note to all

on a little break
from blogger (mainly due to time constraints)

please do not get offended
if i don't reply to comments
as promptly as i normally do.

back in a few days, i think, i hope

be well.

my aria

my aria
let me be antiphon
for our song

you, diapason
writhe
but clear and strong

our intricate melody
interwoven
in polyglot form

i will be heartbeat
in rhythm and concord

my prima donna

each coda
our promise to return
with every movement
a story
to unfurl

remember
even though
release
at the end
is curtain
to our embrace
it is never sayonara
but parole
for à bientôt

till our next
dress rehearsal.

unravelment

it's the absence
my ghost
which binds us

now

an almost nudge
telegraphs
through silence

a splice
takes hold

untangles
overnight

ether-born
a guidance

our light
our song

of grafts & flower
of fruit
infused with spice

of how once
we were lost

my love

in plain sight.

"Dance Me to the End of Love" by The Civil Wars

my breath

my breath
this is not about love
nor how a soul
finds solace
sometimes
in incidental burrows
it stumbles upon
why "fits like a glove"
cliche or not
has much prevalence
in realms
of idolatrous metaphor
nor why
alone
although so brief
is such firm companion
of longing
& angst
oh no
this is simply
about why
on the spur of a moment
a smile grows & glows
inexplicable
when intentional gazes interlock
yes
it's all about
impermanence
my cloud.

how does spring

how does spring
end, my dove
does it blend
and bleed into summer-
love or will it
run along another bend
which leads to station
of abandoned town
with sun-bleached signs
of forgotten name
and porters
who are but ghosts
of former selves
its dusty platform
with boarded-up halls
strewn with tumbleweed
blown-in by Chance
discarded there
as though runaway
or progeny of refugees
as i?

once upon a time

once upon a time
i feared
i'd forget who you were

for i knew time
had designs to rob
fidelity

from memory
recall of exactness
of tone of voice

the subtle hues & shades
surrounding irises
i so adored

the precise station
of dimples
on your face

which came alive
under a smile
even if so scanty

besides
you always had
a penchant for hiding

behind veils
and glass
which made close regard

that much
more of a needle
my love

for that
i've carried your laughter
voice in a box

on constant playback
emblazoned your likeness
onto my retinas

eyes
your fire brands
wide with glee

and lowered glance
if embarrassed
ever so slightly

and for safe measure
i engraved your name
onto my arms

but to be blunt
none of these acts
have sufficed

to thwart ravages
of illusory
lifespan apart

my ghostly imp
its high jinks have had
the upper hand

i'm scared
you are fading
in me.

let certainties turn

let certainties turn
murky today:

walls, defuse
ambiguous

while roof tiles fray
to thatched
cinders shift clear—
almost translucent

sharp memories
& thought
blur, i say

nudge, you are swapped
for push
grip, become brush
& yank a gentle tug
and touch!

now, ask of me
what you require
my love

for order
as genial appeal
on a single day or more
is not much of a task.

i remember

i remember
you said
i am

the one
who loves
you

you
& no one
but

then
proceeded to
draw

rare
strands
of pearl

through your
puckered
mouth

the first four
a striking
rose

tightly strung
on a wire
then one

pale ceil
which was
oblong

diffuse
as the early
sky

another four
followed
and on

until
at last
a glass

fish hook
along
with

urgent
desire
to trammel.

my delicate

my delicate
sunset:

harbinger
of lacuna
& uproar

utterly intertwined
you are
my most dangerous
hour

thankfully
always retired

by dawn

fire

bound

by day-
glow

equal
part
salvation
as torture.

jasmine

jasmine
did not bloom
last spring

in the fall
trees shed leaves
while still

green
but that was
par for the course

given the foulness
of decisions
delayed

elongating
distance from
heart to soul

to the point
of a single snap
as though mono-

filament
whose gauge was
ill chosen

for a task
and awesome caliber
of game

now, my love
it's almost blackberry
winter here

once again
you are still
nowhere

& i, a kite
whose lines are
knots

with you
my Gordian
tangle.

