Pumpkin Shells

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blue baby bonnets bursting

best bubbled better thirsting

yet covered over trusting

neither for the sake of hurting

bonnie babe in bubble wrapped

for fear of tremorous shaking clapped

infant in fetal face bereft

of feeling save of sickness sapped

 

palid glass into which staring

pride of Peter’s fate sat faring

fairly worn unborn endearing

unto garments others wearing

out with rampant rabid fever

rushing forth and back receiver

never more than silver severed

tongues for a faint believer

 

glib and guided down the shoot

into compacted soul to boot

a world away and lost on foot

left right as lure to loot

and pillage set atop unstable

shoddy pillar bent unable

to sustain a needing rabble

slavering to come to table

 

“FEED US FEED US ‘TIS YOUR WORTH”

“GRIND YOUR BONES TO STRETCH OUR GIRTH”

“DRESS YOUR DREAMS TO SUIT OUR SERVING”
“STEAM YOUR HOPES TO TEASE OUR MIRTH”

“LITTLE GIRL WHAT IS THE MATTER?”

“SET YOUR HEART UPON OUR PLATTER”
“LET HIM EAT FOR YOU A BETTER”
“HOME TO KEEP YOU EVER AFTER”

 

so in silence do I wonder

sitting yonder distant thunder

shocks of storms I sit and ponder

feeling heartstrings plucked asunder

there within my pumpkin shells

covered over very well

and painted with a fiendish grin

but knowing nothing smiles within

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

Through a glass darkly – to Picasso’s “Girl Before A Mirror”

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Toe to toe

against the glass

face to foe

turned calm caress

that bitter wind

cares carefully less

breaking sundered sight

that blurs unbidden

and shakes tonight

staring sharply across

piercing into you

remembering your loss

prevalent eyes disguised

and deemed unseen

in darkness hides

leaving shadows cast

out of Eden

fallen far past

the lies told

with silver bows

and biting cold

for your dismiss

she bends your

gazes away amiss

an inner shame

feelings that forget

your new name

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to Nocturne in Black and Gold (Whistler)

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Never so brightly had she shone

above the Weimar, cold with eyes

left peering, fearing dark advancing

down from heav’n to earth tonight.

 

Alas, my lady would not budge

nor cease nor brake nor even veer

her flight to greener grass and softer

sands to toil, soil to turn.

 

So sad to see her go, I was

alone and left beside myself

to numbly stare above and wonder

what more could be done.

 

…What more could be done?

 

So in secret I made haste

I drew my kite-string ’round her waist

and tied it tight within a knot

with skill so sleek… she knew it not.

Thus I planned to hold her back

from freedom and dangerous attack!

 

Off she took without a care

headstrong and headed straight towards

the sky, and starlets in her hair

were gleaming as the night approached.

 

They met mid-way with such a clash

(the kite string drawn, pulled tight, and snapped)

she vanished then within a flash –

and ash came floating down.

 

I weakly watched without a sound

as starlets trickled to the ground

and wondered if she still would live

had I not held her back.

 

…had I not held her back