That RSVP

I do not need to know the temperature

to know Spring has presented its RSVP

and the sun has said, “This way, please.” 

When the evidence is overwhelming no

argument is needed.  That’s why love 

is the persuasion of presences, the details 

of time and circumstance so fitted together                         

no single piece is out of place or more

important than another.  No other season 

has such transformative grace and confidence,

the ease of knowing that what is occurring 

is how it is to be.  Of course, I look for that 

alignment of realities in me, to hear 

the sun whisper, “This way, please.”

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com

SWAY OF THE SUMMER MOON

The summer moon was swollen, blue

one flaw that girl knew thru-and-thru

and taking that light's charm in hand

she made our bed the dunes of sand

with but one gaze her sparkling eyes

the loves I'd known met their demise

my heart, her gold doubloon to toss

atoned on moonbeam's pearly cross

though drifting on that sea of dunes

our rafts tossed with romantic runes

fierce conflagration seared our cores

one bonfire, crooned by ocean roars

from first we touched in moonlit skin

our urges merged with summer's sin

a carefree dance of limbs and laughs

without the shame for better halves

"oh, murder me" I sighed in passion

"destroy me sweet, in fleshly fashion"

for all I'd valued, pride and purpose

gone - through letting sins usurp us

the place that wickedness thus stirs

my mouth and marrow met with hers

the swirling seas of "us" grew wider

frayed, I strayed so deep inside her

warm and wild and wondrous, down

to depths where lovers gladly drown

her sinews' flood was mine to taste

that dermal landscape laid to waste

our battle waged with bloodless bliss

a windswept war wrought from a kiss

no quarter giv'n that moonlight's ire

we vanquished each last drunk desire

with senses spent and cravings calm

we soothed in Neptune's briny balm

the mad old moon a-dancing bright

our cool swim, daubed in tender light

oh, such tender light ...

it all seems now a sweetened dream

two lives ago and years downstream

yet, what we found there on the sand

far more than dreams ...

… and thrice as grand.

Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, July 10, 2020

Stability Is Not Permanent

Stability is not permanent

anybody could tell you that

every now and than our security goes down

bank accounts get hacked, information gets stolen and sold

debt collectors circle your phone number and pass it on to other agencies

One day the boss can't pay you anymore

one day the final check doesn't go through

it bounces, the rent goes up and there is nothing left to do

but wait for inevitable final notice and cry

A pandemic exists behind civilized society

a carnivorous cycle runs the world

it never sleeps and only eats

the nameless faceless monster will only stay away

so long as you feed it what it craves the most

Time, Money and absolute perfection

The monster does not provide insurance for the sick

choosing instead to feed off our misery

manifesting dependencies. Hard work never pays off

so long as this formless, weightless creature runs the world

stability will maintain itself in the most sickening callous ways

This monster is a world of its own, it spits money into peoples hands

it has no mind of its own, no consciousness only function

a man made abomination worse than anything Mary shelly could have concocted

a Frankenstein's monster of government regulations, corporate rules and heartless people who own property, a world built of greed and excess but never for anyone that deserves it. This creature is the rigged system ,the multiheaded never dying hydra of control and it exists at all times around the world. Hunting people, consuming their dreams and feeding them only what they can afford.

There is no way to defeat it, self reliance is an illegality for all this world is built of paper work and we have no choice but to play along or learn to fight it from the inside. The latter choice was my own and it lead me down a road of tears and manic delusions, that is the world I live in now. The world behind the stone illusions, the world of the cave and I've not found the exit for the system continues to heed my progress.

-James Otter

Found In Fear

Found In fear

Lost in a tear

Things not as they appear

Always unclear

Is anything said sincere

Small ppl use lies and half truths to judge and hurt

When it's happyness we all want to flirt

hard to find down in this dirt

Soon as I started fighting for my love everything hurt

Emotional chaos cause stupidity to blurt

all iv gone threw

Not alot is new

And things that impress are very Few

What can I do

But try to find my self

After loosing my true wealth

Other then my childrens health

It Is trama in and of it self

I never wanted to be back here alone

Growing up here for me was hell!!..full blown

Took the trama, bullying abuse, and lonlyness right on the cheekbone

Did my time and then found my moon stone

But everything began capsize and postpone

Creating a combat zone

We all have a funny,..and a crazy bone

That is almost always over blown

Try to turn my heart into a blood stone

And attack my back bone

While I was born and live in the middle of a cyclone

Carrying around my pain like a grave stone

My love feels like a load stone

But atleast I can write again, and have back my muscle tone

Everything lied and overblown

Like a game of telaphone

I'm always Used as a stepping stone

In this torrid zone

This time I Lost Heart and home

Sick of pain I need hydromorphone

But this a drug free zone

so I sit on my razor blade throne

And conform like a clone

With my heart dieing behind this breast bone

14/02/22-Robert McLeod

Is that BLOOD ON MY SHOES!?!

