Broken Promise

I swore
I'd never
watch him dance with Death,
but as the damning music
swirled around us,
I found myself drawn in,
watching as he and Death glided
across a field of darkness. He grew weak
and pale, drunk on Death's elixir of pleasure and pain.
And when he dropped dead, Death came to me,
and eagerly, I joined the dance.

Convo over Cappa


Kim poured a foaming mug of caffe mocha latte for Bryan, sitting across from her on a leather-covered, old fashioned bar stool. He sighed a bit before taking a long sip. They exchanged formalities and nodded each other's health before Kim broke the mood.
"I don't mind your company, Bry-boy, you know that, but would you mind telling me what you're doing in my cafe at half past midnight?"
Bryan looked a bit sheepish as he sloshed the latte in loose circles, staring into the swirling, caffeinated abyss of coffee, cream, and milk. He looked up, his divination revealing no great secret, and peeked through his long, wavy bangs to look into Kim's piercingly green eyes.
"Well..." he began eloquently, "I'm depressed."
Kim gave him A Look.
"You're always depressed, Bry-baby, what brings it here and now?"
"'Manda," he said as though the name should clarify everything.
"What about her?" Kim countered, obviously unenlightened by the revelation.
"She doesn't love me," he said, the conversation clearly on such a mature level, that the dialog was meant to me platinum.
"Bry . . . Sugar . . . How many times have we gone through this?" Kim said, slightly annoyed at the aforementioned maturity. "Amanda's been engaged for three months now."
Bryan sighed again and downed the rest of his latte.
"That means that she is getting married. That means that she has found the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with. That means you need to stop obsessing over her and fantasizing Rand's death. Get a life, Bry-baby!"
"But . . ."
Kim rolled her eyes and thwapped Bryan upside the head.
"Go home, Bry-boy. You're going to bankrupt me with your constant charity case late night latte sessions. Find another girl to fill your dreams. Amanda's taken."
Bryan turned his eyes away from the wisps of cocoa and cream that lifelessly stained the bottom of his latte mug.
"Hey, Kimmie, I think you're right . . !"
"I know I am, Bry-boy, so why don't you go home, okay?"
"Sure." Bryan shuffled to his feet and walked halfway to the door before turning back.
"So Kimmie?"
"Yeah, Bry-babe?"
"Do you love me?"

Ambiguous Depression

I understand what you say
but there are so many interpretations,
and I know I've got the wrong one,
cuz you tell me so much,
yet you tell me so little,
And life goes on---
No change; so different.
We can't go back
and we won't, but we do,
and we say what we already knew,
cuz some things just need to be heard
by me and by you.
Why?
Tell me the answer and I will sleep forever,
cuz there will be nothing left.

Japanese Evening

Red paper swans
on a lake of glass
swimming motionlessly.
Crimson parchment Phoenix
rising from a scarlet tissue lily
centered in a place-mat orchard.
Origami and a crystal menagerie,
fire and ice, by the light
of a solitary candle.

Confessions

I hold you in my eyes
For my arms have lost the privilege
Behind my masque, I cry
But no one ever sees

The taste of your sweet lips
I almost can't remember
Those tender golden sips. . .
I know not what it means

In my dreams you hold me
To let go, you'd never dare
But here, in harsh reality
Your shoulder is ice cold

I know I cannot have
what my heart and body crave
So surface-wise I laugh
But the laughter's growing old

The emptiness I now embrace
Can't keep me warm at night
So with my hand I slowly trace
A mild portrait of you. . .

I will go on alone
I'll do anything you ask
Of course, I can't condone
Your choice and what you do.

Ode to the Spirit of my Late Brother


When I first saw you,
you were standing
in the corner of my mind
and I wondered
how you got there
without my knowing
without my seeing

When first you touched me
you touched my spirit
you touched me deep below the skin
and I never had a chance
to wonder why
it didn't matter
somehow I trust you

I never knew you
I'll never know you
Our worlds will never
coincide
but we are blood-bound
and that is greater
than the strongest living tie . . .

You are my guardian angel

Life

Folded paper
Scissors snipping careful windows
Unfolded to reveal
A delicate snowflake
falling gracefully amoung thousands
into the face of God

Thirty-Five Seconds

Before the Destruction of Earth was Thwarted by a Girl in Pig-Tails
(Yes, this is a Sailor Moon Poem)

I stand with my Companions:
Love
Justice
Hope

My Wand, so New to me. . .
Yet so Familiar.

Flaming Evil stands before me.
The murderer of my Only Love,
Slayer of my Dearest Friends.
A terrifying vision;
but, I will not yield.
I will be Victorious.

I am the One to Carry On.

Unbelievable Power infuses me,
Brighter than the Sun, I stand.

But even this light in not enough,
I need help. . .

As if answering my Plea,
My Friends are here,
Defying Death.

Love is Stronger than hate.
We will not yield.
We will be Victorious.

I am the One to Carry On.

The Promise

Joy and lilac filled the air
Soft beams from stained glass
engulfed us in a golden light.
She cried upon her snow-white veil
as he knelt and swore, "Forever."

Ode to a Telephone

Late night companion
linking me to another world
We lie together
I clasp you to my cheek and whisper my secrets
We roll, tangled in our conversation
Words and feelings channel through you
from so far. . .
So close to my heart.
An electric connection
severed only by the reluctant click
of the cold cradle
from which I plucked you.