my starlight

for ash

my starlight

you
prize
being

intent

as rainbow
by night-
glow?

you know
you vowed
the moment
you formed

i would bend
and bow

from windfall
to zenith
spiraling around
your arc

grateful

i found
no cause
to stray
from my charge

although
your cadence
was syncopated
your fidelity--
welcome
& pure

light

i was prism
to the slant
of your rays

you:
steadfast beacon

in mist
& rain.

i know very little

i know very little
English, you said
and proceeded
to recite:

I took her hand
in mine,
and we went out
of the ruined place;

and, as the morning mists
had risen long ago
when I first left the forge,
so the evening mists
were rising now,

and in all
the broad expanse
of tranquil light
they showed to me,
I saw no shadow

of another parting
from her

then added:

but i am filled
with Great Expectations

and perceptibly
faded

for good.

my windsong

my windsong;
you are nothing

but my obsession

to transcribe
language
of the heart
into phantomness
of breath;

cacophony
of echo
and memory

forever
intertwined.

braids are what provide

braids are what provide
the allure, "and refuge"
is what you tell yourself

with arms over my shoulders
around my neck, you nuzzle close
and in wispy voice, whisper:

"i'm certain you will never
forget me, for my lips
are brands which outline
my name"

my beacon, by now i have
memorized every ruffle
of your likeness. besides
for astrals the universe
is archive

not one kiss has ever gone amiss
in the contours of their space

& i am confident, we are ...

we carry aspects

we carry aspects
of semblance
you and i

beyond brittle armor
& frailty of heart?

almondine eyes
for instance
our handle

today, i am echo
but you've always known
my name

yes, my peppermint cloud
you are in every breath i take

now, imagine love
as i have for eons

shudder and flail
as pennant in its windstorm?

i swear, my timeless shroud
its downpour is imminent

as foreseen ...

some eventualities simply exist

some eventualities simply exist
and nothing is completely original

nor in a way singular
but for the shape of impulse
as expressed at the extremes

equidistant from cutting-edge frontier
to fleeting serenity at fulcrum
where evanescent peace scarcely persists

"i am more real than any nepenthe dream"

my divine sentinel, order there is ephemeral—
as tranquil as it is in the eye
of swirling uproar.

then, Charity

for Dannie

then, Charity
unexpectedly vanished
corralled it seems
by one of many sunless deities
sporting broad, irresistible smiles

in the ensuing clamor
for incidental engagement
amidst the hovering throng
a courtship of waxing moon
& waning star

we each stumble
toward infernal fissures

bluff & precipice
home to unknowns
scores of faceless
transient demigods

two souls careening
toward the other's
nameless abyss

my love
this is when some angels are born
when others are destined to fall
victim
to earthly desire
for succor & rapture
as touchstone

my fleeting shooting star
although brutally detached
at least for now
i am certain

you are home.

shrapnel

shrapnel
like

when that irresistibly
delicate
glass ornament
laden with memories
of the bygone
fell off its precarious
perch

unexpectedly

& with a sudden pop
cracked

hopelessly
shattering

a million
little mirrors
were born that night

scattering

years hence
some still jab soles
& toes

making bare skin
bleed

like dark metallic shadow
of dramatic makeup.

i am fury

i am fury
incarnate

a fortnight
is eternity
when i'm aroused
or provoked

i am present

i'll parade
swirling
for as long as
i've chosen

i scour
élan
& sanctum
alike

gallivant
with chumps
whose bravado
i cozen

they will embrace me
and i shall feign
love for them

drain every droplet
of life
from their
spine

leave
their lips
crusted

hearts
pockmarked

how
souls are made
barren
as parched desert
dust

amber
and
rust

why sand
is skin toned
awash
with fragments
of shattered
bone

i have arrived

i'll depart
when i want
more.

let us unfurl

let us unfurl
everything

wings
sails
hearts
& sentiments

this is
what storms are for

let us soar

darling

by defiance
is how
tempest
and turmoil
are tamed

historians
make note
of this

how else
is ache
for halcyon
imagined?

