Lord Dermond – The Mortal Words

May 042021

The Mortal Words

“I am the master of the flaw. Nothing I do is very good, is very talented,
but the way I recover from it is exquisite (extraordinary, astonishing, endearing,
profoundly endearing, fairly beautiful).”

– R. Hell



... and so she stands still
like a rose among realness
imperceptible.



By Lord Dermond
[Daniel B. Dermond]




Published by:
BLAST PRESS
324B Matawan Avenue
Cliffwood, NJ 07721

gregglory@aol.com
gregglory.com

The Eternal Muse


In my soul, she lingers softly
within the tenebrous haze and
is now embodied by remoteness.

Eyes, that clutch sweet lavender
from the rain perfected skies,
passionately embrace all time
as veiled perdition dies....

Inventing her solace, my angel
consumed a heart, not her own
as I dreamed of her- adored her
so divinely and unknown.

She will shine and hypnotize
in cruelly naked radiance
for his distending gaze.

Unforgiven


Returning to the sanest of light
I do not escape trembling drowse

   and recollections-regret!
   My bloodied eye foretold,
   compelled to disturb this
   sinister grace. Remaining
   as I will in hourly veils
   awaiting the vilest soul.

Ode to a Young Girl


Entering upon this sanctity
swept in by her uncertainty
I peer inside a broken sense
to reveal my shattered self.

Tides asunder, I loved her eyes
clear as night in bloodless skies
green like all her souls eternal,
she possesses all my whys.

Lone wraith of laughter, she
sends color to my pale cheeks
as I have loved and hated thee
and scorned my own defeats.

Your sweet mouth, Intoxication-
I revel on your cold salt tears
that quench my fire, a sorceress
mad, in sun-reddened tresses

hurled to the sky! an angel has
penetrated all this divine impurity-
that tempts her by passion and fears
of dreaming, and I too, who confesses.

Sweet girl, lithe-limbed in
this heart’s own creation- she is chosen
to drown in my shrines of sacrifice, when
sometimes I hear my own blood has frozen.

Her Hyacinth Eye


Her hyacinth eye,
O’ grandiloquent nimbus.
An eye canted, ebullient
to the moonblind sea
ethereal, incessantly clenching
untilled verity.
Below enamelled sky, opulent
eyelids in a pondering
ballet
of dispersed echoes
memories enchained,
like suffused litmus pools
espousing melancholy
to impinge my soul.

Violet Sublime


From the moment of her leavened inception
upon a placid beam, eclipsing bloods
she rendered, her countenances redeemed.
She swims in strangled magenta pediments
that wend reinvented themes.

Her sapient manacles of emollient light
bend her blues! by dilation or those
vast minions of rage that will rule
and bring God to this wisdom created
among her legions of coral rue.

She poured herself to reflected unison,
complected in the insistently starred
night of lighthearted prosody that
embraced her falling soul and elusive
light, playing to her fictive schemes.

Does our icy conception sequester and
congeal my maundering spirits, imposed?
Unwrapped mists that her imaginings construe
enfold me and pinch this disconsolate eye
with a most ephemeral hue.

Evening on Church Street


Pentecostal chimes summon saffron
lights unfold rose in stone
and shed these frail inceptions,
our priested tear concedes.
A tinctured church hoists
the cloistral barb and recedes
to the impatient weather-prophet
who deludes the gradual moon.

‘Impatient souls renewing tongues
imposed angels conjure thy tune,
a braided ear inhales its ceaseless
cry amid temporal swoon.’

...and so said Miss Straw
   who strummed to us all,
   with a love for words
   and stories of the dead
   wisteria she cared for
   it troubled her so, orison
   with unbuttoned head.

She held a poem to her heart.

Patti’s Prayer


Her cool jeweled eyes met upon
a tug of lure, born of a sea
and sky that conspire all time,
foam blanking the effulgent stone
wave lapse into minuets of mime.

The ocean swells upon crystal
sands and drops its sweet jade
like blame to the sullen shells.
Rimed wine left the stale taste
of Jesus on her lips and remained
as stars lie to naive skies and
kiss veins in shy spores of light.

"Tonight it is clear
a good night to die
or ride the virulent tide-
ride desires of sea and sky
and purge my resurrection."

The Wake


It’s hard to rend ritual
that enflames my soul,
when all is lost! alas
(hope and the like)
rusted bloods of retort.

"Generations upon generations came
on humps of wood with twisted brain."

Purged heads stuffed
with gods, no centuries
to hide my pain.
Waters blanche my spirit
at both ends
like Chinese fingertraps.

Chalice in terrified hands
they sing...

"Generations upon generations came
on humps of wood with twisted brain."

The Monumental Grunt


She bathed in balded moon’s
Warm poultice, with quavering
Lip to the scarlet hissing

She bleeds essential form
In the rife sunlight, pearled
And plucked.

Melodious light, insurgent
On mended eye, exhaling pride
To unbidden suns, filial-

Eyelid in lecherous oration
Like a rend communion wafer
Limpid by the ruck.

Hesitancy of procession,
My vengeance of memories decay
And dissuade.

