Thursday, May 17, 2012


Transparency is ambrosial 
when it is given along the string
from your heart
to another. 

Clarity is morning rain,
lingers on grass,
a droplet for every soul
that dares dance unclad. 

There happens then
a lightening of each living trouble.
These or those weighing down a closed heart
lay no burden
on the shoulders of clarion beasties. 

Yet we fear it, 
for crystal breaks
as a raindrop turned to ice.   
Crack, it may. 
Shatter, it can. 
Yet the smell of a buried self reeks,
necrotic beneath the mold of neverever.

Never to show. 
Never to give. 
Never to share underling fancies
in a gentle palm
to share with you. 

Quiescence lives
in the seeing and showing
In the times,
and on the roads,
when fear sneaks a toehold.

Yield an echo
before the one who holds your key.  
Abandon your fortress.
Swallow a pint
of sweet cinnamon pretense.
Let them pass
Let them see.  
3 : an instance of trouble <used to disguise her frustrations and despair by making light of her troubles



  1. This is really good... It goes from necrotic reeking to sweet cinnamon, dancing lightly back and forth to make an important point. Nice!

  2. Absolutely perfect, as usual. I love that last stanza. Great response to the prompt.

  3. I love the idea that in the first part of the poem, hiding your true self causes rot, but at the end, you (not you personally - the reader or persona) can hide that rotten smell with sweet cinnamon pretense.

  4. So aptly describes the dance we do within ourselves with our authentic self and the mask we usually wear. Thought provoking...

    Stopped by from Studio30 Plus Weekend Spotlight.

  5. After reading this a couple of times, I now want to hear Peter Murphy sing it. There is music in your words.