Ta'ilyn ay Fa'ile

She came from the Borderlands of the kingdom of EatreÈ, beyond the Two Moons' Palace, far from the Mountain of Mourning; and she brought with her a colorful menagerie, headed off ny her warder, a tall, blue-eyed man with fair, wavy hair, simply braided. falling several inches down his back. He rode a magnificent black stallion whose face bore silver markings. His armor gleamed silver, and his bastard hand and a half sword chimed with each step as its jeweled scabbard touched his stirrup cup.
Next came she, bedecked in pale blue silk that cascaded nearly to the ground. A slim tiara of the finest white gold, plaited into her long, auburn hair, held an unidentifiable, though very beautiful gem with mesmerizing, oceanic depths swirling behind its satin surface. Her steed, also a thing to behold, a blue-black unicorn with ivory socks, carried her so smoothly, she glided through the village in the thin, morning fog.
The small girls, maidens, and matrons alike cooed in awe of the beast that she seemed to command only by thought. Sans reins, sans saddle, she merely say, her legs draped over the animal's left shoulder as her procession made its way through the tiny town. Something to occur once and Age . . .
Behind her came her servant, a painted boy about ten years of age. He rode a laden mule with a great falcon perched on its flank, that, once during the parade, took flight, sweeping circles around the village, before settling on the wrist of the enchantress. It cawed once to which she nodded as though learning a great secret, then she released the creature to fly back to its former perch.
The procession ended with a lithe, fair-skinned girl in a brightly-colored costume. The girl alone would have drawn much attention in her abbreviated, risque garb, but her mount called for far more reaction. None in all the Greater Valley had ever seen a girl boldly astride a slinking panther.
The show lasted only the time it took from the village gate to the river ferry, but the talk of it lasted for years. The travelers had not spoken or even acknowledged the crowd, but stories filled the heads and hearts of all who had seen them.
And at the end of an Age, some centuries thereafter, it was wondered if they had ever been there at all.


Angia Shale

I'd never felt so cold a night. It was bitter. We were bitter. For warmth we burned everything valueless, then everything with value. We thought twice before pulling the wet cardboard from the windows and adding it to the blaze. It sizzled, sending steamy streams to dance in the icy wind, then turned black as the sky outside.
God, it was cold.
Fallout. I know the sky had been blue, once. Long ago. Before the wars. Before the storms. Before. . .
The howling wind filled our shack with the pitiful cries of the men and beasts dying just outside our door. A living thing, the wind pulled at us, begging us to join its dance of death.
Across the room, my brothers were also crying, their faces twin masks of hunger and fear. At seven and nine, all they could remember was death and destruction; unlike me, they had no memories of the world before this horror. Before. . .
"'Gi."
I turned to face my gaunt father, his raspy voice fogging the slim space between us. I took his hand, his only hand, and squeezed gently, knowing that he would not last much longer.
The war had killed his heart. Mother's death had killed his soul. Now the cold was killing his body.
"Watch the boys," he said quietly, "help them remember. . . Terus does, but not enough, and Bay only needs for you to paint him the picture, and he will believe."
"Father," I started, unsure of my emotion.
"'Gi, I need you to promise me you'll get the boys to the Bunker. See them there safe. Promise me."
"Father, I---"
"Promise me."
"I promise," I whispered to him, squeezing his gnarled fingers again. At forty eight, he had seen too much and was ready to die. He kissed my forehead, the did so quietly.
"I promise," I repeated to the wind.


Escape

Gunshot thunder
ripped through
the bitter night
His smoky laughter
filled me with fear
I ran
through blood-stained air
To escape
his rough words


Wars' End

Freedom and breezes
whip through the unwashed crowds
Tears tainted
by blood and sweat
drown us
as we swim
through red and blue streamers
to dip out bittersweet cups
of iced tea speeches.

A Thought: Frustration is a Cartoonist with no ink.

Flame

(This was for Brian, who was a fellow student in the class...
We each were assigned a classmate to write a poem about.)

Bruised heart
Behind a cloudy mirror
Well-Dressed mannerisms
Weeping in a sea of nonchalance
Purple "Chorus Line" banners
Shielding blue silk vulnerability
Acceptance dreams
Under Madonna-bright deviance
Swirling in a khaki-slack tedium.
Love behind Stoicism behind Love

Startling Reflections

I look into a cloudy mirror
Reflections laugh at me
Visions swim around my ears
The world is make-believe

I dance into a rain of tears
The past and future see
The present is a sea of fears
The world is make-believe

Dreams of life and light and love. . .
I dream of you and me
Dreaming I may rise above
The world is make-believe

If fantasies are all we have
and figments all we be. . .
Look back through mirrors---Look back and laugh
The world is make-believe

Faceless Angels

One afternoon in January
I ventured out into the afternoon mist
with a simple intent.
Fingers embracing textured biscuits
and a cup of dry food
I turned my face skyward to the heady atmosphere
drinking in the scent of mesquite and wet air.
Presenting my pets with their canine repast,

I sighed as the faceless angels that dance
in the form of snowflakes
swizzled around my loosely bound tresses.
Taking a slow, foggy breath, I smiled at the sparkling prisms
sent from Heaven to dance with me.

As I turned to go inside,
the sun was setting coolly over the purple peaks
of the distant mountains,
its rays a soggy crimson
trying vainly to pierce the rich
blue-grey foam of the Neptunian sky.

I wondered in that perfect moment
whether the stillness of the world
encompassed all,
or merely my tiny corner of the universe.

The sun seemed sadly defeated as it set,
releasing itself to the sweet intoxication of twilight.
Then, in regal manner, the clouds parted gracefully,
allowing the silken moonbeams to caress the earth
and lend her silver glow to the shimmering droplets
of crystalline water that clung to every surface.

More faceless angels danced before me and around me,
calling me to join them.
I smiled sadly
and reluctantly left the silver dancers
returning from the fairy world
through my own back door,
my thoughts bringing me back to a mug of cocoa
and my other chores for the day.