O’ Manifesto


for the girl of a laughter unheard 

I
O’ elusive angel. What purpure penitence
does she so eloquently bequeath unto me
in a love without bound but so unrequited?
My sanctified soul’s but a tendinous shell
coiled and pearled from within her as indigo
silks, spired in the blessed elements
that evolve among our intricate divinities.
My dried eye, slow rising in credent regale
the solemn temperance of her crescive blues,
to summon up the virginal tear, she bestows
jeweled testimony with a shard marbled fist
speaking sacral tongues in infinite bliss.

II
O’ lone one. What pondering mind will try
to disfigure her in all this radiant still?
She was found in sabellian rue, glories!
bound in ciphered light, sacramental
and forever among cerulean vagrancy,
the exalted night for her reified raillery.
Her vision enwounds like a velvet glove
and cradles the hallows of this profane skull
no centuries confined upon her to rely as
she swims within a purest of sky, entrancing
my memories that in a lingering song die-
as she, obedient to beauty’s last
passing breath, pilfers laughter in a prayer.

III
O’ girl not my own. Why denied this embrace,
with I bereft of your most vermillion grace?
Your suspended essences which dance eternally
play upon this loneliest of face, as you evolve
in sweet orchid muses, from the dusts of the sea,
the incessant intellect of the living wind’s plea.
Eyeballed moon casts its glinting wink upon
dawn’s foibles, inclined to sleep among the ilex,
ancient trees that imbrue hope on a hollow soul.
You exhale revelation that God has consumed to
anointed perfection that conspires your moods,
as I held you intently- alone and exhumed.

The Holy Men


Holy men descend
With souls too nil
In forlorn eloquence

From false distil
Our dried wines,
Are full of heart

Opaline eye shy
Lyra spied upon
A sonorous moon

My dead memory
Of delicate nymphs
Sister of thorn

Forests of green
Without deceit,
My veins darken

Venus, barbarous
In endless skies
Sister of clarity.

Renaissance Man


I 
It was in his laughter
that he had known
that all that was
was not his own.

He stared into time
with a dissipated face
that tricked the minutes
with a slow forced grace,
until he remained
above the highest sky,
aerial suns sent solace
from a heavenly sigh.

The angels descend
and the antlered oak climbs
like open bones, shaking in mime
as the tottering wren sings
in roisterous altitudes
his remembrance brings.

Let the oceans’ repeal
the sad moon’s cold tug,
the lost burning prayer
Despair, O’ Despair.


II
Sunlight stumbles to consciousness
in the rudely blued luminescence
as the sacred light coheres
among bruised and showy oaks,
that deepen in the green tears
of summer’s long cloak.

The sainted strains of coral sea
that salts the air, mockingly
in the dream’s eternal glide
the incendiary keepers
tame our uncertain tides.
Disconsolate shards of a wave
recede on the tables of blue,
with coruscate delicacy that perishes
within the lung-dead spumes.

His furtive stares are darkly said
rolling in winds like rimpled leaves
that shriek existence in wishing reds
out of all this rage, still spilling free,
over thumbing sands to a silent sea
the world’s calmed blossom had to be
his last token rose and godliest plea.


III
Escape! and let this day be shattered
that spent its hordes in trembling shreds,
out of all the desolate days that mattered
and disturbed the sleep of sleeping heads.
The innocence of your step is ghosted in time.

Each tongue of night returns
to priested ears seeking
words from the wise,
and severed recollections
from the old world of lies.

The words and the trees
are hanging in steam
of the blades of his face
finding their fruit,
alive against the sky
detached and solemn
in a grave-struck place.

Retire, and let this day be done
that left you senseless, a call of the dead
from within your will, you shall regain
the rise sublime, with all your fears shed.
The cradle of your soul is freed from all pain.

Charred Remains


Our aspiring minds
lost in flux, rolling up
the soured detail
save dying.
Hollow; rolling a stale
poem on stone ears
he persists.

How much is lost?
Echoes shelving recollection,
ringed with words, it remains
crashing to excrement-
and does not cease

untouched by roar.

Your face.
A flower opens
bride of terror
Shall your rose close
screaming with light?

Alight the striking!
in slanted freshness,
be presumed present
in careworn splendor
semi-naked.

recover, recover!

Evening Litany


Blackness shed its stare on all
Closed by the moon’s big hole
     Whose glow is idle.

The mind flowed, smothered in bloods
The children with eyes on a man
     Unseen hands kill.

The stroke of repentance seeks a
Strong heart, till soon it lies
     In the silken lair,

Whitely flourished and knowing torment.
The funeral candles’ flames ascend,
     Promising salvation

As they huddle into this stroke of grace,
The fires of Hell unveil dead memory-
     Burying indigence.

Solemn vigil sways the slow evening rout
Of crescent tongues and aging flesh,
    A fulvous multitude

Whose disembodied shudder blindly rises
In a song of remembrance, passing
     From look to look.

Alexis Trailorpark


Alexis watched the sea renew its salty bloods,
The sinless welling of the blessing waters

That taunted her to rejoice in ringing infinity.
Pinkened roses edged the weedy grasses

Weeping to the sultry blush of fertile skies.
Such beating upon her breast as the clouds

Noble crepe lined a tender lullaby, dreaming.
Melancholy winds, deep in thought on sands

Wild and solemn as a living voice, considering
The oceans that she held in her hands.

