August Poem 10: Rise and Fade

They of the long death.

Those bringing the death carpet.

The sulfur people.


They are the strange ones.

Ash and bone and polished shards

Woven in fabric.


They wear their beliefs

Like the gathers of their lands

Taken from the earth.


Chanting they swing. Their

Noxious censors billowing.

Staining the skies black.


Stagnant as Latin,

Sattva Casetti was dead.

Eighty-four and smoke.


The chugging machine

Of subtextually.

Her birthday or near.


We experienced

Fulfilling of prophecy

Ending the Red Death.


Covering bodies

In ash and fragrant spices

That burn and consume.


Smokes that rise and fade

Lifting the spirit, the dead

Giving safe passage.


2012 Poetry: Glorious Joaquin the Brave

Through the stately streets of Clear Water

Where the oil lamps lit the way,

Steadily stumbled a mighty man

With a jug tilted to his face.


His dress was that of nobles

With coat, boots and blade.

His body was a veteran brawler,

And his hair was iced by age.


He parted the oaken doors and entered

The jolly old Gentlemen’s Club.

The blazing hearth chased out the cold

with the smell of fine tobacco that he loved.


He strode with purpose through the tavern

Where he was known to spend his time.

He meant to stop only for a moment

To refill his jug with wine.


Yet, he stayed for all the patrons

Who sang praises to his name,

And he longed for tender wenches

And the comfort they once gave.