give little

give little
credence
to what i say.
my idiom
is cortege
of emotion today

my love
in essence

this road
with no turns
as impossible
as it appears
is what i covet

my fugitive
runaway

cureless
incline
my refuge
still
my carriage
forever elongates

to you

yes

always
downhill.

my rose petal

my rose petal
are you lost once again
amid coffee trees and apricot
groves?

quivering in wind that emanates
from deep within phyletic forest
routinely pretending to be home?

it's come to this
in increments

by wantonly crafted spinnings
of make believe deities
rigged as sultans and kings

wordy beings
wielding documents
as armament
drunk for millennia
having shot
just one thimble
of our totemic brandy.

don't worry, my wild strawberry
starting today, attention
to every murmur paves your way—
figs and quinces and almonds
will sustain you along your
precarious journey.

my sweet vagabond
if you stay, as always
beware

crossroads
are treacherous places
for homes.

fleeting

fleeting
as specter
in mirror
shadow-jumps
from heart to mind
to gut

& back
over

insidious—
reiterates
that which is excised
& hollow long

nameless
by design
in universal tenor
wayfarer wind-song
mills on

& on:

this is where you
belong ...

Babenagan Guiliguia - KOHAR With Stars of Armenia ... Պապենական Կիլիկիա

for all refugees and non-refugees alike ... of diaspora and home ... not all fairytales are fictional ...

geography, what is it, really? space or distance or a place in the heart? ... and history: a chaotic spiral of time ... mother of poetry and music ... melody , rhythm and rhyme ... all universal ...

it's sublime ... enjoy ...




you can read more about Կիլիկիա or Cilicia, the place and time, here ...

without regard for garland

without regard for garland
nor bitterness for want
of requital

notwithstanding geography
as garrison nor harshness
of the bygone

simply be

that's all

love's never a barter, my diamond
it measures precious as gratis

reach in, my soul
take what's cardinal

return when & if
you're able

allure of fidelity
is timelessness, not gold

my treasure, evermore.

2011.3.12

this too
shall pass

but
for those
whose soul
was sliced
concaves
are labyrinth

hardly able
to replenish
nor mend
alone

to you i extend
that which i can:

outstretched arms
to swaddle

thought-cushion
for comfort
replete
with all manner
of sentiment

loving dentelle veil
& belief in satin
tomorrow

i call upon
peace
to land

over all.

lest i forget

lest i forget
you are your own
after all

i shadow
your soul
encircle mine

for there are times
when neither light
nor dark
silhouette our
form

tonight
for instance

it's not
a breakdown
of vision
nor lack of
insight

we are mere
vapor

more so
penchant
for evaporation
we've acquired

vertigo
as we spiral

we're adrift
my love

and
tethered

absence

absence
is mostly distance

compounds
with time

manifest as to why
breezes
which themselves
fickle by design
on one hand
with callous ease
snuff-out flickers
that were
barely

relinquish
the feeble
to forgotten

yet
so readily
fan
embers
that festered
as long

from brooding red
to glorious
brilliance
kindle
to glowing
from near-dead

the unremitting

diffuse
& windblown
smoke chronicles
all
in private
& obscure dialect

singed fragrance
& winsome atmosphere
as alphabet.

imagine

imagine
the other one

where
you
and i
are one

and there
our life
interwoven
is not
unraveled

abruptly
as in this
one

less parallel
than stitched
with the same
brilliant
thread

identical

but infused
with much more
profound
élan

itself
imbued
with aversion
to heartache

& certain
misfortune

yes
imagine
this

imagine.

first it is built

first it is built
then crossed
later on;
the cruel order
of passage
or departure

some burn
soon after
others
falter;

a rudimentary principle
for ones who must crawl

but so quaint
for the fit
who hover;
for those
who are able
to soar
a matter
of supple makeup
and winsome
atmosphere

whose pressing
recall
is not only probable
but likely
prescribed

unbearably
corporeal—

memento mori
subtly forgotten
in lieu of pardon
or other needful
ritual.

feign us
destiny
my love,

you've always
had this
power.

sleeplessness

sleeplessness
is sometimes
insomnia.

