Humming

Limbs of hollow bone extend,
Contract and then extend again,
A fibrous feast of hues ablaze
As fire, as spectral wings amaze.

As plumage hues in ghostly seep,
The quill-combed breeze does weep.
A quiet fairy, nor here, nor there,
Part angelic, part feathery flare.

All the while, with long stoic beak
Peculiar proboscis nectar seeks.
Then poised as if hung on wisps of air,
Glides in curvatures, so angel fair.

There is this gaze of timeless awe,
There is this moment without a flaw,
A bend in space, the flutter stills,
The humming quiets the morning chills.

Kinder

When the heart cracks,
And love of self is lost,
The bird's song lacks,
Nothing and nothing costs,
Less and heals more,
Little we.

When beloved ones break,
And the light is so bitter,
The mind does awake,
To rain's pitter patter,
Awash in our soul,
Little we.

Where there is no light,
Acrid burns as we breathe,
Pollen spreads such a sight,
As we find ourselves relieved,
For no reason,
Little we.

Old World Dies

Metal monsters consume with hellish maw.
Spirit man adorned in primeval magic,
He fears the silence of hums and caws,
Friend of sprites, their end be tragic.
Old world dies.

Running deeper into the ancient timbers,
Where the sanctuary from the techno-beasts?
Primevals disappear — nor cry, nor whisper,
Is heard as the gluttonous grow fat at feasts.
Old world dies.

Cold the shiver as the magical recoil,
Gone the flora, the fauna and the shades,
So mines and bovines can steal their soil,
Spirit man breathes and leaves the glades.
Old world dies.

Old soil smells overpowered in onslaught,
Pesticides, fertilizers, and ozone eaters,
Spirit folk genocide unheralded, unfought,
As naiads, nymphs — so much compost fillers.
Old world's died.

Cracks

Morning thaws nocturnal chill,
Infusing eyes and limbs with will,
To live, to breathe, to move, to heal,
To wonder if what we sense is real.

Of colors, taciturn or floral bursts,
Beckon a glimpse as if to thirst,
For minds and eyes and selves to brood:
What be this place, so richly hued?

Why do light and corneas contrive,
An endless feast before our eyes,
And sugar, starch, proteins, reveal,
Mad dance of tastes at every meal.

Whilst pain of body and pain of soul,
This endless longing to be more whole,
Why not go quietly into the night?
Why this ache that our years be slight?

And every time we face the test,
Another beloved we lay to rest,
We hate the darkened journey hence,
And cry for more-more recompense.

The evening colors bleed reds to grays,
An ache for love rises through the haze,
To live, to breathe, to move, to heal,
And wonder we at all that we feel,

Seeping through the cracks.

Ténèbres

Shadows bleed like paint on glass,
Cumulus chokes remnant spectrum,
Fading light, the evening's mass,
Choir a liturgy of insect hum.
Ténèbres.

Hills and mounds — emerging molars,
Rise and meet a sagging horizon,
Creatures cower as abandoned soldiers,
As Hades feverishly emblazons.
Ténèbres.

Primeval dark hushes creation,
As if never had there been a breath,
Body and soul's numinous elation,
As darkness presses and feels like death.
Ténèbres.

And a mist and morning's light of God,
And rekindled in the rays of One so near,
And the dew anoints the trembling sod,
And stirs all we infants from our fear.
Lumière.

Collapse

Maddened bird within its cage,
Nips and caws at every shade,
Lovely plumage adorns a rage,
Burning burning, never staid.

Iron bars of neural paths,
A pain, a stain, a vile craft,
Spiteful sacrament ever baths,
Castaway on her lonesome raft.

Prayers spill from feeble lips,
And feeble legs drop and sit,
Like ever drifting ghostly ships,
A cold wax digit, never lit.

A lovely dream to horizon sails,
Flesh in hard and hardened hell,
Cold wolf cry that mourns and wails,
Glass eyes pallid, and never tell,

Of the collapse.