the witching hour

The wisps of smoke lazily float upward

as the heavy cold air descends again

at this hour. In a moment

the shadows would vanish

and blend in my blinded world of the dark as the clouds hide the amber eye 

of the evil moon.

101008

Coming across on the first encounter

There, in the glacial part of my freezer

A red bag full of frigid solidity

A sack of tubes, holed and rock hard

A reminder of a smile, of a favorable

and fortunate time

Another image, shocking red pants

And a scarf covered neckline

of a face whose smile could catch

a thousand younglings

What does bring him here at this hour

an adventure perhaps, or a meeting of old minds

I ventured unto their table

A cold sneer and an even icier greeting

This face, the persona and being

that could capture and break a myriad of faces

and of a manifold melting hearts

In the end I hope and pray that not one of them

Not one of them belongs to his own

Too lovely is his face to be broken by tears

Rumours,

A place from where the young ones fled

12:56 am

Coming across on the first encounter

There, in the glacial part of my freezer

A red bag full of frigid solidity

A sack of tubes, holed and rock hard

A reminder of a smile, of a favorable

and fortunate time

Another image, shocking red pants

And a scarf covered neckline

of a face whose smile could catch

a thousand younglings

What does bring him here at this hour

an adventure perhaps, or a meeting of old minds

I ventured unto their table

A cold sneer and an even icier greeting

This face, the persona and being

that could capture and break a myriad of faces

and of a manifold melting hearts

In the end I hope and pray that not one of them

Not one of them belongs to his own

Too lovely is his face to be broken by tears

Rumours,

A place from where the young ones fled

12:56 am

Samurai

Ohayo!

in the profusion of
of red, white and pink fake flowers
winding in garlands that slope
to the groundlands

what need is there for the pale and shocking
pink ribbons?
and what of the blues

what were the colors of the masks that
glitter on the yellowed wall?
were there just three?

and the silence that screams
and prayers for us to be alone

will you lay in my arms tonight without the
colorful coverings on our faces?

061308
1:31 am

The Wolf

The Lacrymosa of Remus

It was on that winter that he died, on that winter of the snake. The wolf finally casted him into the silence that he himself could never create. A life of silence and an end to his first silence. When was it that he ceased to utter another diatribe, another soliloquy, another word? It was that voiceless throat that gutturally and raspingly released a final breath from its gaping rip. It was that wordless tongue that in the end curled back into the cavern beyond the back of the mouth.

Grotesque and malformed was the countenance of that olden mishap when the unending night descended upon him. Ashen was the face in the drab glow of a solitary ray of the serpent moon, lips stretched full up and out, each in a twist counter to the other. Still now are the former silver double tipped tongue, slivered as it had into the recesses of its last refuge. A bite for all the bites inflicted. A slash for all the lashes unfurled and hurled. Sulfuric was the smell of the breeze as it invaded the flaming nostrils. The hungry smoldering eyes unequaled by the amber evil moon. The sweetish smell of sweat wet fur gratingly plagued the evening air. The dreadful breath of death is all around in a stall.

looking back to tomorrow

I am now looking at a photograph. One that had been taken in sepia, an ancient street with the moonlight downed low, with the shine of the lampposts humming the song of that night.

A memory of an invitation.

A memory of a blue wedding.

A shimmering gown and tear drop pearls with the color of water

veil my vision as remembrances of concealed joy and excitement fill my thoughts of this past.

As my fingers touch the images I see, I see my heart’s smile warmly.

As if just the second ago had been what I have in my grasp now.

I trace the lines of the streets as if tracing lines of the Great Book of my Life.

The cobblestones, the jagged edges bordering hurtful memories, the gem-yellow street photographed, a golden road still to be paved and tread.

In harsher light, the high curb streaks like a highway burning in the sun.

Its color, that of a Diana burnished by an angry Apollo.

It is the walkway where my bared feet had left their steps.

A brilliant arc that had not even been caught by half, reminiscent of half-hid rainbows.

Blaring bulbs, a choreographed line of dances in a procession, one by one by one.

Another set of arcs matched the open smile with the arched eyebrows.

What would have the ancient stone walls have said

had they heard my whispered confessions then…

would the lenses show what I breathed out as I hid behind them?

Haling the winds as walls were scoured.

Another photograph momentarily comes to mind of a man barred behind bars.

Head pressed between steel and steel.

Hands grasping metal on each side.

The face laughing unto the other side, to the very dear life that he wished was his.

How many memories can one single captured image hold, a million lifetimes worth may be. In light, of this light I begin to realize that where I had been born anew was in the port of the saint named after the light. Tears run from a renewed trickle. I have for sometime been hurting from remembering having buried myself in darkness. Yet, I now know that I have again surfaced. That again I am bathed in blaring white glow of a memory that away will never again go.

~~~

Numerous other dream-like visions are kept in compartments within the heart of a chest.

They too hold and keep their prayers.

They too will again emerge and unfold whenever I look back, and when I, again and again

look into tomorrow.

vincent

my gift of friendship

as i draw near you steadily gaze
at my eyes that could not meet yours
i tremble in each step that i make
as you are my friend
and, yet, it is you
tonight
that i will take

your eyes seem to plead
to let this cup pass over you
yet, these words you utter not
as you know that it is i
it is i, that bear the cup
i, too, would have the same words voiced for you
but in their stead i say:
spare you, i
i may not
and spare you, i
i will not

tonight, you need not have asked,is this the day that i die?

aye
aye

but i cannot look you in the eye

much pain i will give before what i face i will take.
your eyes follow my hands
as i pass to you the knife
but that
is not the way
to make things come to pass. it's only
to make you help me bring you to my world
of the dark.
to help you reach
the treshold of pain
'til pain and soul
are one
inside the void.


your feel the tremors of my hand as i grip your heart.
from then to the last we will not be apart.
mercilessly, mercilessly, i had to squeeze.
as the thundering of a thousand hooves
murmured like a gentle breeze.
as each indistinct sound falters and fades.
i show you my colors of mud and dusty shades.
i take your hand and let you hold my heart.
you feel my mountains of pain, my hidden art.
it is through this instrument that i accomplish my part.
as my beats roared and echoed
- like amber lava, my tears flowed
my cries bellowed.
as if naked before wintry dawn on a lonely hill,
with searing numbness settles in your heart infernal chill.
with one last look in your last grasp of breath
i wait in silence the passing too of my own death.

is this the day you die?

aye
aye

now, open your eye

my gift is death
it is the day you die

open your eye

for one's rebirth
the only way

is first to die

~~~~~~~~~
my gift to a cherished, unnamed, dear friend.
as in all passing, i mourn.
when will i get to see how you have been reborn?

with much love always,

ben

thank you for forgiving me as the bringer of your death
and please forgive me for forcing you to forgive

now open your eye
and look at me


first posting 11/25/06 in this 'universal' reality
accomplished a day before in the page in the book of my life

for my dear coffee
and for my dear cup

one day maybe you'll learn to forgive me
i hope that you do, that in time you could
i, my own myself, i never can

03:20 am 22.01.07
of my here and now

~~~~~~
and of course i forgive
i've seen how you live ...
~~~~~~
but you just smile and take my hand
you've been there you understand...
~~~~~~

ah, my sweet sweet life
what is it that you are teaching me to teach?

descent to hell

i gnash my teeth trying hard
not to trash my head
trying to make it end
but afraid of making it all end

i'm trapped
trapped in my own circular web
not lured
rather have fallen
in a pit of tar
in a clay jar

i'm running from everything
but there's no escape
i'm free of everything
but can't escape
i'm trapped
i'm trapped

i'm trapped inside my head