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Bones...

Maybe your bones
Are funny
And I'm ticklish,
Afraid to 
Start a war
Where you'll beat me
By finding
My weak spot,
Where I'll break
By the slightest touch of you,
Laughing until tears
And crying until 
I'm breathless,
And as we lie
There between 
The sheets
And the pillows,
We'll know
These are the moments
We'll never forget
The memories
We'll never regret,
No matter what
May happen 
After we've settled down
And we're serious 
Pretending
Nothing ever happened,
But inside we're
Giddy and silly
And dizzy
And happy...
APAD13 - 100 © okpoet

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Comforter

So much depends
on a bed.
Things
moving in and out
from one world to another.

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No tiki

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[Part]henon

he said I have the patience of a goddess

I laughed
I must

my temple lies in ruins
I’ve spent years trying
to make sense out of
the way it crumbles,
the way time decimates,
eroding world wonders &
reducing the strongest stone
to shed dusty, dry tears

I will inevitably keep falling apart but
don’t ever forget I’m still standing

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Don't Forget Me

Don't forget me
When the lilac blooms all die
Or when the heat of summer
Is draining from the sky
Please don't forget me
When the snowdrifts start to form
And the rotting leaves of autumn
Have left the trees forlorn
Say you won't forget me
In the rush of spring's sweet tune
As the earth comes alive at last
And once again, the lilacs bloom

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Celeste’s Dark Lighthouse

(Celeste parts 1 through 5)

the disappearance of

light was never

discouraging to the family in

the lighthouse. celeste could

see quite clearly the rocks in

the sea looked like men

carrying dangerous things and

worried only over the hem of

the dress she made, her first, and

certainly norman the cat wasn’t afraid of

birds, white or otherwise, nor

dark crashing waves.

so at night they went to the shore

***

they say cats see quite well

in dark, though norman couldn’t.

night seeing is necessary

by the ocean because waves

take up all of the sound

ears can see so of course

celeste walked carefully and

was especially observant of things

that washed up and glowed while

norman the cat pretended to be more

brave than he thought he could.

for instance, when celeste knelt his ears pricked

and swiveled and then he stepped in

her footprints while listening for clams

sniffing once, just once, at an

old jellyfish when suddenly she

presented him with several puzzling pieces

of shiny white sand dollars, and waves

crashed amongst the flexing

rocks and she squinted

“maybe i can put them together,” she

said to norman, right up close

she whispered, “maybe they are parts of the same one.”

***

celeste carefully placed them

in a shape in the sand

as she approached

the cave. the entrance was guarded by

blue glazed shells deep

as a hand and pincers armoured every

split in the rocks, colourful

weeds grew where water

dripped down and the

cave was shorter than celeste

herself so she stooped, carrying norman the cat

like thorny hand muffs above the

sudsy tide pools filled with

fractured pieces of

dark starfish which

wet the hem of her plain

white dress and seemed

to pull her feet

***

within the cave water wooshed

everywhere and was so cold

it scalded celeste’s

hands as it dripped and

her ankles were red

as radishes

“i may die someday

this may be the

end!” norman the cat

said as he squirmed

in celeste’s arms but

he purred as she leaned

to guard him from

the dripping chill.

“no you won’t,” she said.

the entrance

to the cave was

far behind them and

the sound of rushing

sea and wind from

the belly of the stones

hot and steam quieted

everything but them.

she set him down.

“see?”

norman the cat

scrunched up his body

on the balls of his claws and looked

at the cavern first

with one eye, then

both.

“what do you see?” celeste

asked her wet friend.

he shivered and stood fast

and looked clearly into

the cavern which

was full of gas and

fog and depth and 

gathered his answer:

“i don’t know,”

norman the cat said with one eye 

again closed, “what are

those?” he asked, “where does that go?”

celeste frowned and

scooped him up. a voice stopped them,

shaking celeste’s heart even

more than her radishy feet

and it boomed:

“I See Something.” 

the voice sounded like a great

groggy, gassy and angry

belly. celeste’s arms froze still

while norman the cat

crouched into her, hiding

his head as she clutched him, splashing

away backwards as best she could

“i see something.”