scope
is certainly
a bitch
when totem
is set to be
universal:
a matter
of interpretation
vulnerable
to go awry
based on
nuanced context.

you are
my only ...

blindness
of a sort
priced
too high
only
in retrospect.
tears are its currency;
fleeting
ghostly emblems
even after
the have faded.

whisper is more
permanent than scar.

darling ...

need

need
for collapse
became compelling
& merely being
was sheer
martyrdom

succumb
and overcome
had gamboled
enough
to have twinned
indistinguishable

recoil
might have followed
report
& purchase on living
may have slipped
to a shear
all but for one regard,
my love,
a routine dear.

our dated idioms

our dated idioms
for distance
are abandoned
leagues & clicks reeled-in
as rifts crumple

wooden metronome
contracts
heartbeat ailment
doggerel stanzas fashion selves—
Parnassians have disappeared

in a grand scheme
stretches
are rarely measured in meters
timing starlight is seen
more faithful
& accurate

as it is
dear
you are always here
when bursts arrive

reflected senses
are innocence—
remoteness
as blurry vision
only requiring corrective treatment
are pronounced
sentiment

for instance: proviso
its tenor—
fickle
& full of caprice
inducing lilting weakness
in skinny knees
is more congenial sounding
than say: redress
an obdurate tone—

both legalese of glacial
lexicon, yet distance and alone
are more cold.

sunshine

sunshine
in the tourbillion
of your eyes
i saw the one

"beware my flawless gyre
my flights are more penchant
than cyclone spawned"

not so the habitual
whirlpool experience.
call it prophetic
if you will:

property of listless form's
deference to celestial weather

"we are all
drowning after all"

first a subtle prickle

first a subtle prickle
needles through case

punctures armor
breaches mettle—
sheath
over silky smooth skin

strikes vital vessel
streaming qualm

darker than any
bewildering Stygian
twilight

doubt's trickle
transform to flow
oozing gel

later lichen
as banquet
for fast faltering faith

darling, this is how
waver spreads
Cimmerian

how argument is whittled
to fashion shadow-form
hair-trigger.

that

that
a single one
can

is sufficient
testament

beyond
argot

Flame for instance
is either
Love
or Brimstone

themselves often
analog.

take the power

This was inspired by Irene's "mystery" which she posted at her site "lost in translation".

It's more of a companion than a response (and as usual, mine's a bit blathery compared to her compact style, which I like, very much).

I invite you to visit and read her wonderful works there. As always, please introduce yourselves if there for the first time, say hello and drop her a line.



take the power
of Nature, for one

tempests when formed
are thought
pregnant

seeded by pairing
of Prospect and Woe
before landfall
churn
selecting tenor—

a gathering
storm

some shatter trees
bearing pretty flowers
others favor to leave us
alone

dumping
salty torrents
upon others
swiftly
flooding lawns—

assault
on bed of roses
grown
alongside
stoic homes

is this
why
Time swirls
in our minds
festooning Dreams—
why we cannot tell
how
Love comes
or disappears?

if a key
to this cipher
were to be found
the ache of not knowing
would surely be
Truth

that flickering
would have to be
Her

collared
in median Doubt
quivering
all the while

Determined.

i think ...

per le polveri di stelle

per le polveri di stelle
prese incidentalmente

rinascita
è inevitabile.

with manacle

with manacle

and halo

your brush pinks

my skin

you've been captive

long

my ghostly

tone

for ivory

stardust

incidentally taken

rebirth

is precisely

inevitable.

torpor

torpor
is murder
if administered
casually

its side effect:
suicide
of surviving host.

it's perilous

it's perilous
[to see you again] curved
as yours had been
crushed
face-to-face
with ones flaunting
like [luscious] lashes

familiar antics

victim
to hypnotics
[of their ogling]
over the years
i've been mesmerized
by countless others
with similar
eyes

duplicitous
tricksters & impostors
invariably
all that they've been
is [damned]
lookalikes

retraced
our maps
drawn in their ambers
crystalline reminders
of that twilight
when you said:

darling
[remember
i will never, ever
be leaving]

my breeze
in retrospect
i've often wondered
if that had indeed
been
in truest love
[was it?]

