozen paper

            carved, painted, glistening, lovely

that dwells inside my own quick-smiling warmth

It’s quite as strange to me as I’m to you

            I wonder.

If our masks came out, took over,

would we be better off?

or would we turn inward on our own selves and die?

            but…

that might be my own mask speaking

  down! Good girl. Be good and let who will be free.

Communal Sight #10: Reply

Some time when I am not so cold

I will have words with you.

I will throw them like red sparks

I will weave them like hot gold.

But now I am too cold.

my tears are icicles before they leave my eyes

my hands shiver apart from my body

my lips blue and twitch against the wind

you assault me like a winter rainstorm

beating with sleet and snow

against my green desire

Some day when summer comes

and there is no shade or hiding place

from white-hot rays and humid breeze,

then I will turn out my store of words

and burn your ice to ash

but now I am too cold.

Communal Sight #9: Musically Inclined

Polyphony winds like meshed wires

the melodies are woven with white keys

two roads dance, curve, bind

each other with taut notes.

We watch each other like soft liars

deceiving with eyes, hands, each sees

no more than they can say and find

within themselves; we all see motes

upon each other’s eyes that match our own

hear double-tuned Stravinsky in our ears

see mirror-images of our own thought

spend out our images that we have bought.

Old sureties are past; now no one’s known

tight weaving’s gone; the listener hears

only their own soul’s tune, long sought

once found, imprinted on each image caught.