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The Wandering Mind Of The Poet




The words are whispered
Across brush stroked fields
Painted,
By the muses of our minds
Welcome, tired stranger
Come relax and drift
Within the pools
Of this wandering soul
Floating,
Upon weightless words
Weighted by whispered wounds.



Welcome, all! I shall be posting my poems here for your pleasure. Feel free to read and enjoy, and I welcome anything you have to say. Mostly just doing this to share, so, share I will do. Enjoy your stay with my wandering mind!



Important Note: You may see these works on RapBattles.com or The Writer's Cafe, but I assure you; they are my accounts and my works.


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Invisible Men

Here we slept, the Chosin
frozen upon winter beds;
corpse mattresses, blanketed
by blood-caked snow

Abandoned, we were
unremembered, we are
yet here we live
final few

Standing in line
at the market

next to you.

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Ms. Passion

Rested upon that winter throne
Sits the darkest queen I harbor
Take her flames as my own
To try and break blackest armor.
Lustful love liquefied, a
Cup full of sinner’s fire
To take an everlasting sip
Of the burning venom
Wrap its searing coils
From throat to heart
Curtained mind blinded eyes
But pulsing passion bleeds
That stained crimson kiss
From dark mistress lips
And over time she will remain at last
Or ever always fade in tears of ash.

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Johnny Came Home One Day

Johnny came home from school one day
Thoughts imprinted ever to remain
Stories of the previous brave do stay
With promises of glory to claim

Age old expressions revived
Blood and iron and duty
Packed up in a travel bag
No raffle hat, he would go, by choice

Johnny left home one day,
Poured into the crucible
Where elder smiths mold him
To their iron design

Clothed in honor and sacrifice
Selflessly armed with heroic bullets
Individual broken down to one sculpted gear
In the churning bravery engine

Johnny went to the jungle one day
Equipped belief of dutiful will
Draped in red and blue stripes
Painted with dreamed ideals

First steps down the darkened
Jungle corridors, halls of vine
Leaf green life casting shadows of,
The unseen

Camaraderie charm keeps the ease
Til' one man stepped out of line, and
The mine says "One less brother in arms."
With blood trickling from fiery tongue

Dark nights lit with bursting terror
Never sleep with death on the doormat
Knock, knock, knocking
With double tapped fists

Johnny felt the dark that day
Creeping fingers of the reaper
Carved down his spine
Etching the echoes of inevitable loss

Heat scars with steamed sweat
Mud and rain drowns the face of hope
But the boy closes his eyes and tries to remember
"With a will of iron, you will be great."

Old voices silenced
Blood and bodies form
Trails from My Khe to Saigon, to
Darkness that swallows whole

Johnny stared into the jungle deep
Infinite black unafraid of iron shells
He walked in and walked out alive, but never came back;
Johnny came home one day.
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Full Life

The fly is cast and lure splashed,
Water ripples and here I fish
In ponderous wonder of it all.
Lift my glass and take a sip,
Near coming to the bottom
But I still have many an autumn
Spring, winter, and summer
To trickle down my lively tongue.

Be the best and sprint to the finish
For the desired win,
That’s what they always said to me.
But never had a smile on their faces
Like those of my childish awe
At my first catch from the river.
Simple wishes always been the
Best to me.

They have worked and I have played
Upon my little island in my imagined
Sees of marveled memories,
Mind always minted with meaning.
Architect I am, have built a house
In the tree where my branches
Will remain to touch those
Yet to come.

Soon one day the droplets will fade,
The glass shall be emptied
And I will take my boat to neverwhere
To fish simply eternally, but not
A barren patch I leave;
Instead a lush garden to cherish.

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Dear Child

Sweet, sweet child
please stay put in that pose
from that picture on the wall

The one where you still smile
staring back at the lens
looking at me,
and then…

We touch

Kindred souls separated
by time.

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Our Quiet Raven

Still and silent sat the sagest me,
Upon grey hills fortified by roughest sea.
Bleak be the clouds blotting sun above
As dark water below seizes with a mourning glove.

Wait, wait, waiting for weighted words,
Woven with whispering wings.
Perched I have yet to be, but sitting
I see when he flies to me.

‘Hello,’ I say to my oldest of friends,
‘Quiet raven, what news do you bring?’
Speak he does with muted tongue
That only heart can comprehend.

Darkness he says to me and says no more
But I will not accept his silly play
And let him hide under blackened feathers,
‘Oh quiet raven, tell me true what you mean to say.’

Raven true he says no more,
But the deed is done and the mind whispers
Darkness darkness darkness
Combing through the forest but I am lost.

