the first time I willfully kill anything

Killing Bear

Gun thundered, tarnished chrome in my hand

Whiplash recoil heavy again

Three eighty screaming its name

Innocence lost in the blast of its flame

Pop so loud my ears cannot hear

Now ringing now nothing only noise

Holes punch through screen and the glass

Leaving smoking white chare marking its pass

The first bullet grazed the head blowing off an ear

Fur flew in bits blood sprayed small clouds

The kill is in from the second shot like a rock

My hands shake so much I fear the next shock

The gun fires again three four and five

Each burst slows him but will not stop

He will die but how long must we wait

My aim is lost, my mouth is bile, I learn to hate

With each puncture my hand steadies the pistol

My deafness and feeling becomes complete

I am overwhelmed by infallible fear

All this I have done while killing bear.

Alone

The world is rushing in

No one is ever there

To help or even care

Do we dare to say?

I am alone.

Lovers walking in the park

Sharing beds in the dark

To love and loose is still

Better than not to be loved at all

Do we hope to have someone

Alone?

We who stand apart

From the crowded throng

Is it so terribly wrong?

That we do belong

To the lost and

Alone

To dream of sex and desire

To stand outside of the fire

To want walk the high wire

Do we chance the funeral pyre?

To escape being

Alone

We hide in desperate confines

Living in depressing times

Speaking in despairing rhymes

Have we committed the dreadful crime?

Of living

Alone

Bereft of the worldly existence

Meaningful signs of living and life

Pain in their company, filled with strife

Do you stand as if accused holding the knife?

Of the knowledge of being

Alone

Song for my cousin Wayne.

I feel driven by the miles between us, now the distance is time more than miles.

You were my mothers other son, my other brother, the one I could look to in times

Of pain, and trouble.

Now who will I look to?

Who will I call when my mother cries, when clouds storm these Tennessean skies?

You were the best that Man has to offer, upon your shoulder you carried

The honor of family, the obligations of love and the respect of your cousins and

All your brothers.

Michael van Vuuren

I will truly long for you Wayne who I called Verlin.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

a central theme is prevalent here, mysterious women

Yesterday, I missed the woman I’ve not

I drove down long roads listening to sad songs

Wishing that I could outrun her memory

Last night I made love to her in my sleep

The feel of her soft fingertips on my deep dreams

As her murmurs of pleasure fill my head

Today I thought I saw her reflection in my mirror

She smiled at efforts to remain calm

Her scent surrounded me fogging the glass.

i actually called this Destiny

WHISPER

There was a whisper in the winds tonight

Of darkness, of shadows and wingless flight.

Sleep comes creeping, crawling up to my door,

As dreams slide stealthfully across the floor.

Death dances to the heart's slow, sad beat,

His chill burns cold against my sheets.

I wake in sweat, frozen to the bone,

Crouching in silence, I have slept alone.

I wake with Hunger grumbling his tune,

Shattering the silence in the graying gloom.

Something calls for me outside my room,

Something beckons to consider my doom.

I sit on the edge, my bed pale and white,

I will not rest until I sleep again tonight.

I wipe the sand from my weary, cringing eyes,

As Destiny calls out in my newborn child's cries.

                             

song of the sea

The Song of the Sea

As the wind blows to the sandy shore

So I travel in sleepless night to her door

Along the rocky coast I shall swim

Until I finish my ageless hymn

The clouds roll in, the tide rolls out

Thundering surf, nature’s shout

As I look for her lone sad cry

For the song of the sea

For the sea has its song

Sung in the fathoms deep

Amidst the silvery throng

Like music from conch shells

Full steady and strong

She strides down clad in white

Like the oyster shell, pear and light

She waits for her merman’s return

Their love so hot as a fire to burn

The tides flows in, the stars come out

Revealing her face full of doubt

Her love has not appeared

She shivers so cold now with fear

The merman swam down to the white one’s lair

To seek a treasure for his love’s brown hair

Into the jaws of danger under the ocean dark

Lurks the bringer of death, the great white shark

In the seaweed the reef and the mud

They fought for food, love and blood

Among the trinkets silver and gold

The fighters grew weak then so cold

The blood runs free, the bodies rise

To float on the waters under heavenly skies

As the merman drifts off upon the ocean stream

Of the mortal woman lost to him in his dreams

She finds him among the seaweed on the tide

Holding his body in the surf, sum of her fears

He had promised her forever but he had lied

All she received is memories and tears

The stars are here, the stars are there

The heavens shine brilliant above the sea

Her love is dead; she has lost her only one

Now she can see all that she will ever be

For man is mortal and doomed to die

But the ocean is timeless, one can only sail

Upon its crest, hear the singing cry

Of the beautiful and titanic humpback whale

The waters are deep, the fathoms so blue

The sea holds life, so vast, so true

Still I swim and sing again of she

Who learned my song, the sad song

The song of the sea.

Isabelle Ettienne

Her face is fair like that of fine white porcelain. Her skin is so pale that it  reflects the light that is reflecting off the moon on clear nights. Her brown tawny hair once was long enough to rest on her shoulders and reach down her back until she cut it short last spring. Now her hair is rough in design cropping close to her ears and neck, but still soft with the feel of golden feathers. Her eyes are clear, which reminds me of a Kestrel I once saw, trapped by its thong thrashing for freedom. Eyes that are quick and sharp that look everywhere at once until they settle on her chosen prey, then their still and focused. She watches you with her whole body focused for the moment of truth. She hold her mouth thin against her face as if trying to hide a smile and the cool color of her lips.

