Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

Tag: revision

Appendix A. (Revision)

There’s a mirror-man,
with dark, rough hands,
in the theatre of retrospect
cueing our fine intros.

His cane swings to still stuttering lips,
his over-weight pride en-lightens.

Destroyer and builder
in turns I smile and fight him
as his bruised hands beckon the next act.

Stage lights flare precisely
as our players praise the night,
the curtain falls amid
each improv soliloquy.

“This play you inhabit, says he,
is deadly serious.
You lament the things that uproot you,
but if lightning suits your complexion
you celebrate the ruining storms.”

The Song of a Swallow

eight tines waiting
shrinking limbs, a healthy waste
stove stares, burners gaze
a door at the side gapes
weak hands grope and release
Abandon slides like a school bus
into their gullets,
fat tastes, taste fat
enameled meat glitters
like shards of rubies
on pink felt
ribboned about by
yellowed pearls
open and close to death

The Magicians

We’ve flattened the cauldrons
to blend teal and umber,
and sharpened our spent wands
to scratch ardent lines.

The mud mixed for golems
forms delicate ankles,
while icons are channeled
‘neath bright, colored light.

but not all is foresworn,
ignore us at peril…

Revision – Autumn Leaps

As a young thrush in first flight,
or unsteady lamb down mountain rock…

So Nature falls from lofty heat
into Autumn and her bed of sunset garlands
then galloping on Aeolus’s Steeds, turns
north to the slow, transfixing kisses of Frost

But, falling, her clouds wreath blue horizons
and aires of festival entreat
ever to taste her faithful bounty
and beckon to free her laden vines

Revision – Math Dance

Where linchpins have delved
and draw forth their clubs;
Point weaves a cypher
and tacks mark finance.

In their subconscious,
The left hand grip scribbling,
outreaches for catskills
carves folds in our minds

Arrest in an aria
a ransom of breath.
A runnel’s aphasia
The press corps sits mute…

decompress retinae;
lids spasm, birth visions,
and beg to awake

Revision – Trapped

Pen-tips stab and carve their script thoughtless
as tongues of fox-fire drift round my neck.
Our floor-boards ablaze with swampgas visions,
the clocks perch rigid, three hands held tall…

My guests eyes all-seeing, the ten sons of Argus
and piteous spectres peek past cold panes
but it’s no letter, or bright invitation;
just malign jibes in short, soft quatrains
and reads like a offer from arachnids
To sweetly mend my sweater

Revision – First Touch

tiny fingers tangle pressing
spark my soul, arc tracing lines.
the laughter in her warm, soft face
speaks a silent choice to mine.

Revision – The Smallest Loss

As the house burns…
reluctance implodes,
and outside each sad heart

In ashes,
Love bares its soul intention
and bravely dares to smile.

Revision – Michael at Dawn

Be with me,
My little writer
wrestle angels, daybreak waits.
Lips divesting,
whisper fervent
snare the fool who needs no bait.