Anger Has No Turning

Anger grows hard between the devil
And death’s blossoms.
And spreads like an oak tree.
When a twig grows they are
The most unlikely birds.
It’s difficult to twist it as a stone
Into a wasp’s nest because
Every beginning is weak.
Silence will not fly into one’s mouth,
The palest ink, but, its fruit is sweet.
Gray hairs are slender anchorage-
The whisper of a pretty girl
Like a needle on a long road that
Has no turning.

Here are the proverbs I used for this poem:

Anger is as a stone cast into a wasp's nest.
Between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Evil eneters like a needle and spreads like an oak tree.
Gray hairs are death's blossom's.
Heaven lent you a soul earth will lend a grave.
It is a long road that has no turning.
Luck has a slender anchorage.
Patience is a bitter seed but its fruit is sweet.
Pigs might fly, but they are most unlikely birds.
Roasted pigeons will not fly into one's mouth.
Silence was never written down.
The palest ink is better than the best memory.
The whisper of a pretty girl can be heard further than the roar of a lion.
When a twig grows hard it is difficult to twist it. Every beginning is weak.

Lipton Sunset

Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Let me taste its Lipton Rivers
Upon my salivating tongue.

Bring me the sunset on a canvas,
Let my fingers seek playful caress
Through these cotton fields.

Bring me the sunset to my ears,
Let me listen to its concerto
Before I close my eyes.

Bring me the sunset in a cup is the first line of an Emily Dickinson poem.

birdhouse

a glass barrier
robin tries to make
our home birdhouse today

Cento (untitled)

She’s un-buoyed by a conch tree
Of the tree that surrounds your feet.
It was not separation, for I was there
Like a pantomime hidden in forest quills.
A moan sped from asp demon- mad opens
Up and reached for Jupiter’s
Tattered bursts of laughter.
I squelched its freedom.
Ascend no dances on her hair
Her beautiful etchings were gone and this spiked hair?
Quintessential habitat.
My hands to tender skin fall and then flee.
Tonight, I made thin conversation
When we played as children- searching our compass point,
The hemisphere was tilted.
What Lies Beneath is Castaway From Hell
Leaving signs of Stigmata.
A puce slur skreys across glureon skies
Watching fireworks display their brilliance
Against freeze and flame currents.
Needling birds addle themselves beneath my silled door.
Temperatures rising, summer throttle.
Soaked in frigid waters, I’ll seek one last stop
On a good luck penny and faith.

I took one line from each of the poems I've written this month and reused them here for my Cento.

Death of a Mermaid

by kbware7
sand sculpture ATT10
from Photobucket
originally uploaded here

Ascend no dances on her hair-
She’s ensconced by her seabed chi,
A circular strand of sandcone
Like a stalagmite reaching
Through the sea coined roses, daisies.
Her hand beetles away like frightened
Seagulls on a rift of air.
She’s going to heal less as
A deaf mermaid amid earthed foam.
Spent waves sang one conversation
In this cenotaph sea where
Death was forever left away.
Clouds came in believing deaths
Content in dying her moon.

A Chance Encounter

Between the cosmetics isle and passing
I felt Wal-Mart’s cold air purchase my back.
What’s Curel, I heard her ask-
I imagine a colder lotion touching my skin.

I felt Wal-Mart’s cold air purchase my back
While I meandered around the superstore.
I imagine a colder lotion touching my skin;
It’s in stark contrast to his warm hands.

While I meandered around the superstore
I fondled Rage, putting all points on edge,
It’s in stark contrast to his warm hands
Where only G batteries are needed

I fondled Rage, putting all points on edge
Between the cosmetics isle and passing,
Where only G batteries are needed-
What’s Curel, I heard her ask.

It Was Not Separation

It was not separation, for I was there
All the touching, I willed away-
It was not caring, for all hours
Put out their toll, for me.

It was not Him, for on my mind
I felt cool passage
Over the threshold, an inner longing
No words could speak.

And yet, I felt His hands
Pass over this Mohave Desert
Where faces are folded in pain,
Tonguing stuttered sentences-

As if life were reigning.