Is that BLOOD ON MY

SHOES!?!

Been through mud and the blues (so confused) that I almost fell down.

The decisions I made with precision I've laid each foot so well put on the ground. I do stumble a bit well I wanted to quit but so humbled that I didn't lose breath, im just beginning to face that by winning this race it must place me much closer to Death.

Well I always get passed yes I may come in last because that Finnish line

comes within sight.

The others do come that I shock with no run just another sin walks to the light.

Sure my eyes wept I did cry on some steps from the fear it's so clear I will fall the miles aching my feet with smiles faking (How Sweet)

to pretend to the end that is all.

I Wonder why a good man that has stood

understand?

Has to move just to prove he has worth???

I regress from this test by confessing

I'm blessed.

but possessive of my walk see

on earth......

Written by Terry Dailey

The Ghost of You

Both the weeping angels

And the weeping ghosts

Sang me a lullaby of sorrow

With rattling chains and wails

I found no comfort in their haunting

When faced with no tomorrows

Swathed in darkness and pain

Where phantoms glide in the abyss

Something much more sinister crept

With every morbid scream of fear

Where Beelzebub gloats on all misfortune

In the black light that keeps you

Awake at night

Between worlds, this trembling spirit

Was at war

Storm clouds announced an arrival

The path of my soul's demise

Haunted by someone still alive

Forgive or perish

Awakening to terror

In this horrifying house with no door

The house that stood empty

The house that depicted the end

You hear the faint creak of the floorboards

As out from the shadows I creep

I breathe your ghost into these lifeless lips

That lead to where angry bones shall rest

In the unforgiving arms of eternity

And the ghosts are only as dead

As the ghosts within your head

Depart Seraphim and all of Satan’s men

I should have loved a dead man instead

Copyright 2022 Alexis Child. All rights reserved until the bones decompose...

AS KNIGHT FALLS

The campaign …

was over -

he, the last left alive on the

field of battle, and barely, at that …

his men had fought valiantly -

the odds were never theirs,

yet he was content in

their efforts, and more than proud …

the sky,

Payne's Gray and brooding -

the drab-but-stark background for

giant flecks of snow that

swung fro-and-to as they drifted -

as if sewing the aching February sky to

the crumbling castle bulwarks that

rose angrily from

the white-dusted hills below ...

or perhaps, like himself, just indecisive -

weary of wind and waft and

the willowy billows that birthed them,

as weary as he was of war -

war and weariness, itself ... its

ire filled his marrow with a longing for

love and life ... and COLOR ...

these wretched, barren highlands

were ashen and lifeless now,

dull and splotchy like

his rusted armor -

his once treasured fortress,

all but ruins and rubble and regret -

the only blush that met his gaze

was the crimson trickle of his own blood

as it drizzled from his beard to

paint the snow - perfect, white snow ...

faultless ... pure ...

and yet ...

in less than three full faces of the

moon, these slopes would

be bursting with heather and the

hues of burgeoning blooms -

pregnant with hope and heavy

with springtide wonder ...

he would never see it now,

his mortality written red in the snow,

but he could FEEL its approach!

he closed his eyes tightly,

sucked the keen winter wind deep

into his being - frozen flakes tickling his

nostrils and throat and lungs ...

he breathed in again -

each cold crystal inhaled, a tiny blessing -

a brisk reminder of special things,

moments of joy and pain,

marvelous things he had done and

seen and felt,

tastes and aromas and aches ...

and lovers ... oh, most especially those!

precious, warm, bitter passions and

the beautied beings that

had conveyed them - the souls he

had swum up and lost all his senses in,

and the one - the ONLY one -

who had captured his much-too-jaded

heart ...

he took one last, rooted breath,

counting the cold flakes as they melted

inside him - remembering each as a

kiss SHE had given him on special

occasions,

and as darkness fell about him AND on ...

he opened his dimming eyes -

watched his final exhalation turn to frozen

mist in the Scottish gloaming …

and smiled.

Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 3, 2022