Black Ooze

All this black ooze,
So wretched and thick,
Oozing twixt my pyrite lips,
All this red rage,
So tragic a trick.

Love has brought me,
To this adopted foreign place,
Now love comes to see,
Anointed by some tainted grace,
Wand'ring faceless and hopeless,
Hapless as shapeless love can be.

Oozing,
I carved this place,
Where love could live,
Rived wood for these two arms,
Laying them upon a cold barren floor,
Enclosing my heart tightly in a secret jar,
Raising my feet above me,
So they dare not trip me anymore.

Love exists in exotic dreams,
I've forgotten alien me,
Truth scorned by tough love,
So horribly rough it seems,
Tripping us up,
So that we all fall down again.

Place my garish heart,
In that shy secret place,
Where love can't see,
My beleaguered ragged face,
Bragging with the light of day,
Hearing myself,
That ragged forlorn me.

All those domestic neighbourhoods,
Full of estranged and broken hearts,
Those dark mysterious places,
Where token space is torn,
Grace shorn with broken love,
Graceless and far apart,
Keeping token love forlorn.

I've been waiting for you,
Waiting for something.
What is love for?
Time and I won't wait much longer,
Time and I can't wait for love to bend,
Time and I can't wait for broken hearts to mend.

My broken heart can't wait for you,
Love won't wait for tears to stop,
Love won't abide time to bend,
Love can't pause any longer,
Wond'ring if I'll ever see you again,
Picking up my broken parts,
All those jagged pieces,
With all those ragged scars,
With sealing wax and prayers,
Concealed in your secret jar.

My bleeding heart can't wait for you,
Tragic love won't wait for us,
It seems true love doesn't truly exist,
It seems true lust is truly bliss,
Discreetly shrouded,
Emotional chowder concocted,
Mocking true love in a chilling social mist.

This sad journey,
Wand'ring this dark and lonely road,
Wond'ring what I've supposedly learned,
Knowing you turned away,
Balancing on that precipitous ledge,
Edging closer to that ubiquitous sway,
Spurned by subjective yearning,
Fledgling advances in rejection mode.

All those letters that have spelled love's doom,
All that errant verse and poetic gloom,
Spoken quietly to myself in my secret room,
Often rank and mercilessly terse,
Cruel dreams spelled out in cursed verse.

I don't know how you feel,
I can't see past your veiled face,
Dark shrouds in this lonesome place,
I trip and stumble and fall,
Though grace braced me,
Caressed each concerned consonant,
Needled every adjective and verb,
So many foreign misconceptions,
Veiled by filaments of receptive verve.

I'm lost again,
Naked and yearning to be alone,
Rejected by love's foolish games,
There's a foolproof fire burning,
Incinerating tired love,
Deep within my learning heart.

But you are gone,
I'll never again see your lovely face,
Never more see you walk in grace,
For I too am gone,
Tumbling across love's thorny hedge,
Tossing love to mistletoe wisdom,
Stampeding wise and wistful sensibility,
Stumbling over careless love's precipitous ledge.

This full blood moon,
Drip drip dripping,
Flipping leftover love,
Eclipsed by love's tender bits,
Drip drip dripping,
A course in miracles,
Eternally gone,
Ripped and awry.

Fire breathing dragons have been loosed,
Uncaged dragon rage,
Devouring we that are lost,
Love's unfortunates used and abused,
Black dragons lapping up all that spilled and ruined love,
So fear those dragons as they wander this wasted earth,
Tormenting chaste and broken hearts,
All that forlorn desperation rebirthed,
Bedraggled love unassumingly unearthed.

Yet I wake from this sallow dream,
Find that I am lost and alone,
Nature searches for me,
Wanting to guide me home,
When I wake you are gone,
Still the stars fall from the crying sky,
Brave sleep accosts me again,
A full blood moon weeps for us so it seems,
Finding I am lame I moan again,
Grumbling dragons have cornered me,
Stumbling love has crippled me,
Bumbling love in this black ooze zone.

