[x]

echothis morning in the shower,
i reached out through the mist
to find a faceless echo standing before me,
a dark blurred apparition
a mute memory, motionless.
i took its hand, and wove our fingers together
and slid my arm around its waist
and pulled it close to me
and stood silently breathing
while the hot water ran down our shoulders.

Sanctity.A pilgrim at
the half remembered ruins,
sunset wiring
starspun and
burning low --
alive, somehow,
at the night's watch.

DepartureA hapless loser;
a lionhearted wallflower, if you will.

Browbeaten, sheepishly slipping through the curtains on the window.
Intimidated by the high-pitched noise you hear when there is no other sound in the night.
Bellowing out like a soldier stuck in his trenches.
I am heard, as I impinge your eardrums,
yet you're as steady as a statue during a windstorm.

My mother always told me that I was a well balanced child;
I had a chip off both of my shoulders.
One day the gulls will swarm down and make a nest of our bones
and you will still be as level headed then as you are now.

So go my friend, I bid you adieu.
Cast off your anchors, and feel t

SupernovaIt was a '67 orange Chevrolet
Tinted windows, spattered paint
And the smell of hot sauce that never quite left
Leather kept the warmth of better summers
Dancing shoes and faded denim
Gas like Heaven on these city streets.

And wherever they went they took fireworks with them
Bursts of colour in the blackened sky
Just like popping paint balls against the drop sheets
Making love when there were backs to break and wars to see
No different than
Shaking orange
A chugging engine, sand and burning feet.

Years later it still ran smooth like memories
Of slapping wasps and tipsy victories
Giving freely of their speckled innocence
And gai

Haiku IIIwhite cherry blossoms
melt on frosted window panes -
harbinger of Spring

electric skeletonsI danced with a ghost
at the prom. I built
a shrine out of paper
and ink, and used
lithium-ion batteries.
the ghosts line my
window-sill. breathe:
take a long drag of
winter air, a prayer
in your lungs, and the
blood on the bathroom
floor is a human
sacrifice. and
somewhere
far away
a god would cry

if only she knew.

ChurchGhostly cathedral --
dark shadows follow mourners
on their way to mass.

Frigid.Without you I'm a winter heart:
a cold sunset and
a cloudy sunrise,
a night on my shoulder
like a ten minute dream
amidst the silent snow --

nothing lasts forevermore.

Ice on fire,
a melting dream,
three ways to
break apart;
will you feel anything at all
when the rain stops and
when the heart freezes?

what we need mostby dolan grey

i.
blue skies overhead, and
the seagulls come in
from the bay, looking for some
better nourishment
than can be found
at sea.

ii.
i came in from the field,
seeking shelter and
solace
from the burning sun.

you greeted me in the doorway,
brown eyes and brown hair.

iii.
we're the same,
those gulls and i,
thermals lifting us up,
hot wind,
our concentric lives
bringing us back to

what we need most.

Garbed in BlueSquawking buzzards
Hang above my rigid frame
Awaiting, with a sickly hunger
Gathering, massing
Thieving of these winter skies

Far gone and bleeding
Where the muskets bore through
Not a whimper in my voice
Not a thought in my skull
I graciously
Die, blissfully unaware

It was a fleeting honor
For the twentieth Maine
Garbed in sacred blue
Bayonets at the ready

We sprang for madness
Shouting to higher glory
As the cannons butchered, and maimed
Sparring not a soul
No fresh face unscathed
I caught my fate
Swift, clean, and painless
Another notch to their belts
Another name, pressed and sold

Tanganyika1.
Your naïve welcome
and medical maroon;
temperature tolerance.

2.
Speckled religion,
rituals of life and death;
viscous blood taboo.

3.
A band of crimson,
ancient June in the desert;
the opulent ivory.

4.
Patient and scarlet,
sacredly perpetual,
masks a ladybug.

5.
Flitting acceptance,
powerful saffron and myrrh,
a tribal countenance.

Through the fire and the flamesby Dolan Grey

Snow falls, this morning;
daybreak.
Even these early rays of light
seem deadly, piercing to us.

Night falls, this evening;
darkness.
Even the laughter of our children
sounds wicked, awful.

Battles, small and large,
through marshes and marches,
send the spirits of the slain
through shadows, to the sea.

Riding on the steppes
watching the dark towers,
we know they go through flames, too.

So now we rise up,
liberated by the elements,
towards whatever trials await,
our journey only just begun.