the cavern groaned again. softer this time

as though it didn’t know how

loud it could be with a low

moan

***

the cavern began shuddering

and shaking and celeste

couldn’t tell if it were her trembling or her eyes,

the colors and dark became

a moosh and norman the cat jumped so high

he didn’t know when to run until he saw celeste,

momentarily caught on a rock by the dress

she made herself now ripped at the hem!

it was then norman stopped.

the great mouth of the hallway to

the cavern was lined with two vast curves of yellow

and white tusks of teeth the size of which

he couldn’t see and wouldn’t believe. it yawned

while one giant eye drooped

down sadly, a bulbous dark orb and

iris which squinted next to them and the cavern

spoke. “you’ll surely drown,” the

cavern yawned, “go before me. go before

i leave. go.” it hushed, “go or go not.

or drown.” and the cave shook

as the droopy eye shut and disappeared

and things fell with great echoes

like rocks as norman the cat

turned about and stood up

on four legs

firmly, two eyes open

while celeste trembled and

worried the torn hem of

the dress she made

and became brave:

“we’ll be shortly out

of your way, mister cave,” he

chattered in his best bravest way in

the way animals say, “you never ever

hurt celeste or her dress again.”

and he meant it, though the

cavern was never

angry at celeste and norman the cat

anyway. but norman the cat

was so very brave and celeste

swooped him up and hugged him

then started to run

***

the old cavern waited for them flee

as fast as they could

out the way the came:

out the throat past

the teeth and tusks,

the mouth and

the shapes celeste

had made like ships and up the beach

past the rocks like men

carrying dangerous things

celeste and norman the

cat watched from the cliff

beneath the dark

lighthouse as the creature

crawled from the cavern and

slid into the sea with a spout

which was lit, by now, by the

sun above the waves.

 

 

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our Eucharist their Crucifixion

God isn’t dead yet but we’ll camp that bastard’s lawn together with cricket bats and bottles of red wine til he pops his fat bearded cheeks round the front door 

after wiping His blood off our hands on the white window frames of Heaven and dumping His bones His bread and the empty wine bottles in the nearest duckpond we’ll head into town and get another drink, another drink, another drink and then maybe smoke
sing some karaoke and start some fights, sleep, fight, sleep

waking up on the grass, our ghosts rolled up in a carpet soaked in wine and water we will proceed anew: i will tell you i like you and i hope that’s okay
and you might say no or you might say okay
and that’s okay;
it’ll be hard but it might be beautiful because it might be beautiful.

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There is an apple tree
In the field behind my yard,
And its apples taste
Sour, rotten with worms
And Japanese beetles.

I climbed branches,
Ingnoring the way
They scratched my bare legs.

Fruit fell when I shook
Limbs; I picked them 
From the floor,
Wrapped them in 
My t-shirt,
Brought them home
Like prizes with a grin
Splitting my face.

One time I ate an apple
From the tree in the field
Behind my yard.
It made me retch,
My stomach heaving
With my stupidity.

If you look at the apple tree
In the field behind my yard
With the sun sending diamonds
Shooting through its
Scratching branches,
I swear to God
It is beautiful.

You are a little bit like that;
Beautiful from a distance,
But you can send me retching,
Arms scratched,
To my knees.

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Impressions of an Impressionist

 

Live Music

 

I wish that I could go to live

In the music of Debussy

And be where even stormy clouds

Are lined with tranquility.

 

There surely is contentment there,

On shores of a moonstruck sea

Where adults engage in elegant games,

And treat their children exquisitely.

 

Every season’s an isle of joy

And springtime most of all.

When natives dance a bergamask

When they hear birds’ syrinx call.

 

Starcrossed summer mornings

Yield to afternoons of delight,

And sweet confections indulged afloat

Beneath the stars at night.

 

Winter evenings reveries

Are by the light of the moon,

While snow dances as it falls

And always falls in tune.

 

I long to go to this place and be

Deeply impressed by beauty,

This place where sensitivity

Is a citizen’s principle duty.

 

And if there ever came a time

When I had had enough,

I’d move on to another place

Like Tchaikovsky or Rachmaninoff.

 

                                           Chris Brockman