Sounding Silence

"punts tunts tunts tunts"
I turn the key
with a short "click"...
and I go "humph".

Cross my arms into a ring
over the one in leather
my forehead to land over
as I let the silence sing.

I could see her hair float
over her eyes, her nose
in his wet blue eyes boat
as an ethereal ghost.

The dancing of these strings
painted by whispered breeze
the slowing expansion
of an eternal moment.

That he held ever tight
anchored in his deep voice.
Then "punts tunts tunts"
the drawing shattered broken.

Why take simple beauty
and add and add and add
into such obscurity?
Blown this caressing woo
into a summer hit.

Wanted Swiss Cheesed 🤠

A red and blue patterned cloth

folded ties his muffled breath.

The wild dry dust in its swirls

tries it's way in nonetheless.

Drums echoing but he slows

their crescendo deaf beat.

Focuses in the beaming stare

for a sign of hidden unease.

People, well they think the trick

is bein' fast on the trigger.

It is not! To read their fear!

The last air that rushed in,

in a general tightening.

That is when your fingers sing

like your life they are handed.

But this kid is ran by ice,

no heat tears run down his hat.

I begin to feel as the mice

that had the short misfortune

to meat this lusty slick cat.

See fear keeps you in this ride,

now will as well make you dead.

That my cunning friend is why:

He is no longer wanted alive

swiss cheesed preferably instead

and no full wit steps to the task.

Mindless the mouse I trap inside,

won't will me out this snag. 

Forgiving gift

She bounces once back twice forward
stiff, her feet on a stretched high rope
that swings teasingly with her weight
at each turn of her feline waist.

She had paved her way into this,
with a small fist full of mistakes
and the other of bad chances,
vanished return in the distance.

The frost of her disposition,
the sharp tongue used for ascension,
I knew the sting of its incision,
also the stake in her motion.

If I draw hand across her back,
a net will shape under her sight
free to fog in a damp release
granting her a steadier path.

Hardest is forgiveness, and yet
it is sweetest to the giver.

The mist nymph

Two glaucous lights
pierced the dense mist.
A breath of wind,
muffed a voice sing,
pushed violently
the naked branches of bistres
that caged out the moon
and alabaster rags
revealed in a pair.

The air shifted,
cutting icy at my face,
so did all branches,
the rags at me pointed
and I could distinguish:
"Hold him!"

My feet disobeyed
the ticker pumping
in angst to move away.
Down at my ankles
I saw dirt hands graspin'.
I looked up again
to stun at the approach
of this gleam of a ghost
towering over me
like a hologram
of a past unsealed.
"Hold him!"

Her voice brought tears
to my trembling knees.
Sweetened by a longing
that regret imprisons.
"Hold him!"

I heard of the tale
of a mist in February,
he had gotten out for wood
after a love ruffle
over the frost of the moon
and never was heard off
until this day.

She had lost her might
searching the next nights
until her body gave
still dressed in the gown
she wore back then.

Seems she searches today!

Her lanterns recognized
my understanding gaze.
With a sigh of relief
she crossed through me
leaving a taste
of daturas and moss.

In shivers I woke
and felt your warmth,
so I grabbed it tight,
cautious not
your dream to rob,
laced myself at its side
"I held you!"
while you are mine
to find.

Miss engineer

Her blue jeans flow into leader sneakers,
a nude fair face with wild hair ponytailed.
Her thin figure blends effortlessly thus
into the testosterone full fragrance.

Fortunate coincidence of features
with those promoted in trend magazines
freed her to intellectual ventures
and to snub the complying mannequins.

The random chromosomes combination
granted further stubborn intelligence
to pursue the defying vocation
most contrary to female convention.

Many stars aligned to tunnel her through
a ceiling she's better poised to fracture.

Halloween Grinch

Knock... knock...

And I open the door.

What are all these masks for?

The night is fought
by candles and lanterns
carved from vegetables
in my front porch.
Loafs of pumpkin and spice
must reach the roads end,
the perfect bait!

A spider on a web over a face,
pale olive completion with hollow screws,
a surgeon holding a plastic saw and a brace
where dripping blood was reproduced.
All huge eyes and brightened teeth,
hands extended in gluttonous cheers
begging for candy and all sorts of treats.

A cold gulf of air freed through the frame
on queue I unfold my dark heavy cape
unleashing a flash bellow a bony square chin
curated with rice powder and gin.

With blood thirst in my ruby stare
petting my hissing black cat
with the lowest voice I can set
I tower over them and declare:

"Your costumes were bought!
You cannot contain your glee!
Take some paste for your tooth
that is all that it is worth here."

Before they could piss in their pants
I turn the door shut and echoed two laughs.
Well done Simba! Let's turn off the fans
check their picture and wait for their parents.

The shell pendant

The shell hangs on a golden string
asymmetric lines curved together
in the valley that roots my neck
a picture inside I keep on holding.

Cheap cloths on a public beach,
the young us playing catch,
a moment in colors of chess,
caught by a since lost lens.

It holds all those stormy nights
I came to sleep by your side,
all the "how was your day"s
of the greening of the leaves.

The cold of the suns that set
shed of that and other salt
and dried, pressured into pulp
holds the bones in a pole.

Me, a flag to the wind of time
tight to it gaze the reviewer,
it is that shell of once upon
my compass to where I've been.

But the tide keeps at my ankles
resigned to rob under my feet
the desert that there stood
steady as the clock's beat.

The day will come it will win
when of this shell I lose grip
and holding on to a gem
won't brace me for the slip.

Because it is your history
the concrete ground
the future is built upon.

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