Babble, Babble

Babble, Babble

When my dear heart speaks

of foreign times, foreign objects,

with a foreign tongue and Chicklet teeth,

I protest with unaltered silence.

Many a moments I have pleaded

for an explanation, a definition,

a table or chart - any means

for understanding his paths

of question and contemplation.

How can I comprehend his message

through disdain and sarcasm?

I dig. I pillage. I dive down deep

and still resurface with empty hands.

The saliva scrolling down his throat,

the vibration of his vocal chords

against the wind from his lungs confuses me.

He obsesses over machines with brains,

void of feelings, bodies of massive circuit systems

that strain with raw, eclectic power.

His fantasies involve buttons being mashed,

potions being ingested, mana being restored,

and weapons being purchased and sold

only to be purchased and sold again and again.

The man even signs electronically

without the use of ink or quill.

I draw mental diagrams of his words

with small written descriptions located

below the poorly detailed pictures

and somehow I remain blinded

and forced into the pitch black hole of uncertainty.

The only way to desist this problem

is to accept the reticent defeat.

After the lecture is over and done,

the refrain of my dumbfounded circles

still hangs low over my brow

and plagues my eyes like tiny flashbulb impressions

that linger in the sight after a candid snapshot.

September 25, 2010

The Scandal of Christendom

The Scandal of Christendom

They called her The Scandal.

She knew they referred to her

as the King's whore -

the fierce and poisonous concubine.

She may not have been virginally pure,

but she knew the power

that a beautiful woman at court

could obtain.

One day, she completely captured her love

even before she could spin a web.

The lady made every day Spring

and every man, woman, and child smile

their large toothy grins

that stretched from ear to ear.

The King was her heart,

her hunger, her passion.

He allowed her to be anything

she wanted to be.

Why, if she had awakened one morning

wanting nothing more than to be a bird,

her sweet love would have made her wings

with which she could fly

to forbidden lands and unplanned destinies,

her falcon coming to life

leaping from its crest

as a frog from a lily pad.

But she remained grounded

keeping her king at a stiff arm's length,

waiting for a love that would be innocent,

kind, and full of wealth and power.

After six years of lustful torture,

her wish was finally granted.

Her love was now permanently placed

by her side, two thrones of near-equal size.

The passion she could now share with him

was never shameful, dirty, or drenched in sin.

She was a queen now.

She could never be dirty!

But that's what they continued to call her,

that disgraceful, dirty mistress

of a most regal and gracious king.

However, they were mistaken.

This queen was quite clean

and bold with a wit to rival any male.

Yet Scandal remained her name,

the filthy witch who seduced a king,

a man torn between two loves:

his duty to his country

and his furious passion

for a beautiful woman,

a kind and confident queen.

She knew she was special,

capturing the crown's eyes

and stealthily stealing his gaze

from his forgotten Queen of Hearts.

Her public loved her...

and yet they despised her

for how could anyone understand

the labyrinth that was her mind?

How could anyone comprehend

the depth of her love for him?

And what did her king do

with her love?

After years of her constant failure

to bring forth his proper fruit,

how did he dispose of her?

He called in a professional,

a first-grade assassin,

to remove that gorgeous mane,

that complex mind,

and that precious smile swiftly

from her body.

It was a murder, yes.

But did her people prevent it?

After all of her sacrifices

to bring forward a world of compassion,

humility, grace, and understanding,

did they keep her safe?

At her end, all they could remember

was her wicked abduction of their king

who, in their eyes, could do no wrong.

Yet the first seed of regret

was planted within them

as they quickly buried away her remains

in a molded arrow box.

Now, she reigns supreme

as a martyr for love,

a victim,

a fearless leader

who quested for acceptance and good.

She may have been known as a scandal,

but if her only crime

was unconditional love for her king and her people,

how can she be remembered

as anything less than a saint?

August 1, 2010

My Make Me High Guy

My Make Me High Guy

Listening to Dig,

the light illuminates on just his eyes,

creating the vigilante's mask

behind which he can hide.

But not from me.

The guy makes me high,

giving me wings with which I float

in and out of the willow's fingers,

under and over a castle's bridge,

the wake of the water from my speed

sprinkling my cheeks fresh with moldy moat.

He looks at me as a scientist

conducting an experiment,

the ingredients all stirred together;

the product applied through my lungs,

skin, teeth, hair, eyes, nose, and freckles;

the results spewing like a child's laughter

up from my stomach, rolling down my tongue,

and releasing with my lips

as my sounds and words make melodic poetry

that a cat purrs after the lights have all gone out.

Then RATM jumps

out through the speakers and suddenly

I'm an invincible renegade,

unafraid of everything.

I, too, can tell stories in the dark.

I, too, can knock down the walls

that keep others out and protect me

from shrouded souls who try to control

the raging spirit within me.

I, too, can be free.

And with his hands on the wheel

and a smile temporarily attached to my face,

I become liberated and born again

through my own newfound strength

and a little of his inspiration.

September 4, 2010