My Imperfect

what thunder comes what
hooves, what
troubled trumpet!
one minute more,
one inch more
one slow, degrading slide
one moment more
dearly, deeply
grunted

begone old Time, begone
thine visage haunted!
scrapes this devil’d cerebellum
with a howl
from out that monstrous grin
a gnarled sober
crawls a scab of shade
bereft of
scowl

i am my own destroyer,
i am my storm
i rip my sails and fill
my oars
with song
O Pride, O Pride!
hath lent me but a gimbal
and from that vaunted precipice
i decline

may stinted mornings
bend
to me their Gold

may joy in destitution
gird my rudder

for i lay low and steady
to this course
and ask for none, save
my
imperfect source

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

Advertisements

Death

gull mopes a wormy yawn
at the toothy wind
salt spray sea-wash
in the sand of a riven eye

clouds part the oppressive blue
and light retreats
beneath the gray-bellied
rain fat ready sky

the tufted grass all bends
a bristle stroke
and their petals flower
the colorless expanse

kingdom of the hunter gull
and his hosted guests
dry in the stinking heat
of an ancient grasp

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

thistle in the sweet

bothersome thorn
mark missed still struck dead
a breath unnamed
failure, once again

bled and turned
fits re-worn, holes now
in them shirtsleeves
chewed the apple’s worm

useless spells, fall unused
at the shore of wind-whipped wave
i stirred the break
and with anger set the foam

to spite her calming eyes
the soft tingle of her touch
i ate the flesh
snarling with disgust

but the knowing leaves
fumbled dry in decay
what once was green
a husk of moth flown into flame

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

la vie d’un poète

days when the gallant hooves go trumpeting
to the night
rain fills buckets and sheets stick
with delirium

the head goes bumping, and bumping
an inner scratch
and all the circles stay unbroken
despite the drum

an apology works its crow-beak
on the brain
from out that echo a storm beats
with a flare

nostrils throttle and throat creaks
out a snare
a howling cry emerges
from the pain

nights when the gallant lie
before the dawn
tears fumble like a poets fingers
for an egg
and the broken one rejoinders
with a song

reach out a steady hand
and feel again

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

eat of my flesh

flown the wind gone grain
dust grape
spider dew web
spun long with a prick of leaf stuck
in the Moon’s eye corner, time time
waits for Autumn’s crisp
departure
slow into the quick of snow

beneath the Summer lathe
wrung dry
drum-skin beard of night sleeps
the green fuse
kiss of light, life life
beats indefatigable glowing growth
lapping waves from Eden’s heath
break the shore

whisker of rebirth
tweaking Death’s red nose rubbing
the skeleton Earth meat
on the cross teeth speak jaws
of kingdoms
won and lost it’s all here
now, now

and the scryer’s fingers probe

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

voir dire

never, and never my love flown far
and near
wades in the gristle’d glade
of goose gone lakes afire
in teeth of the jawbone hungry damned
eat, and eat they sworl
in the shark-blood torrent finned
thirst for the de-flowered fuse,
and die

her lust-light charms
attract
the snake-head poison grown
they wield the sword, mere claimants
to the stone-cold throne
inspired
for no gold they own, but the glint
of the eyes of liars
ever, and ever my love flown arrow
and bow

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.

captivated

fragile slip of frost
on dew-back’d leaf melt bead
tickles along the spine rib blades
of her silhouette

as Eve might
have reached an armlong hand above head
at that mysterious
gleam of fruit-skin naked
in her garden

too perfect, the pale of her
and i watch that timeless moment
captivated

© Emerys Watchel, 2018 All rights reserved.