Black spirit of the sky
Will you aid me on this journey
Through the being maze?
But raven true he says no more.

Surface scratches yet I cannot grasp the gravel
My oldest of friends so easily sinks his talons,
He soars above the forest and sees
My madness mazing me.

Waiting for the light, to see the inferno
And that’s when the quiet raven
Silently laughs with beating wings,
Raven true he says no more.

Cursed friend what is the darkness
That you speak to me, I see
The forest but not beyond,
Take me to this midnight sea!

The quiet raven ever mocks with his laugh
As I fall and fumble upon my path
Through brush, branch, and woodland grass
Until at last I see the clearing.

Ashen trunks and crippled leaves
Broken oak, the wind sings to me
Of sorrow tides, go back go back
The darkness can ever wait.

But the road grows ever clearer,
A trail of black sand in between
This neverwhere, this creeping death,
Trees pointing bony fingers to the cavern.

Ghastly beast upon rocky wall
Jaw agape, beckoning me
With silent promise, answers buried
Deep in the withering where.

Engulfed, the darkness soaks me
Inside the endless midnight sea
And so I stroke to swim a way
Not to drown in this lonely place.

No end to the cavern with its banks
Of solitude flanking upon all sides,
Oh how I wish my friend the quiet raven
Could seek me out and lead the way.

Ah, but there the light flashes upon the walls!
Flickering with the dance of fluttered wings,
Out in front a sight I see that is beyond beauty
Ever captured upon the page.

All alone, nestled amongst the cupped palms of darkness
Rests a shimmering sapphire pool that glows,
Flickering tendrils kiss the walls with lightest touch
A flash, the soul itself so pure it eludes the pen of man.

I have beaten and I have won
The secrets of the raven will be no more,
I step forward to peer into the liquid gem;
What I see haunts me forever more.

Youth has grayed but dark remains,
Upon the familiar cliff I shiver
On the sill of nature, perched
Was the most foolish me.

Darkness understood ever so foul
Like the speech of my raven,
If only I could hear him then
I would have stayed in the forest.

My oldest friend is gone or is he with me,
Drowned by darkness I am deaf
With madness but no escape
But that which awaits.

One final glance to the great beyond
And I stretch my blackened wings
Diving as the wind sings to me,
My quiet raven is no more.

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In The Bed Of Blades And Love

Wine trickles from my dripping blade
sheathed within your beating crimson

Drums pound upon a snow-white field,
our body’s entangled in silk-twined war

Ruffled sheets stained, scorched
with liquid fire forged deep;
interwoven hearts
locked, by blades

Primal rivers course eternal,
I am but a savage flurry
destined by divine
chains

bound by bitter planes linked

to conflict
to hate

Wading amongst whirlwinds,
knives baring aimless fangs
that cut and scar
your petals

But, Cytherea you still twirl
through my storm to take

my hardened hands;
lead me

to bathe in bliss-soaked
ecstasy, entangled

strung up by your
unconditional caress

We are lost,
engulfed by the everlasting flames
I am cursed

We are lost,
traversing enchanted woods
painted by your passion

Sensuous charms of
temptress gaze,
longing touches
promise

forever embrace
to the rapturous clutches
of,

your bed
our bed

Coils undone, this welcome and
familiar war breaks

And I do not know why
I leave, but I do

Warmth forsaken

Cold mattress stained
with your tears
left

in pain littered background
as I go

To seek answers
over a horizon of false
misplaced dreams

The only dream I need
is that which I left behind

Perhaps, one day
your flowers will bloom
undying

upon this lonely sword.
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Across The Faded Tape

Puppeteer in the dark,
you make me dance
and spin in fragmented
twilight.

Shadow strings plucked,
the quartet tragedy
of Sophocles; me

Hummed to the tune
through haunted histories,
broken scenes

from my different rooms
with rewound view;

cassette projects
faded tape

child, lost.
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Flutter, flutter, little bird

“Shimmering hope in the sky,
Your withering shine no longer guides
Me, I’ve become pale as your light; blind
These wings do not glide, but hide…”


So said the pearl feathered dove
Her glow weathered cast down from above
Perched atop a seat of lies it seems
Built upon crumbled ash of hopes and dreams
Fantasies but a broken scene of horizon seas
Where wishes of wandering glee died with thee
Cursed diamond of him, this golden ring
Is not love but a prison made by a tyrant king
Jeweled walls, golden bars where the bird cannot sing

Pure white feathers with a snowy gleam
Scarred by the cutting chain growing deep
Defeat? Tears fall when the bird knows she bleeds
Her field of ice spotted with the crimson seeds
Sprouting stems of a stillborn sheath
Dear future child, you will not be!

