cacodoxy

there was a theft yesterday
some fool raided the wind-chime shop
and stole as many as he could
in a tinkling mass of wood, steel, and strings
they can still here him walk away
when the wind blows in their direction
and even though he is long gone
the memory of the theft remains
like a ghost stuck in the mortal realm
bitter and caustic
gnashing at hands that might help
twinkling like an angry star
on a moonless night

Clang

Keep digging, brother

There is a lot that needs to be found

All these rhymes and poems

Left buried in the ground

When the spade hits the metal

Sounds like love or a battle

Forces that meet and mesh into each other

Raise your spade, keep digging brother

Maybe one day we will find 

The holy grail that we seek

The answers of a golden mind

Inheritance of the meek

But that day is not today 

Today we dig for words

That flutter at each clang

And fly away like birds

------

Some poems you write, others you dig from the ground. Like potatoes. 

Closing Time

ten more minutes, sir.
only ten till you can dance
after that it's closing time
we have to shut the music down
the music is already low
mired in the deep yellow glow
of a muted room where
we throw words at each other
our fingers dance
as they forge
into territories unknown
while we sit alone
in different corners of this room
five more minutes, sir
after that you must leave
look at this audacity, you sigh
can you even believe?
are we bound by distance
or concepts of time?
i smile and say nothing
for this question needs no answers
not for our kind of dancers
when the clock hits the time
the room freezes
as you move the minute hand
ten minutes behind
there is still time
to closing time
shall we dance some more?

concupiscent

sit here and burn, commands desire
as the film of memories plays inside closed eyes
did it really happen or does the patina of time make it look unreal
how many stars had to implode
for our paths to cross
for a space of few hours
now a supernova glow
bathes every
concupiscent dream
sending shivers through my spine
while the world fades
away

conundrums

what is beauty
but an opinion
what is truth
but a belief
who knows how the gears grind
except that we know they grind
who has the full picture
except a few that do not mind
but even they would not be able to
build a civilization from dust
it's a collective effort of many
we all know a little something
each adding our own piece of jigsaw
to complete a picture
that we cannot even see in full

castle

the paraphernalia of my destruction
collected it from the garbage dump
of my mind
the pieces once discarded and left to rot
now form the foundations of the castles
that i draw the blueprints for
the final structure will skew and bend
it will lean and groan and fall in the end
but that will be by design
that will be the beauty of knowing
the ultimate truth
all these crumbling castles
some in better shape than others
one day
they will all be dust