She stared into the night of aimless dignity
Punctuated with longing, bareheaded stars

Tenderly straining to atomize an answer
To awaken her sleep twisted heart.

Rushmore at Sunset


I 
Beyond the clearing of unspoken contemplation
darkness absolves lowered sun’s furious stare
tragically abrading a fluent circle of tongues.
The glow remained, an imagism of stillnesses,
spurning the obstinate measures of hired will
awakening in the all-sudden melancholy of doubt.
Golden flowers knew no bounds; jasmine dream
slept petals overturned watery world’s scheme
while sinking into the dying eye of blackness.
The suncured day grew into a few pale syllables,
blinking its retiring rose upon those living
rivers of quartz that arose unto Dante’s view.
Light uncorrupted by its concession to night,
the blush-touched mirage set desire on the rock
imploring man’s profundity in a granite sprite.

II
Eyes inviolate, unshaken in their prideful vision,
are like wired red torches at a moment’s imagining
swarming the ages to see what strain the peerless
pursuit of those absolute truths shall bring...
The rimrose earth remains in its risible dance,
the tilted pirouette with a lunatic perfection,
proudly affirming the sacred fires born of stone
that are raging unashamedly in a free man’s mind.
Vivant winds repeat their hymns, nimbly shouting
to the rocks and the lonely dusts of incessancy,
awaiting radiant grace and man’s conquering hand
that carved its soul, tracing in the dead shades.
A shining divination of Minerva bled, on cliffs
and from the curls upon heaven’s white head, to
purify all eternity that springs from her breast.

Speaks To the Soul of Man


I
Must we live among this suffering still
that calls the dull ache of sacrifice forth
by a series of doubts or by folly bring
the nodding flowers to wink at the sea?
A man’s intellect is his supreme mastery
that revels in a blink or in oceans that be;
the spirits of sweet Shelly must ring free!
And from every airy spire that a man adorns
with fiery vision and torrents of thought,
shed these inhibitions that touch our grace
and spurn no beauty within thy golden wraith.
For these are divinities of highest testament
that consume fervent choirs in tender embrace,
the solemn shades of our untendered sacrament.

II
Shy sunlight became the masonry
its variations on a single theme,
the inexhausted symphony screams
to the sculpted heart of reason.

Our dreams are as the centuries bringing
their struggle to the elements, awaiting
their final expression upon this sight,
welding the courage to face a lifetime.
I refuse to quell this mind to serve
in sacrifice upon your altar, if only
for the sake of some ghosts in heaven;
for consciousness is not born of some
dull erudition of wood nor the evil you
dread facing and terror of its proof.

The loves that we keep so divinely,
indelibly holding our sacred bound
remove the slimmest whimper of doubt.
A lone soul crying upon the mountain
tonight is blessed in these old eyes,
that have seen the tortures of the wise
and pleas of solace to the dimmest decree.

III
The lucid sunlight blinks its minutes
upon stale ground and shifting trees
that smear their reds and golds and greens
to the silence of your sighs, opposing dreams.
O’ insolent tendency! and sorrowful guilt,
the hopeless mythic endowed corpse and ghost
to know the unknowable, no soul in revelation
speaking from your freedom’s deathbed I say:

“To love a man for his virtues on high
 is noble and human, your emotions divine.
 Fight for your life and the virtue of your
 pride, the raving goddess of your purpose.”

“To you who think the mind a passive effect or
 are unwilling to wish, must recapture your soul!
 for you are but an omnipotent spiritual embryo,
 O’ ye of burgeoning faith.”


IV
Upon these burrowing lives I must leak light!
as the shallow moon pursues its own ignorance
obscuring the glory of summer’s proud song
that swells sublime within independent minds.
The exalted flowers beckon bright at lisping sea
as desire returns, magnitude of my will unreviled,
and rise, rise rises to this youthful sanctity.

so go on and remain certain in your stead with
a mind unobstructed- eye to eye in opposing fires
with utterance in the  skies of uncorrupted rose,
resolved to every solemn circumstance now dying
in the intemperate rages of wandering nights.
Fall will return to pronounce your crimes as
moody heavens pour peerless judgments upon all
this forgiveless grace, our leaning benevolence.

The Unknown Beheld


Arisen to the temptress cloudcrack
of a lonely autumn day, skittering
in alternating floods of sunlight,
undeciding flows bending graciously,
throwing out a limb for the ivies.

I sit idly in heaven’s cloudy palm,
divinity living in unsubdued grace
with fire in the eyes of the beaten,
until bodies are but a visible flame
in the voices enfolding our darkness.

Cunning night galled dead vanities,
craving forgiveless in godly respite
and bent toward a choiring foretold,
the inviolate bending of stars leak
in anonymity like colored enigmas.

Winds rub the sea’s winnowing knee
as I dived heedless tides of infancy
only to find my heart out of praise,
tumbling through our blue-salt seeds
and shivering among the roving spray.

In Sight


Does my ripened eye, glistering
In tearful moonlit hold,
Disguise its blinded hollowness?