For the hatred blade cannot cleave
The sows which she shall not reap
At last, she sees the walls of he
Built of stone and the un-freed

Bird’s asylum this quiet island
Of tattered isles and silent tiles
By herself, of the self
Lonely novel upon the shelf
Her opened book of twilight feathers
Painted with brush stroked tethers
Bloodied strings carved in wings
Things planned twenty-two years before this spring
A mapped out life where the pain does sing!

The scarlet rain reigns the day
Droplets stain the page
As a new chapter is made,
Unclaimed by the voices the others gave
While the dove stands in her cage
Glancing through the window of her runaway rage

Wronged for so long
She touches the bars, strong
And the bird falls into a song…

“Expectations have made these
But no longer do they tame me,
I am no trophy for your walls
Ghost of my own halls, I will not fall
In tethered steps hand in hand
Binding union of which I did not stand
My silence is no longer silent
For my life was meant to be vibrant
Sorry, diamond-giver for not coming with you compliant…
I know that your pride aches
But I can’t let you take the dreamed shapes
Not yet made and if you step on the brakes
My heart will break!

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
I may leave your world in twain
But mine is kept sane
For I still have hope to see Paris
Or perhaps… Spain.”
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The Wolf & The Raven

The Prelude


Mantle of night, the darkness shroud consumes the sky
Winter’s might sings aloud the stab of wind-crooned cry
As the day’s faint warmth bleeds out the body of the kingdom
Dawn faded to dusk, drained golden corpse, embodiment of wisdom
Enlightened blaze eclipsed by nightfall, the domain of horror
This be the land claimed under the still-reign of Aurora

Tired farmers return home, wooden house with a fire
A wife’s loving embrace a welcome place to retire
Hear her humming soft tunes, lullaby
Little boy tucked in as eyes close to dreams of summertime

Green fields painted below the heavenly ocean and the sunrise
Glittering beams, the celestial shine coasts across time
Welcoming the sleeper upon a silver-lined bed
Where weary past fades and forgotten tears go unshed

Farewell to the troubles of the mourning, bliss be the night…

But not all Aurora drifts away to the peaceful streams
Drunken stirs of men hide behind masks, gleeful gleams
Poured upon troubled faces with the sip from a handle
Sweet taste of brimming ale by the dim of a candle
Yet no drink brings back the light of cherished days
Nor revive the faces of remembered brave

Nightwalkers all, lost in a present with no home
Armed only with faint belief in hope to find and atone
Walking the shadows of time fostered halls,
But there was one who walked the darkest corridor of all

Through the icy hiss of winter chill
A stranger walks with bitter will
Hooded and cloaked, a clouded ghost
This man who steps with shrouded hope
Wraith with dusk-shaded eyes in the dark
Fading away, his gaze hides no spark

Deadened grass decays beneath his feet
Colored leaves crunch to defeated beat
His footsteps wander upon The Fallen Plains
As it’s called for the battle it was named
Where the winds whisper tales from the graves
He sees – returning crimson stains
And the faces to the souls he had slain
Their stories etched to the steel of his blade
Written in blood, unwanted history he has claimed…

Midnight strider lost in Aurora; this nation
Buried bones of the kingdom Rouwen beneath its foundation
And these plains are but a pillar to the formation!

Quiet…

The stranger hears an answer to his pain
A single Raven, calling out to his name
Wings of Sorrow glide through the void
But it’s the eyes he tries to avoid
Perched in silence the guilt weighs on his shoulder
His voice is soft: “Can you pray for a soldier?”
Gentle beak taps with the softest touch
Yet the strider reacts with honest disgust

Raven wails across the skies, a tragic hymn
Reflected of him, fluttered tears dance in wind
The droplets utter words to heart within
Fallen echoes remind him of sin
Until he marches on to find comfort in
The things that were and might have been

Lights of the dim, a sign stands at its post
‘The Wolves Den: resign and have a toast’
Weary they come, a traveling host
By old Greywood where peace be the most

The storied place of forested sea
Passed on by greenest leaves, delicate breeze
Yet no life has grown on these desolate trees
Not for years under an endless freeze
Breath of death this malevolent disease
A dragging end to affectionate grief
Sorrow of Old Rouwen passed on to those that believe
Of past and the present the tale that they weaved
With regretful threads still attached to the deceased

A creak as the door opens to the stranger
Dark silhouette of what they see as a ranger
No welcome to outsiders, simply in their nature
A woman’s hate sees but in this can we blame her?

