Posts Tagged ‘doom’

And if it isn’t deep sea mining
it is drought, and if not drought,
it will be mobs incited by memes,
and if it’s not mobs it will be
our own fear. And
the lilacs that have been here
for a hundred years are blooming
more beautifully tonight
than I have ever seen them,
every branch heavy
with sweet purple blooms.
It is all falling apart, love.
That’s what the river sings
as it carves the canyon,
as it breaks down the boulders,
as it carries the detritus, the logs.
Just tonight I heard an estimated
eighty years left for humanity.
Still, tonight the scent of lilacs
meets us with faithful beauty
and an old song of spring
rises on the lips.
How is it, despite the trouble,
I feel so much love
for this disappearing world,
so much love for this doomed race
as I begin to sing.

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            for Heartbeat

If I said we sat in a circle

in an open air room made of stones

with tall arched windows

and night sky for a dome

and drank wine and laughed

and teased and wept,

if I said we then sang by candlelight

until the milky way

spilled into our throats

and our voices swirled like vines

that twine and tendril to climb themselves,

if I said how, when we sang our last song,

the wind rustled in the aspen

in quiet applause and then stilled

and a shooting star unspooled

its bright fleeting ribbon, well,

I would barely believe it myself

that the world could feel so full of beauty,

except I was there and felt

the night as it cradled us,

felt that vine take root, still taste

just a bit of that milky way in my thoughts

creamy, nourishing, vast.

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Of course she knows she is doomed.
That is not the part that bothers her.
Everyone is doomed. Lawyers.
Dilettantes. Poets. Priests.
She never takes Kismet personally.
Not even when he rips her dress
just before she goes on stage.
Not even when she is sick, near death.
Not even when she trips and splats
full body on the wall of her own loneliness.
She knows being doomed just comes
with the package. Still she can’t help
but wonder if Kismet is not, perhaps,
open for a little seduction. Cause Wild Rose
has a friend that she wishes that Kismet might
just forget to visit with his little dark bag
of doom if only she can keep
him interested here in her thighs
for just one more day, one more night.

* For those who have not met her yet, Wild Rose is my alter ego, the one who does everything that I am too frightened or embarrassed to do.

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