We tread beneath a thriving sky,
A desert of roses dusting the brow
Of one more flowing skull,

To exult the torn shadow, something
Rising from our loss of conscience
Or the unmeditating of a heart.

One recalls with disinterred shame
The faint glissade the soul intends,
Stripped cold in our misting rains,

To soothe and purl the elusive char
Of presaging joys, mothering salvation
And perishing in the laudable hour.

Our semblant souls ache and yearn
As from the wrath of all human hope
We breed eternal dreams.

Gone Dead


My hands made numb, the salve
For my soul gone dead, all by itself
Dancing warm alone, alone,
Likely to die by crucifixion’s ply,
Pushing its vile on tideless stone.

More, no more the lusted lip sings
(memories fade the singular dream)
How do I soot the raw edge again?

Retiring rain drops spiritual head
All to drain of the sensual rale,
The sinking eye stares cold
Black shot, half itself, flat
Or gone dead.

To Recover Yourself


The trick of it is to cradle
The small glass tit of hope,
That no longer exists, trying
To milk a dream from nothing.

Rise if you must, inhibitions
For the drowning of a prayer
And behold a coma’s leggy soul,
Dust churning unsung umber.

Swill the rebus of coral gist!
Pinchblades all desiring a rive
In the jubilate of curing seas,
I am the womb of faineant stasis.

The divorce craved the miraculous
In the torrent of naked vocables.

Ragged Senses and Sundered Selves


Ragged senses and sundered selves
Remain faithless as I, no more alone
Than bones feeding the sodden fold,

Shining through things so often true
That shackle me where sunlight blooms,
My unknown selves hiding in the deep

Of a mansouled tomb, the black blessing.
Wind bled endlessly from shattered hills
Like living prayers of the unborn root,

And mankind’s fathering creation too;
Waves crowd closer as I move to death
And shed sullen husks of salty breath,

Crouching in the eternal flames of dawn
That grow from the dead angelus flames,
Warming the seeds of a humbling youth

As the salt pounds in my waking wrist.
Wandering upon these soulless shores
Light breaks upon her watering heart,

Pushing tides below the oil of stars
Staining a night with monstrous wits,
My spirit clouting the quaking roar.

The dreaming darkness assumes a mood
In a hush of divinity, heart of scars,
Or the haunting afternoons gone astry,

The ring of receding devotion endures.
Wedding pearls the waters of solitude,
Shedding the scuttle in the furies of clay

That forsake her dismay, unabating awes
of the sea’s disparities of nimble blue.
I lure her shadow beyond undying recall.

Ritual Winter


A ritual in the winter of the soul
Sheds light to limb; the red cloud
Assembles on the fluid grave.
An infancy of anchored pickthorns
Twined the moon-bitten rocks; bloods
Forewarned the headless night.

The winds of winter chill the bones
Of Eve; the grey crested seas
Prowl over watering wounds,
In the drowning eyes of unfed womb,
Choking dry kisses as life leaks down,
Lost within the weeping ruin.

A ritual in the winter of my soul
Speaks to the newborn rose, undying
Within its freezing skins.
The sea-born wringing of the senseless
Christens the stillborn heart,
Whispering to the intemperate dead.

Once More for Alexis


She is set ablaze
  All within.
The blankless sun

Pinned a pearl drop
Upon the hollow blue,
Radiant pinions swoon

In crystal vision
  She consumed.
The heavens round,

Angelic spheres arising
Encircling each moment,
Is no less painless.

Fluency of holy shadow
  Born to stone
Pours incessantly

In rarified repose,
Her eternal flames
Of fury abound.

She is beautiful,
  To be seen
As beautiful by me.

Full of Grace


Black airs haunt
The unnested child
Empty as a prayer

 ‘full of grace’

God! My soul’s perjured,
Mourning her glass coffin

My black eyelids
Awaiting the judgment.

 ‘full of grace’

Into the spiritual
Of the golden ball,

Graves of roses
Pinning up the moon.

Hail Mary,
 ‘full of grace.’

Death of the Kiss


When full skies hinge the fields once more
Swallowed up in their graze of nerves,
Uncocking the magic bones or fire,
A matter of fluids that sucked me dry
And fused its sight upon burial stones,
The sun unscrewed the night’s turning tide.

Though blind mother’s dawn was nearly drawn
And all those plum voices, rerobing my birth,
Assumed the witnessing hiss that cannot atone,
Nor bend nor burn the air-banged bride
That, unfired to her seedless vine
Had hung her cross by mother’s eye.

Remember me who struck the nodding shores,
The ghost who strode a sea’s snapping rim?
and did not suffer, the unentered skull
That refused to smile but could not cry,
That sipped mortal bloods from unknown rivals,
Steered cold laughter as upgiven hearts died.

Death glided by but soon spun its bud
That palmed beheaded trees in the deadweed,
Bent in the tilting sundries of infant scripture
That are flowering in the late galleries of snow;
Under known cloud strokes of the celebrated skies
Fate unwound endlessly and left me all alone,
Alone and faithless with her dying christs.

The Aftermath


I can only liken it to
Childhood...

"Now this won’t hurt
a bit."

My last Halloween
Caught in Fitkin,
Water on the brain,
Gilding stillwells.

