they hang
a pair
pendulous and red
inviting the hand
to reach
and and tug them
but the wall is too high
and the pomegranates go
untaken
floating and leaving no trace
they hang
a pair
pendulous and red
inviting the hand
to reach
and and tug them
but the wall is too high
and the pomegranates go
untaken
beowulf had the wrong idea
fighting grendel
he should have let the
monster clear heorot’s hall
of those small men
scrambling like rats
with their small worries
but he had gazed before
into the eyes of leviathans
had liked the taste of it
and knew what he was getting into
he must have stared long
and hard into grendel’s eyes
while he wrenched that arm free
of its socket
and longer still into the eyes
of grendel’s poor, grief-stricken
mother
he spent a lifetime
swallowing one abyss
after another
and as an old man
when it came to time to fight
his last monster
it was the biggest beast
he could muster from his own
soul
a dragon
but all beowulf wanted at the end
was a proper burial
and one last look at his wealth
if he had spent his youth
looking into the eyes of birds
would he have sprouted wings
and flown
—–
“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster… for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Holy crap, it’s the Friday Haiku. And since tonight we have a Supermoon™, you know what that means.
as big as a car
a single pockmarked headlight
for my summer’s end
there have been times
when i have watched you
while you sleep
watched the rise and fall
of your breath
sometimes
you part your lips
when your eyes are closed
and your breath escapes
and i breathe in the same air
and exhale the same air
and you breathe me in
and we mingle
there have been times
when you have dreamed
that i have had
the same dream
and i cursed the alarm
when it sounded
it’s hard to take
when everyday
you try to bake
something delicious
and no one comes
to the shop
all that bread
gone to waste
that smell of
browned crusts
lost forever
as it dissipates
in the air
pies and cakes
that must be
disposed of
because they won’t last
a single day
beyond
today
it rises out of the lungs
like a laugh
strong enough
to shatter ribs
and strain muscles
and it is incandescent
in its joy
like a dragon
an old god
emerging from a river
and bringing rain
and relief
you don’t do this
you don’t do that
these sins of omission
stoke fires of
hell hotter
than any true transgression
the bones ache for fire
the skin becomes paper thin
as it does with age
as it does with disuse
water is the only thing
left
and the dream of drowning
comes each night
like a drawn bath
why don’t you just
why won’t you just
we could talk
about birds
while i run my fingers
over your skin
tracing feathers in patterns
as light as a feather
against
the smoothness of you
drawing the wing feathers
and tail feathers
the contour feathers
and the soft down against
your soft down
until your skin rises up
under my finger
waiting for the sound
of the previous word to finish
waiting for the sound
to form the beginning of the next
watching the mouth shape the sound
the lips open
the lips round
the tongue moves
the teeth glisten
the jaw works
and the word emerges
silence
sound
silence
an eternity between words
unbearable as a distance
that can be measured
but not compressed
—
inspired by this poem and a comment i left that germinated
no language has words
to contain what’s in my blood
no, nor my sorrow