All (A Trilogy)

Prequel to All

All. Or nothing at all

Tall, some stood before the fall

Not just for the feeble and forsaken

But mighty mists of teardrops in the dark

Rivers and ridges that we define as character lines

Marred across our skin like Zorro slashes

Pain, passion, mama-mama my lashes, they’re wet.

Help me . . . Not her, you!

When the curtain rose to a silent sound stage

With deep echoes from empty caverns:

Where are the people? This could be my monologue.

My hair flowed in the wind as free as the shadows

Moving solo over Oahu,

Board less when surf’s up out on the pipe past Makaha

Bored-more-in-end on that empty smegma trail

With loaded dice and dicey distaffs.

Daddy lent me money, saved me from tsunami.

My sub-machine gun was straight like Tommy

Non-stop go pop pop pop

Unbridled beautiful magnets go pop pop pop

Urgency, emergency, pregnancies and pop.

Quit this gig. I’ll quit this gig. I quit this gig.

Can’t somebody love me and mold the gold?

“I’m so young to feel so old.”

Can I muster enough lungs and blood to make it north?

Before I’m sold,

At the altars of the node where modern slaves grow

Lonely, cold, tired and old

like a soul dripping less Bold.

Alas, a last grand stand. Take her milky-skinned body in my hands . . .

skin softer than stroked cotton,

even that couldn’t make me man-enough, aye, sans-sauntered

to fantasyland like pachyderms exposed to mice.

Busting through walls of wallow,

To lonely heart-heavy-hollow-shallow,

Tailored like a fine suit of armor for protection,

a steep price for social-climbing-unsober-erections.

Quiet. Mama’s picture on the wall, she’s dead now after all.

In decadence Daddy died decades done.

Running as fast as I could run

as far as I could go

trying to glimpse glistening flickering stars’ shows.

Goodbye there, “Goodbye!”

Please don’t go! Please don’t go!

Don’t leave me here. I still don’t know!

I spilled her ashes into the ocean, like she told me long ago.

Mom missed my final devotion and, too,

things she wouldn’t want to know.

He who rises after the fall

somehow stays down after all.

Below some non-descript horizon

To the we-fly straight

and level.

With me as I do with you, we call it truth.

Tell me, is frailness so unique?

Cursing grid-locked hesitation caused by

Overzealous non-reservation.

Curtailed, for a moment, when I was tiny, taking baby steps.

Later, for a moment, it seemed I stood tall,

Before that sans-instant rising

Like Phoenix from nothing to All.

We gather our minds and pretend we

are not the fury-full wind, drenching rain, ever-green trees

Or beavers, bush cats, bucks, bees – equalities.

We pretend we are more than cartilage,

blood, bones and

We cling to unite

For fear

Of falling off the spinning orb if left here alone.

Mama’s ashes dispatched into a wind-blown

prophecy of dust and stone.

Aloft, where we shall meet again when we are gone and grown

tired of this fine voyage.

From burning memories’ pain

this flame

awaits our next birth like Phoenix rising from nothing

to All.



Inherit your legacy of quiet aloneness

Drawn by breath to infinite breast

and taste the will

You walk me, waste me

Coming in waves, suave-femme-warm-chill

Shame crusts upon our dog-dirty bodies.

Though we do live long,

Longer still will be

The Demise

Your eyes, cautious, curious and closed

Burst open

belonging to All

belonging to Bold

At road’s edge and fade

We engage All charades

Mindless, heedless, basking

in no remembrance of temperance and cold

away from the shadows

into some clear night the bright melds into bold

no more Waterloos bid, ask, or sold

empty as a full look into light

reflecting what we knew

splattered into blue

and home

and what was always only part

in that sans-instant

rising like Phoenix from nothing

to All



The Epilogue


Love is powerful

Universe forced off its knees,

Construction of massive walls and disease.

Love tears it All down.

Nurture your nature, respect your Love.

Dreams and Hope reflect that above.

Smoke clears, Love knows no fears.

You, broken and splattered

shall rise like Phoenix

from nothing

to All.


About memoirpoet

I've been faking it as a writer for more than 30 years. Keep that low.
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One Response to All (A Trilogy)

  1. Pingback: All (A Trilogy) | Memoirs and Poems

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