that wistful promise
if it was meant
to cover
this here
and now [could it?]

holding-on
to my end
of this golden braid
i ask again
my world
do you feel the same
[tugging] still?

drape me in teal

drape me in teal
my love
i require it
today
otherwise indigo
or something
parallel

allow me to glow
sapphire
for you
for blue's
o so elemental

monotone—
my torment
soul sacrifice
a probable
award—
another way
to say
finale

cobalt
or not
my soul
take note:
i may soon favor
periwinkle
over you

then
i shall
wither
to heather

[o so sentimental
& fucking predictable].

midnight’s gone (Shell)

Dear friends.

I invite you to visit and read a wonderful companion to my "there's plenty of coffee there" which Shell at forgetmenow has written and posted at her site, just the other day.

Her wonderful piece is entitled: "midnight’s gone" and can be found here.

As always, please introduce yourselves if there for the first time and don't forget to say hello.

there are remissions

there are remissions
of a certain kind, open to question:
stealthy sorties unlike military missions—
they are shrouded

just as a woven frock is plain
when accessorized only with winks
squints, lacking meaningful grain
or texture that is authentic

then again, earlier on
a line of Caesars raise their thumb
and Cleopatra cracks
a crafty smile—
she blinks Provencal
and you like it

their patois commands a trio
stilettos flung with abandon in three bangs
call the audience to attention
[a 'ten-hut or sorts]

most of them gasped
while one simply shattered
sentimental

later on, the headline read:
At the Forum
Something Wily
Today
One Dead for Certain.

devastations arrive

for T.

devastations arrive
in certain guises
take sunrises
for one

memory discharges
misty monsters

chimera in filigree
of tincture and shade
scurry for cover
to hide by day
they carry
paisley patterns
of her magnetic smiles

embossed
on pearly skin
evocative of carnival mask
blue lined designs of maidens
poised for song
appear in mirrored form

suddenly surprised
if soft brush with Teal
is tinged
obstacle beyond
some facile caveat

expounding
on the sway of hips
A Cappella, my divine valentine
a trance is more vagary
than that

while reveries
are simple matter
of degrees, tattooed
emblems on a heart
are somewhat
permanent.

there's plenty of coffee there

there's plenty of coffee there
and anxiety
blended-in
with the occasional
sense
of annex
which randomly
condenses
mostly between eleven
and two

but as vapors do
dissipates
in the reliable scalding
of mid-afternoon
when tumult flares
and its hissing swelter
wavers sprite—
temerity
transformed
into sallow
flow
dribbles
as though
forced
to piss
d
o
u
b
t
.


then
there's gloom
draped
in a luxuriant bedroom
invariably
parachutes
between midnight and light
vanishes
just before dawn
when jovial clock
with insipid grin
shudders
and
.c
...h
..i
.m
....e
..s


masquerading
as balance
between
is and was
for when glum spreads
thick
as Tooley does
that is when
recall and flashback
assault
aim
stage
melodrama
which always ends
abruptly
as frustrating as coarsely interrupted
rapture's orgasm
vexing and vague
as 70's era
cinema

but once again
there is plenty of coffee there
and although anxiety
is still blended-in
there is a sense
of pleasure
when the sanguine beating
of a single heart
reverberates
across an awesome

abysm
.
.
.
chasm

when syncopated
with its twin
why stopping
is fucking
impossible.

silence is slightly murder

silence is slightly murder
inflicted by prostrate counsel—

meeting convened at ruffian-vault:
oubliette, adorned for stabs
where harrow pockmarks & jolts concord.

discarded when mangled— she is
industrially finished. silk threads
skin and sutures purple lesion;

curtains rise and fall as doubt
scabs another tentative shell.

reticence is man-made condition
implanted by pith— a weathered man
with say and tart DNA that smacks
Machiavellian.

don't act surprised, my Gordian lover.
strictly speaking you were forewarned.

