unDer gathEring dusk the

                      primordiAl wood echoes wiTh an eerie

            sHrill Warble, a call to anotHer

                                                     world, a mysterIous place ever

                               juSt beyond the realm

                                              of all That is famiLiar

                                                                                    and safE...

                     the poet/soldier elegizes gambits misplayed

          as crimson shadows deepen on the dead and decayed

                                        voices from distant rooms

                                       murmurs from must tombs

                                                  wanting words

                                                withered wombs

                                 and voices from distant rooms

 

                 the jilted lover languishes in dreams she forbade

                                                  one more statistic

                                     one more casualty of the trade

                                         voices from distant rooms

                                          frazzled and fallen plumes

                                      faint whiffs of stale perfumes

                                     and voices from distant rooms

                                                                     

                      a din of silence follows on the lonely parade

                 of moments promised only to be coolly betrayed

                                         voices from distant rooms

                                       tattered and torn costumes

                                          festoons of fetid blooms

                                    and voices from distant rooms

 

                         what dread merely imagines

                                      reality supplies

                     sleep ensures the dreamless kill

          where night completes her virginal disguise

      and nothing escapes the depths within her eyes

you think you know you

                                                   but no one does

         a slippery thing

                                  that never was

                                                i am a whistling

                              a wind drawn through the reeds

                                          a gentle murmuring

                                  meandering o'er the meads

                                              rolling thunder

                                   commanding hill and dale

                                       the crackling stillness

                                   of mid-winter's sleepy veil

                                                  i am laughter

                                          fervescent as sunrise

                                                  sudden anger

                                         a flash in troubled skies

                                               soothsome safety

                                       a burrow deep and warm

                                                  i am frightened

                                           a whisper in the storm

                                     eyes close

                                 far away now

                        gliding freely through

                       azure sahelian twilight

                    warm storied sands ahum

                          soft airs of footfalls

                              muffled voices

                         stirrings of caravans

 

                                eyes closed

                                     seeing

                                far through

                       nights unnumbered

                           skies unbounded

                       drawing breath easily

                              drinking deeply

                            of stellar coolness

                                        crisply

                                        clearly

                                      seeing all

                   

                   

                          the sun set dead west

                   on summer's failing embers

                          i buttoned my coat

                                           

                                  a gin martini

               dry straight up with two olives

                              one day at a time

                 

     

                      lords of the streets we

          this dog named Malcolm and me

                           unlikely brothers 

                                        

                          to the moon Alice

       through the jealous night of dreams

                          fly away with me

                                             

                      shadows falling now

                   as nets cast upon a sea

                        of expired dreams                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

              

                  he's laughing she said

             that afternoon she is dead

                  and with her laughter

    born into this place

the vale of the uncanny

      morrison reading

                                a single raindrop

                     and she grabs her umbrella

                               how i love her so

Add Text Here...

Death Whistle

 

                 (on the passing of two friends, jan. 2020)

I recall observing a whirlwind one gusty Autumn day. Leaves and debris were picked up from the ground and whisked about for some seconds, some of which quickly spun off to be redeposited while still more was drawn up and carried aloft. But a moment later and it was all over, and all the flying debris succumbed to gravity's ever inexorable pull, returning to the earth from whence it came, and the entity which was this dusky vortex was only a memory.

I reflect that I as a human being am scarcely different   from such phenomena. I too am an assemblage of matter that is simply yielding to and behaving in accordance with the forces of nature. I gather matter, I shed matter, and I am again replenished with new matter along the way. The forces that sustain me are not unlike the force of the wind that can raise and carry debris in so striking a fashion. And  scarcely less quickly than the whirlwind, the matter and the forces that have given form to me will dissipate, and I will cease to exist.

Neither caesars nor gods, much less you and I, can stand to the fury of oblivion. All we have is the present moment. Love with all your might.

hush hush Dominique

                       as silence would speak   

         the poet's repose

                                hides not what it knows    

                          hush hush ...
                       

             *****************************

           deathwhistle<at>gmail.com