Stalker of the dark dressed as the reaper
“Freak” is the whisper, the name he is keeper
Unholy glare of the void, they perceived him
A demon of nightmares that which they dreamed in
Though unseen, he knows that they’ve seen him
From the legends that would speak grim

He takes his drink and sits alone, a phantom of their hall
Liquid venom numbs the shadow on the wall
The tragic plays performed in his asylum
Are silenced by the poison pool of his quiet island
Where sweetest death greets tired lips
Pondering upon what could be his final sips
Before the last gasp atop the Broken Peaks, private strifes
Ended with a mournful leap released from The Quiet Heights…

Gentle strings tug him free of faraway plane
A single chord echoes ever-laid pain
And all now listen to the forgotten bard
Lute in hand of a man grown hard
Though an angel’s voice still remains
As he begins to sing, his heart in twain
Honey tongue brought to sorrow
Dripping of silver sadness born from tomorrow

The icy heart of the stranger remembers
That singer who will be known forever
As Veril, lost friend found in the embers
Of life’s fire he thought had been ended

Strider amongst the divided
Though united by Veril’s song they are guided

Drifting upon heavenly twine, warmed by wine
And the singer’s voice begins to bind

“These scars, they have burned
For silver stars unreturned
My friends have gone
Beyond the gaze of dawn,
And heaven weeps of mortal sorrow
That bleeds upon the morrow
This song of a long faded lovers' haven
A melodious cry for the Wolf and the Raven…”

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Untitled

I fell out of bed one day and washed up with lazy rolling tides
Staring up into the vast ablaze with nothing but gray skies
To hide mass displays, the veiled haze drifting over tired eyes
Weighted with the weather-worn backpack we all carry
Varied by experimental steps splashing this painting we marry
Called life, framed by state of mind fermented in vision
Pained division building the walls of black and white finish
That I remember split the world in two halves; incomplete, diminished.

Until I fell asleep and there came the visit
Shrouded themes cloaked in the mist of my asylum, misfit
Granted image lined with silver truths shimmered, reflected another
The neverwhere place between living and dying; grandmother
I see you. Rested calmly upon the floating pools pieced by peace,
Though wishes still sing to me of your return upon streams
That I must let go as sifting sands fallen between too tight fingers…
Go, walk upon that path I dream where the gone no longer linger

Now I see, finally…

On the beach appeared a silent black dog
Tail wagging, this guide led me into the fog
The hollow walls vanish as I fade into the grey
Solemn steps echo on the brick-laid eternal road, I paved?
Colored portraits and memories forge the walkway
First bike, first love, first kiss, seems I shall take the long way
View the film of my backpack through different stones
Rough and smooth, chipped and unblemished, my own
Brick by brick the bridge crafted, the mason
Has always been the carrier from life to death, played in
Vignettes orchestrated by my hands upon the stages
School is in, adult out, footprints of the pages
And I am no longer afraid of the vast gray beyond
That silhouettes my darkened form going on
Plunged beneath the misted waves
Welcoming promises of new days
Gilded by familiar smiles, lined with remembered tears
I tread the road, together with you without fears

I have always been here,
in the gray.
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Mindedness

His thoughts trickle down the glassy surface
Light beam expressions from the bulb
Outside the box because that's what they told him to, do
As they say but how can he forget about how they act

Multiple minds minding his mind
Mother, father, brothers, sisters,
Friends and authors all have wisdom to give
Yet he wonders "Which mind is mine?"

Box the outside inside the box
Question, will the words on the page
Ever be his own or is his spoken stream
Seamed from pre-existent threads.
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The Voice Within

The gates of the mind seal up,
Water of knowledge leaks quietly
Forward past the red doors
That confine the deepest
Thoughts and opinions
Shielded by a fearful haze
And misted shyness that refuses
To lower the walls and share
Rich feeling and simple
Moments; nostalgia,
Collective memory.

Scream out!

Turn the key in the lock
And if your hand fumbles,
Then break the great barrier
With a defiant battering ram
That roars out your name:
Will I Am
And see the dam fall
As stream of consciousness
Pours out with images
Of colored balloons
Flashes of strobe lights
Empty handles, blurred faces—

No,
Reach further back
To the giggling child
Who took his first steps
On smooth hot sand
Getting lost in the immensity
Of the endless blue that
Stretched forever both
Above and below.
Only the first of many
Sights imprinted on the checklist
From life lived on all fours
To standing tall—

Look!

Now you stand on
That treacherous cliff
Staring down at the pitch
Black darkness of adulthood
And the quiet echoes back to
You, deafening loud
Silencing now
That rippling tide of potential
Laughter and late night
Chats with the beautiful
Girl in a dark theater,
But you don’t have to
Clench the red doors
For what resides behind
Is not theirs.

