Posts Tagged ‘dark’

SWEET IGNORANCE

Could I be Lord Byron’s Daughter

Caught up in the perfume of poetry

The kind that permeates the pearled core

Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf

 

 

 

The antebellum of whisked dreams

How our anarchy comes out to play

Among the willows when darkness

Resorts to its open dance and does

The nah-na in dusk’s face

I see an animal

A raccoon, perhaps,

Needle her way to my garbage can

For what crumbs lay rotting in the mesh

And I feel sorry for her

Even though I know an approach

Would warrant a sufficient hiss or

Show of ragged teeth

Oh is madness not a curse

But a blessing instead

An anesthesia against the world

As we know it

And perhaps I’m Emily Dickinson’s

Lost long heir, or some other entity

Of importance

For that’s what I tell my ego

When the perfume fades to stale memory

Though I still have all this inside to

Release like molten lava to an audience

Not fond of Poetry as we share it

Yet tolerant of me, so they listen

I become that bubble

Floating high where hurtness can’t reach

And force me to crawl into myself

That bubble any moment to disperse

In those waves of sun glare

But I’m totally unaware

Death reeks on the horizon.

Madness is bliss.

   ♥

      *•.¸♥♥¸.•*

© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER

Sullen path

I’ve tasted your dusty disaster

Contrived your tired lust

Gave up heels that swam in circles

Because destination did not exist

Save the winds from terrible laughter

It’s our eyes that suffer first

Vision turned like a reckless dial until

We find a view worth listening to.

Have we met yet

Sinkage where the road crumbles

To scattered shale and bone

Where, if we look real hard,

We might see ghosts

Of our ancestors’ footprints

Imbedded in grains of granite

Shadows mixed with an arroyo of sorrows

Fleeting thoughts of clay torn sweetly west

Across everfading and lofty meadows.

No chum here

For the starving road fork

No acoustic left to reverberate

Feed the silent whimper

Pick your poisons carefully

All that was narrow now widened

With bulimic planks

The soft has finally married its polar counterstone

And counts its blessings threefold.

It won’t be the first time

You found emptiness welcoming

Consider those days something

Lead you thicker into seductive evil

And there you settled nicely

Thinking to yourself, At least I’m breathing

And reading death quotes of a sadist

In a morning drenched with moth light

As you swallow last remnants

Of  beautiful disaster.

*•.¸♥♥¸.•*

© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

Trajectory

What spoon of withered white

Cast its shadow high and still

Left with frozen regret

Merely invisibleness left to mourn

Stark the gifted glare

Trajectory of bleeding air

Satin spins its weathered tear

Kiss of infamy

Passion slips into sleep, re-thorned.

Oh how we tremble

When loneliness taps

That heartless door

Chaos hums with bruised light

Faint of darkness sweet

Eerie taste of sullen echoes

That weeps out stars tonight.

Spill out a new but crusted dawn

Eyes close to the brilliant hues

Yet what loins gave up their fiery fight

Its comet shackled in frozen flight

To speak your unloved name, alas

Not of an airy voice divine

That made you an orphan again!

*•.¸♥♥¸.•*

© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

A LIFE FOR A LIFE

Lay down your infinite fears;

I hold you.

And I feel the rumblings inside,

a chasm of unspoken tears

            never before this day cried.

So I weep them all for you.

I see all the living that stayed

lifeless,

great moments you wanted to run but instead fell,

when you reached out for the sweetness of Heaven

but ended up tasting bitter Hell,

worry not, I breathe it all for you.

Let go of the pain,

I’ll drain the bleed

of your wounds from you.

I’ll take the knives that carved your heart,

and mend back the pieces torn and ripped apart – –

yes:

as sure as I found paradise behind broken eyes,

soared with your tortured Soul inside rain-drenched skies,

keep on going when the Grim Reaper knocks, too,

for

you’ll never know

that I Died for you.

© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

ON EDGE

The earth wobbles from a shifted axis.

