Merciel

May 1, 2012

The Forest for the Tree

Day 10 of the 2012 April PAD Challenge on WritersDigest.com.

I missed the forest for a tree, they said,
so I stepped out to survey the whole scene.
The emerald ocean gleamed with such prospects
I blinked–lost sight of what made that tree unique.
Seemed I could lean against another tree
and carve my name into its flesh until
stripped bare, then climb a fresher one now bloomed
with daisies, leave when they started to wilt.
When Autumn came, I found the reason why
my oak stood tallest among trees. The gleam
enthralling me lost glamour, fading with
the summer, but she remained evergreen
no matter the distance of the sun. I now
wander the wilderness in search of her
jaded glow but only see browner plains.
Perhaps I already plucked her bare too.
April 26, 2012

My Son’s Cat

Day 26 of the 2012 April PAD Challenge on WritersDigest.com.

In silent crouch behind the couch,
the cat hides from my boy.
His toddler hands know only gropes
and karate chops–a caress
dealt playfully but still stings all day.
Her scratch won’t temper infant love–
his heart eclipses memory.
Her salvation comes only with age
when his attention strays to video games
and she becomes a memory.
April 23, 2012

Morning Star

Day 23 of the 2012 April Pad Challenge by WritersDigest.com.

Horizon beneath the onyx canvas
bleeds with a watermelon tinge.
The rooster’s crow, the alabaster kiss
herald the Sun’s resurrection.

Specters congregated to haunt the night
exposed to be but naked trees.
Chills of Winter fog dissipated by
effervescent threads from the Spring.

Star from the East, ascend to the mountain–
beatify the forsaken ground.
Blunt the chill’s sting with golden redemption–
adorn the Earth with ivory crowns.

The starless night struck by the tangerine tint–
asunder dashed by the Morning Star’s ascent.
April 22, 2012

The C Word

My entry for Day 22 of the 2012 April PAD Challenge on WritersDigest.com.

You ruined the friendship we had
when you mentioned your religion
in a chat about our histories.
Implications made obvious:
Affections shown–a fantasy
to lure me to your velvet pews
to flail my arms to bigotry.
You spoke so highly of chastity,
but I bet you fucked any douche
adorned with a cross and bleached spikes.

I mistook you for a living saint,
but now I see every good deed
was only bargaining for souls.
The kids you lead, the poor you feed–
all pawns to turn you royalty.
I see the real you brandishing
a picket sign at funerals
of gays and Wiccans–mothers too–
spreading love with double-edged words–
hidden daggers on the tip of your tongue.

I mistook you intelligent
when we studied geometry
in my tomb with coffee and the Cure.
I tutored you Science–fiction
according to your Nicene Creed.
Truth doesn’t jive with Adam and Eve.
How do you interpret the stars?
Do you see the fusion of lights
or think it all angels and signs?
No need to speak; I know your type.

I mistook you for my closest friend
when you walked me to class each day
before you journeyed to your own.
To waste your time on talking to me
was your personal Golgotha–
but I’m the one left crucified.
Affections analyzed, revealed
to be nails through my hardened hands
into rusty crosses I thought
I shattered. Double-crossed by you.
April 21, 2012

White Acropolis: Suburban War

This is my entry for Day 2 of the 2012 April PAD Challenge on WritersDigest.com. The prompt is to write about a visitor.

Immaculate streets become battlefields
as patriots fight–stand their ground against
black-clad invaders armed with sweet arsenal
and white earbuds. The chaos ensues–shortcuts
across trimmed lawns, jaywalking silent streets,
humming to music downloaded for free.
No bleach can wash away the stains they leave
on virgin property fairly bequeathed
by the old natives. Canaanites cannot
reclaim what God has gave. To coexist
is cowardice. One must either flee night
approaching like mice in race with black cats
or fight to live in property free
of devaluing blemishes. The jackals
can go away–with Christ–back to the slums
or they can stay in coffins underneath.
April 19, 2012

Psyching Up

This is the moment when the Sunny Sky needs to be at its brightest and the High Tide needs to be at its fullest. The Sea focuses me on the Moon, but what is the Moon? Is it a person or a thing? Is it an idol or a lifestyle? Perhaps the Moon has become a colony of many things and people that draw me up. Pull toward the Moon, and add another drop, then another and another. Resurface and drown everything.
April 12, 2012

Her Shadow

This is my entry for Day 9 of the 2012 April PAD Challenge on WritersDigest.com. The prompt is to write a shady poem.

Her marvelous light envelops
me – sharpens the fuzzy contours.
I stretch across the bright expanse
atop the prints she makes in the sand.
She steps ahead – I keep the pace
without a breadth between our soles.

Though lacking depth and shape beyond
hers, no dimension could compare
to following her feet all day.
I keep close wherever she goes.
Even when the sun sets and night
begins, I never do vanish–
I envelop her existence–
beneath her lips, her breasts, her thighs–
I’ll always follow her back home
and spoon her until night becomes day.
April 10, 2012

In Sheep’s Clothing

I wrote this for Day 6 of the 2012 April PAD Challenge, but it fits better with the Day 8 prompt.

I sit, suppressing shivers with a smile
as Pastor Wade continues his crusade
against my kind.
The sin we flaunt decays society–
moral terrorists shoving fired crotches
against their eyes.

If we had our way, we’d turn the world gay
and twist their kids to believe that it’s okay
to have two dads.
Marriage was created for a dad and a mom–
sometimes old mom, sometimes new mom, sometimes
even two moms.

Wade fires off the dusty Old Testament–
the crowd goes wild with applause the unborn
don’t even earn.
I ready for the wave in case an eye
inquires my reaction–eyes once warm but
now only burn.

Once deemed a son, brother, future husband–
ruined by a misplaced phone, poached by vultures
starved for secrets.
Now only thought a queer in sheep’s clothing
because they spread like eagles their massive cracks
starved for cookies.

The sermon ends. I slither through the pews–
get nicked by stray thorns–glares by a boy I thought
my closest friend.
He takes a girl he fucked at the spring retreat
back home. Perhaps they plan to pray for me
or just my end.
April 1, 2012

A Child’s Tears

A child’s tears cut more precise surgeon’s knife–
Envenomed with sting unbated by any spice.
Eyes bleed old vinegar on budding paradise–
If hell is death dealt twice, his cries render it thrice.

That banshee whine ignites the mother rose aflame–
Pink petals wilt as night dispenses thorns untamed–
Deeper than crucifixion they pierce the martyr vein
With fire even Venus dare never constrain.

That prunéd face drips vinegar out swollen cracks–
Submerges the rock–I am–immersed in cataracts.
Each gasp fortifies the flood’s next wave of attack–
Sun sets as the tide pushes the horizon back.

Each teardrop buries smiles another fathom down–
The pressure clogs each breath with murmurs underground
Of greater tears ahead no lullaby can drown
Until–at last–in wood and dirt forever bound.

A child’s tears are the great deluge on Springtide nights.
Hell’s flames cremate, but his newborn cries crucify.
March 22, 2012

Friendship

Feathers bless birds with magic of flight, but
roots bind the vegetables to the dirt.
I’ve never met songbirds, only vultures;
even the ravens relished my decay.
Nevertheless, their meaty breasts drowned my
drought with their perspiration. Though gentler,
shrubs simply sap all moisture away. I
have only dust to eat; a brittle leaf.
If only the white dove returned to me.
Perhaps I’d fly past Babel to Paradise.