Torn into the truth
In moon-clung silver,
Tapping the spine,

I watched the goblin
Masks of death,
I shall retire
The artist within.

"Now you’ve done it,
raised a spineless liar.
How are you the better
for it?"

My gaze falls unto heaven,
Wonderously lumbering
This mood,
Watching from without.

Life By Fire


Silence abounds the white-fire tides
Those misting swells bend the corals.
The noblest seas and bloods arising,
Unsoil the blues of the holiest light,
The centuries gave form to lost truth!
Proclaiming the moon by torch-lit ring,
Prometheus inherited god’s twelve golden
Flames, he lit the eyes of a lost angel
By oiling the condemned wing.
Undoing the reins of a higher love,
The rose goddess unbound Ypsilanti,
Her venerable soul so perfectly sings
To crackle the crown napping bramble.
Euphonies bloomed the unearthen skull
Dance O’ Soul of a primal solitude!
Balancing creation atop sky’s vanity,
She consumed mother’s eye of its sea,
The immortal waters of time.
The living testament burning within,
Recalling a tale from under the rib,
Auguries kiss the virgin spring hymn.
Alas! Atlantis beckons resplendently,
No lone bloods rust upon the damned.
I am the center, orange, peeling---
The flesh of Lazarus began revealing,
Revealing itself to the revived choir,
Wristing in the purloined fires.

Round Her Mortality


It was in the harangue of winter
When heavens bore their humble ode
To the sea’s eloquent tint and rove,
Pleasuring in the pauses of rapture.
Music abounds in the deepening glow,
The roar for love; I cannot conceal
Who I am alone, so forever alone.
The awesome shades of unseen grace
Fled the mysteries of amorous air
Like a sunbeam or the dead thoughts
That visit memory from sea to sea;
The human heart and spirit willing,
Spin like her shining starlit bead,
Or the tender hues of vital beauty
That consecrate this solemn moment.
Skies composed a thin veil of tears
Within a desolate rainbow, dreaming
Daylight in the hearts of ever more,
Bleeding life in congregating vapor
That encircles those vain endeavors.
Uncertain moments echoing eternity
In the immortal strains descending,
Become mute in our liquid sleeping,
Lined with grief and twisted heads.
Winds reply to the bluing fountains
That lorn the yearning lip once more
Or seek the mimes we pined in murmur,
As we discover the shadows of remorse
Through the intricate change of days,
A quickening of morning immersed us,
In a strike of earth’s bursting tide
Drowning her forever in sacred lights
That lamp the renewed moment of joy, 
We thirst for the spiritual dawning.
Profuse wings settle their red ghosts
Out of all these holier abandonings,
Rising out of the autumn afterbirth
With a saddened rose, her atmosphere
Had left its wound, visible as mist.
Her thin caress must live once more,
The burning kissed from eternal lips
That can never depart or sound again
Through rock or heart or trodden den,
She’s fled to a kindred heaven, fled!
Azure lids and delicacies of breath
Were cold among our purgatorial fall,
Aching for the soul’s aqueous knells
That chimed sweetly when beauty died.
Weeping clouds grab the sanded wave
Bidding the taste of salt-sadnesses,
Strenuous tongues cold rising rung
The haunting excrescences of revelry
Disconsolate angel’s upward firing,
Whispering unto heaven’s emblazoning.
The moon soothed the blissful tune
A sound of pureness, forever free,
Like a saint worming the icy dream,
Embracing the witless with melodies.
Ethereal hands deceived the vermeil,
The longing of her ocean’s strains
That risk the bride’s shrinking scream,
Beset with her darklings of miracles
Gathered into the crescent of tears
To touch the ripples of melancholy.
Cruel as it may be, a reaping decay!
But chooses no other god to roam for
In the tremulous presence of truth
That recalled what fell rings,
The hearts of flowers, half opening.
Flint-like, stars dimming asunder,
Bowing to the children, washed away
In the raven dwellings of innocence
Where night returns, no tempest spent,
Or on the bloody stones of remembering,
The virgin who killed lost sentiments
With the careless rage so momentarily
Held as to pretend godhead confessions,
Wielded in the deep deadened turmoil.
The twisted tree is hewn from greys
Like a hidden river of orisoned air
Laughing in rapt inflections of veins
Pulsating under the moonbound lair;
Its jubilant hands extending beyond
The thresh of untempered horizons,
Dipping into the sea’s despairing,
The poinsettial blowing of her love
Washes into this immaculate sleep.

The Dying Sea


The barbarous tasseling of dawn
Chills the sun’s feckless effluence
With careless hands that duly scribe
Its stuffless expiation and imbibes
The choiring paradigms of ‘dulia.’

Tumult, the moon lit idioms rose
In bedlamite strings of bullion,
The inviolate sacristan has borne
Earth’s paradise, whispering unto
The Cherubims, forsaking the eye.

Scriptures encarved the permanent
Tears of silence tumbling blindly
In the swilling waters of the heart,
Lost lights burning the skinning
Tides, slitting the tuneful throat.

Dispersed innocence hailed summer’s
Sprig, spurned from within a longing
Unlamented urn of esurient heraldry,
Dazzling immortality in leafy whispers,
The spirit rekindles its wakeful rose.