mine has an underbelly

mine has an underbelly
not the soft sort
a mollycoddled whore
might have
itself
an elevated post
deemed bestowed with fortune—
demanding much fawning
and fanfare

[akin to stardom there
where leisure is two winks
or a nod.
lavished with three squares
a tin shack
adorned by a single, red lamp
lit bloodshot, outside
every... single... night
a straw-bed inside to sleep on
after each routine, providential fuck
most of all for the few bucks
which she may tuck away
for a week's rent; that at month's end
she sends something home
is considered
luck]

mine
is scaled & rough
coarser still
like crocodile skin—
hide, which in and of itself
a curiosity
suitable for tanning;
a harvest from an ancient beast
splayed and skinned in an industrial line
on that scale

[slaughtered
closer to where it was grown
en-mass, on farms
run by firms flaunting logos
of tamarind trees
and palms]

guts and gore
tossed into the river
herself
grateful for that paltry bounty
for when the torrential floods arrive
she knows
she will churn it all
and cataract

[mixing-in the rest of the decay
along with red, volcanic mud
that she will carry the whole rotting lot
in torrents and froth
whitewater
careening down sheer facades
as she descends plateaus— furiously
ploughing at the fork]

engorging the entire watershed; it is her—
her gushing has always quenched a content;

despondent — ululates
for she knows the rains
which swell-up her veins like adders, are still
four, damned months hence

that from her perch, at a distance,
she can clearly see Alexandria
burning.

rarely

rarely
i love you


less-


than
i did
then [powered by doubt];
much


less


so now—
by far, my love [stubbornly rare— recovered].

poets lie in degrees

poets lie in degrees
especially when found 
to be prostrate. couched,
for instance: davenport
transforms into sleeper, 
may be guile, maybe fable, 
accordingly furnished.

now let me tell you
a spotty, little story: 

.......................
.......................
.......................
.................period

despair is lyrical. scaffold (1)

despair is lyrical. scaffold
for duet's concord;
ballad oozing dahlia,
fresh and warm

as will a poniard, pulled
swift across a palm, pool
ruby claret channeled within
a furrow, impelled intaglio.

roseate droplets must clot
to decorate rue and rent,
expressed in post-survivor
style, represent: pulse—

harmony diffused inchoate
as heart-song slightly tottered;
tempos remain faint, echo
vignettes interrupted

considered
somewhat too abrupt.

moppet, please don't forget my name (2)

moppet, please don't forget my name—
he writes:

"Remember: by hook or by crook
i'll be the last smudge in your book"
with one thumb dipped in extant blood, dabs a mark
in the form of a pair of falcons taking flight.

wing-tip to wing-tip, a length of golden strand
in between, clasped in desperate talons,
compelled by inaudible thrum of imminent storm,
flutter, distorting as they attempt to separate.

in the end, but a formative imprint (3)

in the end, but a formative print
now cross-faded like an analogue song

as memorialized on parallel sound-tracks—
cleaved-in original celluloid.

fully preserved
in a valise,

two, sealed aluminum cans
require curators' attention;

each with dusty, tawny labels
that read: Never Release.

you now know my tenor. in a sense

you now know my tenor. in a sense
i do too, that which is yours, as ours.
Daymare & Hydra. a day's fair
allotment.

in relish & discord, i've seen you smile.

scorn only when pressed, somehow
felt both your mirth and strains
as though privately
mine.

you've come to understand me well,
as you might fancy, i too claim this
of you. even in love i know you
pity me.

there is such a thing as ugly

for M. D. F.

there is such a thing as ugly
mathematics, finance
for instance:

tax and dredge the headstrong
& whimsical alike. a routine
toll.

but you, my paramour,
are magnificent— loveliness
beyond algebraic form.

impossibly seductive
while measurably imprecise
in your affairs you whisper
inappropriate.

this skin

this skin
is not mine

it fits too loose here
and too tight there

although its follicles are real fine
and surface scars have essentially faded
deeper incisions remain—

smart each time i inhale
or smile

still
i compliment it daily,
for it's the only set i have
of fitting material even if
temporally variegated.

i'm somehow
attached to it.