The Lord of Words

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The Lord of Words

clattered to a halt

in his rickety wagon,

shelves askew, quills and ink,

old type settings, dictionaries

and thesaurus.  Just as I

reached for an ancient

tattered  binding, he urged

his nag forward.

I have been following

his trail ever since.

C.J. Prince

©2016

Attending the Dawn

 

kephera

When did you first listen to the tale of Kephera?

In your grandam’s lap or at the feet of the goddess?

No life exists without the Scarab god Kephera.

Each day he rises from the dung heap of horizon

to ease the solar globe from the clutches of night.

 

My ancestors and I attend the daily ritual

for no dung heap exists in the galactic center

without the skill of earthworms.

We  are dawn’s assistants

to He Who Raises the Sun,

the Keeper of Cycles of Light and Dark.

It is I who attend the daily alignment of stars.

 

When you remember Kephera,

Remember me as one of service

to the greater good.

C.J. Prince

©2016

A Kenning of Bones

 

 

 moon, bay, tree silhouette

She ken his foot-rhythm

but did not turn.

The opal of the night

would reveal him soon enough.

Before stars succumb to Kephera’s gift,

they will stand unwoven,

sink to silent moss.

Throats cannot contain ecstasy.

C.J. Prince

©2016

Braids of Cruelty & Bliss

snow on longs peak

 

July is the cruelest month.

January, a celebration.

August is death.

October, change.

February, new born lambs, castration.

April shouts hope and pollen.

September, things are not equal.

March, beware the lamb and lion.

December, luminaries in snow.

October, too many witch’s hats.

June, snow in the Rockies.

November, forgiveness.

May, fire dance.

July 26th, the diagnosis.

C.J. Prince

©2016

Darkness of Sorrow

purple hyacinth

Darkness of Sorrow

 

I am the scent of purple hyacinth,

the mist courting moon,

an unfurled floribunda.

 

I am the blue of lake

sucked into heaven,

the memory of withered amaryllis.

Like the moon, I shine

even when you can’t see me.

C.J. Prince

©2016

Back on the Ranch

EPSON scanner Image

PEACE POETRY POSTCARD MONTH

February 2016

 

He rode his horse

with a grace of oneness,

herded cattle, confident

and gentle.  But when

the helicopters roared

down the valley,

he hit the ground, flat.

The scars of war

cannot always be hidden.

C.J. Prince

Copyright 2016

 

Mingled Phrases of Friends

HurdyGurdyMan1

Mingled Phrases of Friends

The hodge-podge hurdy-gurdy man

with ropey muscles

raised free roaming chickens

in his pocket garden.

He was a firecracker

but could not live on expectations.

He curled up at the Bodhi Tree,

read a bowl of creation,

eyes glowing like light bulb

filaments .

He blew smoke rings.

Jesus jumpin’ jiminy, bring

me a beer, he yelled.

No one heard him

as he grasped the iron

gate, an ice box of writer’s

block.

Hated, berated, anticipated.

Fire ants.

She sent him air kisses

in a bone china cup,

the expectations torn

open.

Underneath the covers,

he pondered the departure

of his mortal coil.

A daydream, a sanctification

of the fruit of the universe.

On the red eye, he hit his head,

excused himself, no longer

trapped but unwrapped

without insomnia.

He would dance

with a Himalayan gourd

at vespers.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

Iambic Smash: If you would put the key inside the lock

saddest night

Iambic Smash: If you would put the key inside the lock
Hello, my friend. What are you doing here?

I see the wrinkles in your suntanned brow.

Excess in drinking could be bad for you.

Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit

of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste

’tis not so sweet now as it was before.

I see the wings of eagles flying by.

It crossed the gloaming skies above the roofs.

You watched the aging people gently rock.

I saw you yesterday, your features grinned.

So tell me, what is life if not for this?

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

Now is the winter of our discontent.

This myth reflected what would happen if

the rain began with striking thunder noise.

~C.J. Prince

©2015

Orion Guards the Portal

The prompt for today was relatively simple:  and write a poem about the stars.

Here is my quasi-location poem about Orion.

orion-picture orion

Orion Guards the Portal

You ask how to get to heaven.

It all depends on where you are.

Drive south on Parker Road,

you know the one

they used to call “the death highway.”

When you hit the light in Franktown,

there, where two lanes from Castle Rock

form the crossroad from the west,

you take a deep breath.

On the green light, hang a left.

As you head up the hill through ponderosas,

look up.  You’ll see the Sky Guardian.

Ancients called him the Light of Heaven.

Orion opens the portal

as you drive toward Colorado’s Outback

where yucca and rabbit brush claim the earth,

where little arroyos of secrets hide,

and foundation stones of ghost towns

withhold stories long forgotten.

Now, I walk down my driveway at midnight,

and look up.  His belt shimmers

as if I’d just polished it.

Now he guards me between cedar and fir.

~C.J. Prince

© 2015