Purgatorial orations ride upon golden
Tongues in the lordly dwells of elegance,
Violent souls dream of death’s kingdom
In a shapeless void, to lift the gates
Of the unknown sea.

=

Searching in the narrow veins of thought
That hover ‘round the transient mould,
Awake! elemental as the windless bloods
Stealing upon a sky, raising the fires,
Inspiring blush on the brimming head.

A moment’s ornament, worlds not realized
In the darkness of our choking graves,
Relinquished man’s unspent mortality
From the indemnifying hollows of the
Dying flame, exhaling a tender spirit.

The incantations of the unwatched dreams
Immerse themselves in red-crescent spheres,
The unerring wilderness of an untamed heart.
The verdurous souls pour, and the haunting
Eye sheds no violet, I can no longer see.

I can no longer hear those begone woes
Or the gallows sense of ineluctable time,
Embalming some viewless plot or glide
That beams divinely in the mocking eye,
With shining wiles, unwilling to sleep.

Can I ascend from this blackened gyre
To ride upon the flames or flower?
Let no agonies curl from my breast
Or break to save an untold prophecy,
Chilling the lifted sea.

Farewell Girl


Her mutinous glance
Comes to vision,
Eyes that mollify

Endlessly, the night’s
Stony endurance, misting
The pliant blues,
Christening the ocher.

Her raveled lavender
Will walk forever,
Acquiring the gods!
Of vermillion whorl.

Sun, the yellow
Spur smoldering
Ceremoniously
In uneven seasons,

Dissipates the wry
Horizon,
Seas insinuate.

Lost girl, elusively
Leaves in light
Circles of air,

Disappearing on
A wave’s gentle
Turning.

Resurrection


The blind winds have striven
In their clarion verse,
Floating in the filigree
Of unseen awakenings
Like the wintry leaf
Breathing in empty airs,
Uplifting lone heads.
Clouds, like tiny fists,
cleave to starlit harmonies
In life’s thorny hour,
To weave a dream, thought
Or unconstrained memory.
The heart’s faint echoes
Writhe in the flux,
Rendering immortal strains
From intimate treading
Of our bloodiest waters
That salt the torrents
Of a skull’s purest breath.
The fiery tear ministers
No pain, enduring purblind
Crimsons; angel of melancholia
Rousing the unbound ages,
The living stream of evermore.

The Epitaph


The poised white faces
Murmur in piteous mouth,
The brows of azure
Climb the Almighty
Into the raftered airs.

Standing in repose
Of God’s golden fire,
Never shall it happen,
This young man’s repair?
Consumed in tall thought,

I weep in suns of comfort,
Worshipping a sinned image
Filling my head,
Unchilding the blaspheme,
Naked on undinal seas.

Soul to Solitude


The lost mourning of my
Unsoiled eyes,
Divining the unwrinkled sun
Of darkening bone, break
Upon the violet sea’s shake,
Blessing the threadbare spirit.
The blue-winged trees
Are ridden to sleep,
Rain-rung and always rising.

Her4 death was composed
In the gardens of progeny
With marble hands,
I sought the obsequies
Of a more solemn rose,
A beauty reborn
Of our heavenly root,
The blossoming elegies
‘O’ innocence of youth.’

The Witnessed Prophecy


All gentle innocence converged
upon this one sight.

The spellbound sea enshrouded
her reverent perceptions, inspired
to awe and held in stillness
with blackened eyes, eternal.

A heart consumed of holy fire
for all whose soul had met,
in naked revelation, upon her
does this autumn sky beget?

Fingers of the sea, tenderly
assumed the contours of her sole,
imprints upon departing sands
the shapes of dreams too visible.

Her time wounde3d eyes emote
their scorn, and hold fury as
she’s descending, blinded by a
moon halo, so goldenly remote.

Eyes, and the complexities therein
collect the momentary hues within her
tender rainbow and are cleansed in
the waters of a purified heaven.

Rapturous skin, as a shell
made smooth, whitened in the
ageless hands of the sea, she
sings among the moonlit tears.

She, from all her hallowed anguish,
reveals this living apparition!

‘Twilight Lake’


The air grows to sugar.
The anemic trees

Are drained, mouthing
Beneath the sky’s
    cracked lip

Toneless and austere,
    inheriting
Heaven’s unstrung yellow,

Dusk impounded cruel
Fluencies of sight,

Needling the eye,
Blind to abrading red
    tumuli

Pinching the black stone,
The rose-cut bluster.

Pondering the silence,
Wind rived the grey
    waste

Of the bay
Insolent head, unaware.

The Laughing Tragedian

‘fOR tHE cOLTS nECK pOET’

Your fatal assertions are astutely made.

A voracious flower grips the black essences
Of a rich recital, blessing the breath of life
As the ranting imperative of a tearful infancy

Unfolds us blindly in the thundering tirade.
Forgathered tongues shed devilforked lights,
Bleeding infinite blues from reds spines of fire,

Carving their eloquence from a cold vacant mouth
In the soulful compliance of your conscience construed.
Elegance purged the unimaginative scribbling,

Etching the awes of a Greek intention,
Sculpted in ligaments from eternity’s limb
That climbs to find your symphony unfinished.

