Confessions of a Latter-Day Cynic Excerpts

Newport

and the rocking of the waves dashed my side,
locking the hull, sealing the pulse, future force
flung far, past the reef of regret, the sand bar
seared by the blindly white bas relief, painted dour

over canvasses of time, a deaf mime, watching the hours
as the crow clocks tones of raging tomes, storied stories
under the bulwark of the cannon, frozen in time
as long brushes followed short, etch, etch, etch...

the final sketch, the sea-scape clear of endless years,
shining down the horizon line of countless setting solace
suns, shadows far from sight, colors scored the night
and justice followed wave, the light (the sea) to save

 

No Apology

click! went the phone, a prelude
to a week long symphony of silence
as weakly i conducted the blotchy score
for deaf musicians, the crowd cried ‘more’
and haplessly i obliged, strings on all sides,
the cacophony of chance, Salome’s dance
around my sweated brow as i waved my arms,
hoping to cue the emotions of discord,
the heart-clefting refrain which doomed to remain,
as relentless as the chilling cadence of the monotone A.

 

Wishing You Well

and as it was in those last treacherous days,
with untrusting eyes (the doors they closed)
and a downbowed smile, you parted veils
and turned our sunny son to sinister sleep.

and in his dreams (he sleeps well now)
he flies the bright and distant blue skies,
hovering ‘tween the webs of our trials,
expelled by our preening, caustic desire.

(and still we mimic the shame) who is to blame?
our child, asleep, on his cheap and cheerful casket,
the flowers fade as his last legacy is read
in the fear-etched eyes of our last regret.

 

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