Behind the sun,
behind the stars,
below the surface of the moon; our souls --

Distanced, time ticks on
for the souls of the dead;
we

A Withering SailHe hungers not
For what the ocean may yield
As his eternity winds down
Trudging slow toward its final hour

Home
Sways atop the bustling tide
Creaking and moaning
Her bones rusted and brittle
Tired from her long way
Courting generations shore to shore

The man
Holds steady at the helm
With only the lapping waves
To ease his battle hardened earlobes

White locks flutter
As the high noon star crumbles
Disintegrating, into a cool blistering purple

But the ages dragged on
With a glare of hopelessness
Weighted by the open, the vast and empty

Gem encrusted nights
No longer blanket the shuttering vagabond
With drained pupils fixed forw

Still-life.The best of my paintings:
the hum of
a sad piano,
a morning cigarette,
and a graveside angel;
all I ever wanted.

MarrowI caught my reflection by her
silk spun lips; She was
as beautiful as the slender
moon. She doesn't say
hello too often but this
time she lingered quite a bit longer
than usual - so it sounded by the
ticks on the old grandfather
clock down the hall.

What a delicate heart she holds.
How heavy it must be to carry - I
could see the weight in her
rain cloud eyes. She has never looked
so sweet, to me, even with those
hollow bruises underneath. Terse
or not, I found my marrow. And while
I could not keep hold for long; it was
something that had been lost for such
a long time. It is still there, I see -
I have seen. How

hastily I fell for her di

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More from ~HauntingLogistics

Still-life.The best of my paintings:
the hum of
a sad piano,
a morning cigarette,
and a graveside angel;
all I ever wanted.

I love you.I am not myself these days;
I find myself, more and more,
in the fog of window panes and the
cold, misty morning air.

I am not myself these days;
I lose myself, more and more,
in the way light catches off
certain clouds of sunset: prisms.

What is different?
I love walks in the park,
clichéd as that may be,
and I enjoy the taste of the rain.

What else is different?
I am not willing, try as I might,
to accept or acknowledge that
the sins of my ancestors reflect in me.

Of course, this is all since I met you.

I wish, sometimes,
to feel less like a piano,
and more like a harpsichord that
only you know how t

Time to change.Where did you sleep last night?

With old trees and little lakes,
because somedays,
the best we can do is pretend
it's a small world.

Entering meditation,
the verb: to dream
about happiness
and sleeping with butterflies.

twenty-four of four (plus three)by dolan grey

i.
the slipping of one's mind
like a sheaf of paper,
blown away,
leaves one grasping for the wind.

ii.
pen and ink
are not always
necessary
when one writes in blood.

iii.
shall i sing songs
of war, love, gods,
when the pettiness of conflict
is embedded in our hearts?

iv.
waters that flow
freely
are as much a gift as
uninterrupted thoughts.

v.
peace
...
can not last
...

vi.
we wait always
for the bells to ring
chiming the hour of
another's demise.

vii.
it has always been
that on still nights
a man must speak
to interrupt the silence.

viii.
tracks of tears,
like tributaries,
feed only a greater
sorrow.

ix.
lesser men,
cr

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Whispers of another life

by ~HauntingLogistics, Feb 4, 2013, 6:18:18 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

by dolan grey

Your dress is a ball gown,
an upside-down rose petal;
those inverted flowers
make half of my garden:
I'll make you a bouquet
of dark red, and lavender;
a dress for warm evenings,
our hot nights.

Eyes like watered wine,
refined, and intoxicating;
decanted, measured,
inviting and poisonous:
You've corrupted me, dear,
but slowly, carefully;
hazel depths, inviting,
deep amber alcohol.

A thousand grains of sand,
gritty and gravelly, imperfect;
nothing feels farther from
your skin touching mine:
Velvet and silk and corduroy,
these things of delicacy;
every inch of you, satin smooth,
elegant suede and swan feathers.

Lazy days, shaded porches,
iced tea and lemonade;
respite that comes from your lips,
conversations and intimations:
Down below your surface,
your flowers, toxins, and chiffon;
whispers of another life,
lived apart from me.

Whispers of another lifeby ~HauntingLogistics

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

"Time is up
And let's not do this again
I am losing more than love, my friend
Off the broken path,
I think, I think I need a new technique
I'm gonna try to do the best I can..."

---Everything, Ron Reeser and Dan Saenz ft. Myah