The philosopher, tucked in the holiest whisper
Above the warm bloods of uplifting profusion,
Asks questions of all this substanceless grace,

The unclouded spirits of your ritual perceiving.

The Yearling


Tainted dreams leave me
Bloodied and red-blessed,
Displacing pitiless tears.

Bodiless wisdom loosed
The tongueless myths 
And elixive wicks,
  imageless.

Too much is lost,
  unrecoverable
And brutally endless,

I walk beneath
Paring earthskins
Commanding god-tang,
exiled white hands.

The night desecrates
A sky of indolent
  flint

Clouding my veins
Of gritted indifference,
Capes of light
Lick the bitters.

The Haunting Summer


Water illumes in the dwindling skies
Skittering like sorrow, from eye to eye.

In the solar suavity of evening’s stare,
Fading and falling to ash, unreal,

It is lorn night with a forgone light,
Crimped with espousals of poignant white.

And so the dealiest of our imaginings
Is fiercely real, but like a flash of rain,

the tearful elocution of a profound soul,
So thinly torn, idly shaking sticks

To brood pursuance and weather a feeling,
The thrown stone drips, imposing cold tears.

Those silvery hopes, restoring old magnificence
Place their frail sequel upon the everlasting head.

N. Y. C.


The sapphire dreams shall daunt this moment
flowing in lone spokes of ambivalent light,
breathing their life into our minds of fire
with the sapient veins still severed by sight.

Threads of desire will haunt the bone-bent
skull pinching the shoals of holiest torrent.

We must try learning to launder the impure
hearts of our memory and the endless elusion
of the new night’s warm broach, pinning its
romanticism on the dried heads of autumn.

Catching my burnt tears in a vertiginous lilt
of bluebell emulsions on a smooth-throated sky,
with dead expectations and a veil of grey smoke
that choke my praises in the black wedge of nigh.

The eternal


Trees line the shapeless marrow
like dead Braille as our perilous divers
hardened in the arterial waters
of the hourless grail.

Images roar from the desolate claw
mystifying all this ageless jibe,
the keeper of our virgin tide
that drums on stone.

Free all your water-gods!
erect among the unrelenting rose,
the blood stringed hills lie
where she will grow.

Wasted plenty in brotherless dust,
a blackened rind or citric bide
that boxed my love, gristled
in her velvety bale.

Innocents


White dressed and wholly mortal,
Death set upon my glass heroine
By chipping at my soul,
So bare when she died.
The grave like the seas
Drown our ills,
Bloods bending a tide
Of lunar silences,
Tangled in distemper.
Praising blind origin,
The unbidden ascension
Endured so, to mourn
Forever our following
And her christening down.

The Deviled Breast


The deviled breast
And shawls of night
Shale the dry
Hatchlings of fire,
Housing the shroud
And feeding the spry
Tide-swung ghost.

The toe-snubbing sea
Grooms the solid eye,
Loved to a dullness,
And absolves no rain
By our watering sight
In waves that forked
The moonbled cries.

My Grief Lies Deep


My grief lies deep
In unanswering skies,
Those lime innocences
That dark veins unwind.
Delusive nights of autumn
Sung, raping the senses
As vagaries chilled
The flame that raves
Infernal sinfulness,
Wed to heaven’s dead.
Strangers stir under lids
Of slowly spoken light
In the lull of the hour,
rapt on torrid thrones,
Hindering the silences
That spiral to oblivion.

Angel of Winter


Darkness stamped its womb-eyed heel
On the invisible winds poising lordly moons;
Mortal ribs grew as my famine flew
From gracelessness unto a rendered death
That fades from around her holy face.

A repetition of the soul in continual airs,
Torn over rags as your wily sins shed
Bloods of white, so scrawled in tune,
Shooting up the frozen angel’s wintry spoon,
Torn contraries of the always blue flame.

Dry eyes lash a sweetly tear-stained cheek
As the sky raised its virtue unto heaven’s head,
Undoing leafy veils to kiss her mortal wells
As perfection heaves and nobility escapes
Our thinning sleep; your forever is dead.

Womb of Deceit


My past hangs over me
like a time worn cliff,
beaten and made hollow
by winds’ cruel fist.

More like the cave
hiding secretly below
the baleful old tor,
once holding shelter
for the mystic Indian
Who dared not venture.

His sepulcher of days
removed his soul, the
wounded medicine man
who razed his senses.

Whispers of the Eternal Leaves


We walked together down a path of green,
the cumulus leaves turned their veins up
unto a sauntering sky with its cloud like
fat white spiders who spin their silken soul.
The path seemed to float among sunlight
as we came upon the shining river of time
flinging its silver minutes into our hearts,
awaking to flee the silence of our rhyme.

Surrounded by autumn’s burning of dreams, we
consigned to always be as one. A love rejoiced
in by the voice of the leaves that sings and
soars in a violet reprieve. A thunder-struck
rock floods the rivers long breath, drowning
the aimless passage of the mystery fields,
to the sea as it sleeps in infinity; free
to fling salts among the wind dumb trees.