She runs through my memory, always in soft down shirts made of subdued white and yellow cottons, tied at the waist with a belt of leather, her leggings are black as if a background to what she is wearing. Her boots when I see them are light brown and gray like the fur of a rabbit’s hide. She is a long way from the gilded ballrooms and multilayered dresses of silk and petticoats. She is laughing as she runs after some game of her own devising.

Her smile is white with the slightest hint of yellow stains of drinking too much tea. Her lips now revealed are dark slashes on her face like brush strokes of paint driven red from blood brought forth from her excitement. The mists of breath pour out from her nose and mouth as she pauses to collect herself. Her nose, which she never cared for is straight and long enough to give the impression of a line from eyes to lips. She catches me staring at her and turns on heel to dash away. Then she stops and her head drops as twilight pushes back the dimness of our dreams and shadows appearing to redefine her details.

            Now her womanhood has returned and her breasts confirm it by casting shadows on her cotton shirt. She places her hands on her hips and looks back at me. I paint a lame smile on my face and shrug, saying-

“Tomorrow night is another day away.”

Her smile returns but not as joyful as it once was, the ends of her mouth do not climb the cliffs of her porcelain cheeks. The dimple in her chin remains hidden. Her eyes look up at me then are downcast at my feet and again I am reminded of the Kestrel as it surrenders to its hood.

“Tomorrow night then?”

            I nod. She walks away moving through the wet grass, graceful like the glide of a swan on a rippling lake.

Poet’s Scream

Cry Havoc!

And scrawl upon the page

Until the pen bleeds pain

And words are red

Unleash your feelings in some

Sequence- or not

Spill ink until yours is spilled

Splatter the page with your fears

Then tears will have more effect that way.

Avoid sentimental journeys

And romantic notions

But be sure to include devices

Like yelps of unbridled passion.

Write with furious strokes

Until your hand cramps

Until the verse becomes unreadable

Then find some flourish to finish it

Without ending and then

Just for good measure

Write some more.

Then when the poem is done

And all is said, throw it on the floor

And stomp on it till it’s dead.

But remember to pick it up so you

Can share it with all the critics and fans

Theirs to misinterpret, haltingly adore

Yours to laugh with a Ha Ha as you

Run for the door.

VISIONS OF ILLUSIONS

VISIONS OF ILLUSIONS

There are visions of illusions that I once had in my head,

there are memories of friends that are now long dead.

I dream of allusions, words echo in my brain

I dream of your tears, illusions of rain.

I fear for the beauty shackled to the beast,

Reaching never grasping the sunlight in the East.

There are visions of illusions that I once had of you,

fragments become pictures that I remember to be true.

I have dreamt of these visions deep into your night

in a place of darkness amongst silk-satiny white.

I rest in the sweet thick scent of your body heat,

the black cover of shadows acts as the sheets.

My vision clouds as you draw me into your embrace

I feel my lips make an impression on your face.

I feel your teeth scrape across my skin,

your nails bite my flesh, I feel you within.

There are illusions like dreams of the inescapable fire

burning hot in the blood of this passion of the vampire.

There are visions of illusions of the ecstasy in the night,

like the call of bat fleeing the morning light.

But nothing can ever for certain be told

of the bodies asleep in coffins so cold.

I dream of long lost Lilith, beauty moon white

 waiting for her return, for I am her forever knight.

Crisis

Crisis

“Poetry” he said with a sigh

To distinct to escape the notice

Of fifteen sets of staring eyes

Burning holes into walls

Papers on the desk,

Out through windows

And into his head.

“Poetry is…” he uttered like

Words frozen against his lips

In a chilling winter wind

“Poetry.” He mumbled

But never finished as the shame

Crept with the doubt into his face

Because he didn’t know what

Poetry was.

ode to a dancer

A dancer

I saw of a figure turning in the light

Under the spot in and out of sight

Her form leaps up and down

To the rhythm of the drumming sound

As the floor beats time with her vibrating feet

I saw a woman remembering what it was to dance

Her movements a blur across the stage

Bending her features like ribbons slipping

Through air encircling the flash of her arms

In front of her smile as she danced her desire.

Whispers in the Wind

Song of Myself or Whispers in the Wind

Begun May 5 2006

This morning there were whispers in the wind

I dreamed of the many pasts of my life and

Wondered about my justifications for the decisions that I made.

This morning I sit under the overcast May rain and

Wander in and out of literature in hopes

Of finding some Whitman in my soul.

My darkness is still within me

But the tiny round pill

Stands to block access to it

Yet its dread weight summons

Me like a black hole eats the

Light of stars.

I watch the cat wash himself in the sunlight of morning

Methodical and prissy, his movements are so

Much like a woman who stretches out a leg to

Shave, I rub the night’s growth with a sigh

Yorick sleeps in the morning heat

On a quilt made by still yet American hands

And I realize that I love him as a cat

And my sole companion.

In the silence of morning

I choke up the remains of sleep

And wish that I could breathe like I did

When I was younger than the age of my days

Sadness comes creeping up my stairs

And slips into my joints as I struggle to

See the light of another overcast day.

37 years later and what have I learned?

I learned that I could live alone

But always yearn for the elusive love

Dreaming of kisses and brown hair

Touching the small of her back

Sleeping with her at night.

this blog is where I am gonna post poetry

As I said before I am going to post my poetry here since it is moldering away on my hard drives in various computers and needs to breath. I welcome comments and criticisms if you don't mind back slapping and barbed replies... but enjoy love or hate, but read the damn stuff...please