Today, a bird lost its sonar, crashed into

My windshield.

We pay for air, for space, for water.  Shouldn’t that be free?

~ we’re on edge.

Roaches have been here over a million years; they’ll out live us by millennia.

Stock markets fluctuate.

Cost of living spirals out of control.

Salaries stay the same.

 ~ we’re on edge.

Starvation is on the rise.  Why?

Yellowstonenational park is crumbling.

Antarctic glaciers are melting.

Rain forests are being butchered.

Natural catastrophes are becoming more frequent.

 ~ we’re on edge.

Animal cruelty is rampant.

Prejudice still exists.

I saw a kitten thrown from a speeding car.

I heard of a puppy drowned in the

River; he had been locked inside

The coffin of a suitcase with no way out.

Today, on prime time news, it was

Reported a young mother stuffed her

Newborn infant inside a draw-string

Trash bag in the city dumpster

Where it ended up at the local landfill.

 ~ there is no more edge.

                                                we fell off.

 

© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

WHEN EVEN STARS

DROP OUT OF LOVE WITH US

 

 

moments recorded in

                        The Book of Regrets

behind inhuman pens

pushed past their own resilient limits

 

a lone car spinning in the dead of night

along a seemingly endless, precarious mountain pass

not even fireflies can compete with

its blaring headlights

            stabbing the thickening fog

 

passing a hit deer along the road side

her frantic heart still beating

 

and this monster of glass and metal

abandons the outskirts of demi-light nowhere

            heading northbound into the

nameless township of

                        skyscraper somewhere

 

leaving nothing behind

anymore remarkable

            than the swirling dust it stirred

or the stones it kicked off to the wayside

between the white dividing lines

segregating a two-lane highway

 

trees that canopied the winding bends

sway not by wind

            but engine fuel spilling

            its toxic lung

across the gasping leaves

 

sharp eyes of a startled raccoon

narrowly missed

by the roar of hungry rubber

eating

            the distance of asphalt chips

 

a careless climb to the top

that will matter to nothing

not even to the open, empty space

that existed fine without its

cumbersome

                        intrusion

 

an owl looks on

imprinting his unrest

upon the frosty air

            with his sad, disenchanted hoot

 

the song of squealing brakes

barely dodging a homeless dog

terrified beyond

            the growls of its own

                                    starving belly

 

the following curse

from grumbling whiskey lips

that even embarrassed

                        the wind

 

oh

            the stories

            that will never be told

and refused to be written ~ ~

 

when even the skies serenade

above our weepless

                                    miles

 

and we wonder,

            how we humans pause and wonder,

 

why even stars

            drop out of love with us . . .

~ ~

© Copyright 2011 ♥Susan Joyner-Stumpf

THE JOURNEY OF LOSS

 

The way loss would remember

          a morning welcomed only

for its Damask entry

          a Velvet lingering

along wounded hemlined dream

          satin-gentle waking state

blur of whimper come to life

          place of non-committal Diamond-light

fade beyond crimson curtains

          of rehearsed despair

half twilight whispers

          finger along the edge of tears

sinking into numbness.

 

The way loss would forget

          an evening rejected only

for its shadow-teasing light

          broken angles strangled

inside dangling prisms

          promises spin their web

through a fine disguise of golden thread

          swinging their last distorted remains

through a pinhole of fatal oblivion.

 

The way loss could move on

          memory blanketed in cold bursts

of intermittent reality

          devoid of child-like curiosity

seeping through frayed fabrics

          of human reluctance

out of body, witnessing the carnage

          left behind

shattered glass drinking the rays

          of a nonchalant sun.

 

The way loss should accept

          snap back into screaming flesh

the sting of the Silver Chord

          weeps like a lonely Violin

return to mortal weight,

          sustenance,

and thus its inevitable neediness.

          Its pain.

~ ~

© Copyright 2011 ♥Susan Joyner-Stumpf