Haiku Friday

Living medicine
Biennial powerhouse plant
Mullein roots and leaves

         - - - - -

My enraptured life
Captured light replacing strife
All this wondrous joy

       - - - - - - -

Snippet's from living
Poking scat with a long stick
Man's first poetry

        - - - - -

Original sin
Fukushima Earth's cancer
Earthquake tsunami

       - - - - - - -

Don't believe in Kings
Have faith in Almighty God
Believe in yourself

         - - - - - 

Some fragment,
Insanity cheering,
Loudly to the clouds,
Sanity cheated,
Existing on some bent,
Vanity sent drifting,
Truth crossing an empty sky,
Though it's cloudy,
A little green stick,
Compassion vibrating,
With its stolid secret,
Life written upon it,
Wooed with poetry and buried,
Deep in the sacred wood.

This crown of thorns,
Alone we are together,
Doing and doing,
Pressing deeper and deeper,
This crown of thorns,
Digging and digging,
Reaper after Reaper,
Arresting the rested,
Blood covered horns,
Some of us are air,
Some of us are water,
Some of us are ground,
Bleeding under this bloody crown of thorns,
Mustering bloody madness,
Pastoral dreams accompanied by orchestral sadness,
Mastering the profoundly  ripening mustard,
Inventing every rounded moment,
Pride streaming from our eyes,
Each dreamy breath a gift from Almighty God,
Every heartbeat a flower blooms in Eden,
Relevance in stride,
So our white togas turn red from the inside,
Not so much elegance but tired gloom,
Fused together by fiery life,
Confused views from another changing room,
Where we are arranged icebergs,
Ranging haplessly,
Strangely bashed into bits and pieces,
Swept further apart as each tide turns,
So much iceberg glory,
Far out on the storied sea,
Wearing our crested crown of thorns,
Bearing a blessed cross with me,
Invested we sail away,
Full of arresting joy,
Blowing festive horns,
Trusting freedom will stay,
Allowing our wounded hearts to heal,
Diving blind into that abyss,
Floundering souls navigating chilling love,
Astounding love and lust far out at sea.

Little elephant.
Your varied rubbery tail.
Bare and nary an element of hair.
Shoot.
I mean darn.
Not a bullet.
Not an ivory hunter.
So not there.
Not a Tit or a nit or gnat.
Not a hoot or a toot or a tat.
Just a great grey stub.
Tail bare of hair.
A boney leathery nub.
That knobby weathered end.
Poor tubby elephant.
All those tramping years ahead.
Camping to herd and live.
Existing without a hairy tail.
Life without a fly switch.
Not a single strand.
Not one grand hair.
No broom to groom.
No bristles to swish.
Deep elephant boom and gloom.
Bone and gristle gol'darn it.
Precious dreamy hair.
Valuable as gleaming ivory.
A tail doomed to be completely bare.
I'm imagining.
Dag nabbit.
Hare Brier.
An innocuous hairless rabbit.
Or a conspicuously hairless Hobbit.
Sporting some shade of pink or white.
Just another glinting bald pate.
Herr Briar mirroring his shining empty plate.
And Master Frodo's glimmering ring.
Such a heady glistening state.
Twinkles with every flickering wink.
More wrinkled skin when Bilbo blinks.
Dinky trinkets apart from glabrous tales.
All those skinned bald bits.
Confusion in that fairy Shire.
At home in airy Africa.
Poor baby Tembe elephant.
Somebody bit your swish off.
Trumpeting elephant rivalry.
Certainly elephant civility shouldn't fail.
Surely elephant tails should prevail.
Chivalry on that biting day.
Righteous trumpeting saved you.
Mother protectively bumping you away.
Disarray in that portly troubling fray.
Top hat pachyderm wishes.
Big flapping ears and soothing hairy swishes.
Tusks sorting other elephant tails.
Parading and reporting loudly.
Whooshing their hairy tails proudly.
The jostling crowd retorts.
Humble grumblings.
All sorts of family fumbling and tumbling.
Rumbling down every parade trail.
Purporting Baby Elephant's lack of brush.
Every rambling elephant's flashy whip.
Baby Tembe Elephant tail's been nipped.
Snipped now.
Baby Tembe Elephant.
Brusquely equipped now.
Sporting a hairless pachyderm tail.