Alas! we would never be alone again, no sad
bloods against the head of tomorrow, light
had leaked its prayer upon a burning thistle
and opened pour hearts on this finger-locked eve.
Unconscious skies elude the clearest eye, truths
uprising within their tide, as prose, all night
blowing pink and white among the flambeaus reeds,
a glistening face glows in the torch-lit breeze.

Every delicate leaf I mourned promised its
miracle to me--and to us, as we awaited the
heart-shaped rain of spring. Life’s offering
exhibits no irony on the untrodden path as sly
dryads seek their fortune within the tacit rose.
But she is the mistress of these virgin lands,
an endless uniting of here and eternal, of
all those mystic choirs that sway in her grace.

I speak to you at the end of the path as
we stare into the sea’s pensive wave and
emulous remittances of a multitudinous sky.
Mourning echoes call up forever’s faint ear
in the boundless fertility of my unused heart,
as light falls out from the tremulous rocks.
We look ahead to the remainder of nature as
age and ages return their certain intervals
with irresistible horizons that linger above
the mingling of seas; we exist in reminiscence.

The Mortal Words


Everything I seem to touch dies as desolation
Unwinds among these mind entering elements.
Do my suffering baptisms propel a new moon
Of upending blues that grows to lax stature,
Performing the sleepless rotations that feign
My slavishly glued tombs of pursuant hauteur.
The falter child found joy among sunflowers,
Pollinated with racemed vision, of one grace
That had the recurrence of an unbidden cortege.
The one bluest day of my childhood, ogling the
Prosperous orange, I climbed cliffs and rolled
In nobility as the crimsoned sphere paused above
Spring fields, the sincere majesties of the air
That inhales life from within a celestial chest.

You no longer look at me like your son, a child
Writhing in the candled filaments of your hooded
Glances that squint at blacker souls in undone
Calumnies, the mortal words pronounced so well.
The old day drops its breathless yellows to the
Colossal pine pennants of recovery that quilt the
Dead earth warmly within a lost watching hour.
Infinite seas refuse to decay, my heart flubs—
The greys and greens of sharpened persistence,
All at once, my purgatorial loss of solitude,
Gilded in whiteness that still retains my dreams.
Regain the burning soul! out of shapeless ash,
The eternal voice can never diminish or hush.

Speaking of the wind a prosperous spring curses,
Violence creates drama with my restricted eye
As I dwindle and die in one lonely lost whimper.
Within the rushed and dusty days, found amiss
In the mind’s collect, we forgive secret lies of
Collusive time, a lurking cry in veils of smoke.
We watch the melancholy hours repeal these days,
Concealing themselves in life’s deeper strains,
As if by receding spirits that tomorrow retains
Or by spilling of guilt retaining yesterdays,
Watery hands close grip around my senses and in
Sun-like fortune that is exultant in our darkest
Heart, we shall find the strength of unborrowed
Will that slowly repurchases a shiny new soul.

I continue pursuing the vireo’s theme, closing
Within the intimacies of an aimless air dancing.
the soul continued in soundless motion, striding
Toward torment to find its palmary regale that
Uprose before me in the greeting circle of hail.
The clouds conspire to close upon me, altering
Untillable silting on the bleakest of sands that
I sink into with a bewildered knee, o’ terminus.
Wandering in sleepless nights of retrospection,
The pinging light buffets my past parturitions
As I watch the roiling waters oscillate wildly.
I, the extoller of the exhibited principle, orb
Swallower of the eternal march, repeat peerless
Chants that ring, deathless throughout the ages.

Exploring the inward, O’ celabrateur of bygones,
Purporting the heroism of conquerors and kings!
Who rant to the masses with a spiritual flame,
The vivifying cry they carry lovingly with them.
Bludgeoned by the motherly hands of unpent hope,
Flaunting the spar with the living Achilles, for
The sake of each perfect childhood kiss, I’m held.
Will you seek the plexus of rolling words or find
The limbus where pulpits descend, touching a psalm
As you touch a friend, giving its body back again?
The aria of the ecstatic atmospheres, I sing here
Uselessly with leaves rustling at my feet, or at
The liquid rim of life, with the sea pushing white
Upon the shivery land below the pyro-blue crescent.

Will you never understand me, and these languishing 
Rhymes, although they are so hard to follow or admit,
The spirit that I see lightly rising, can no one see?
Moving in the breath of rousing unrest, I ceaselessly
Envision the corpse of me and the burial of my words.
Murmurs and echoes still summon me with their charm
Invoking a sadness inherent in the tympan of waves,
The sources of my perpetual rains, so faint-so far.
I shall create like a ‘Vesuvius Man’, summoning an
Angel to this hallowed land, the proving grounds of
My glass soul that glitters with a radiance unknown.
The sun sets, and the sea’s waves lapse into silty
Tides, ebbing and quelling the universal time as I
Return like slim Silvanus to the silk-cotton trees.

At the End of the Path


Grant me a wisp of sunlight
From the silent undulations
	of blue,

Playing in momentary splendor
Upon the softness of your face

As you leave and are leaving.

	‘There is no divinity
	only a hollow longing.’

The gentleness of our caress
Warms my stubborn beatitudes

As I inhale your tender spirit
	with a crushed lung;

I use every breath of my being.

So now you leave me, your warm
Rings encircling my empty soul
	unseen, unheard.

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