It’s yours.
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Lords of Darkness

Thump, thump, thump.
Listen close to the
Crimson drum that
Beats within,
It starts quiet
Like inquisitive taps
Against the fabric of
Our beautifully terrible
Minds— Questioning;

When does light dim
Or darkness begin,
Is it Paradise Lost
As feminine teeth
Break the succulent skin of
The forbidden fruit,
Or rather the innocence
Broken as young boys
Trapped on an island
Make their first kill—

It’s just a pig, right?
But soon the blood
Trickles over inexperienced
Hands that harden;
Become cold
And cast shadows
That the boys of the
Beach cower before
Huddling by warm
Campfire, wondering
What it is?

The mulberry
Marked child calls it
Simply, the beast.
Some say it came
From the sea
Some say it came
From the air
Ralph says it doesn’t
Exist but only Simon
Can see our truth—

A creeping beast
That is truly
Manifested by
Man’s essential
Illness, us; central
To the dark jungle
That always surrounds
Yet never seems visible
Until the shadow creeps
Around, lurking,
Only fed by human fear
Until the heart of darkness
On the horizon consumes
Our light, snuffed out
Like candle flame
And the savage becomes
With but simple words:

The horror,
The horror
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Haiku Package (#1)

Peleus' Son

Kleos Calling

Go, across the sea
There you will find your glory
Sung child of the Styx

These highest of walls
Shall tell tales written in blood
On your hero’s blade

Oh lion of men
Bare your teeth amidst chaos
With Ares, your guide

Swords shall speak of songs
Hummed in the wind of your might
Brushed with Trojan blood

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Life On The Court

Wooden floors freshly waxed
shimmering under light,
I once lived here

Some days, I still do
with tied laces
and a ball

Hear me breathing
winded from a sprint
side by side with old friends
and, the new

There are no enemies here,
our problems drip
into nothingness

Just us with tattered shoes
running and sliding
bouncing and shooting

We may grow old
with shifting worlds
but this shall remain

You and me and them,
friends together
even if it’s only a few hours
at a time

Our lives go on
to the beating heart
of our names

And all we care about
is if in the end, we played,
a good game.

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The Empty Chairs Next To Me

I played games with my brothers,
And their friends.

Each, I remember all
Noah and his horror-heart
Mike and his wild spirit
Titus of the ahead; troubled times

Today, the play-rooms
Are empty

As the friendly phantoms
Faded into the pages
Early made

News of Noah
And his noose

Lonely Titus unguided,
Trouble provided
An orange suit

Mike drowned
In a hill of snow, to which
I wish he had said,
No

I still play,
With this company
Of ghosts.
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The Where-was Baseball Field In River Nonsense

I watched a pale drowned girl
Murder a man thrice
While he stood alone in the junkyard
With his lit cigarette.
She swam through mass and form
As though everything, all
Was water.

Me, the flying serpent
Watched with the eyes
Of a fourth person
Lost in skyward streams
Painted with blacks and whites
From that divine ceiling,
A brush stroked grey.

Here am I, I there is
Of the this for which
I was made, me mine
Mind mined of the eye
That is broken time, I?

Yes, me, or we? Us,
All inside the asylum,
Hello and welcome,
Goodbye, stay for dinner,
We’re having pancakes
Glazed in blood,
Worry but don’t
For it’s only genocide;
All says laugh,
And all time is up and gone,
Saying are what you, no
Real.

Forever midnight
On the eternal clock
Upon the wall; I
Did turn the hands,
And spin the wheel
With loaded chambers
I crafted, or was it you?
Walk through the barrel
With me so we can meet he,
He that made me and drifts
Still, over the river rage.

Welcome, this needle layered
Baseball field is my home
So sit down; the corpses
Are in the box
And we can make snow angels
With the ghosts.

Oh,
He is here?

By the chimney on the cliff,
He stands by the fire
Where I died, paper in hand,
Wonder what the scores
Were, today? Bang,
I shot my father.
My sheets are warm
With his blood,
My warm sheets,
My sheets, sheets—

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The Forbidden Forest

Our clothes cascade upon grass blades,
Your devil beckons; crawl into the woods
Where the beast can ravage
Your veil of ivory purity.
I want to strip you to the bone
In this forest of broken churches;
Draped under the blanket
Of liquid ecstasy, as crimson drips
From our sin-bathed tongues.
Let the scarlet rain paint your curves
With a brush-stroked kiss;
Soak, your innocent speech
In the red wine haze to lose
Yourself in the taste,
Of a serpent’s bliss.

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