Of Masks and Tombs

I like masks

They comfort

They hide

They hug your face

And when you wear a mask

No one can see

When you smile or frown

No one can see

What your face looks like

No remarks of beauty

No marks of deformed

No they cannot touch you

When you wear the mask

And mask not only

Hide your face

So they cannot know you

They can never know you

But these beautiful masks

These wonderful masks

They make it so

That no one can see

No they will never see

When you cry

So wear the smile

And go about your business

Wear the smile

And don't let them see you slowly decay

Slowly die

and cry

Don't let them in

Don't let them know you

Don't let them see

Man's eyes have always been weakness

Do not let their weakness come to me

Masks are heavy

Masks are warm

They sit upon the ground

All hard as stone

And upon them are carved the words of smiles

And upon them are carved the lines of eyes

And upon them are caved 1990-2025

And beneath them the earth saggs and sighs

And beneath the earth there lies

Sleeping under all that

There where no one can see

There where the mask has hid

There only there

Can we cry

Pieces of Potsherds

I shall not let that sorrow inside

I shall not let the clouds bear fruit

Falling fast towards parched ground

I shall not give this same relief

Unto my aching heart, my grief

I shall not let the dam held shut

Be broken open before the world

Whose eyes of pity, whose eyes of scorn

Whose eyes I despise, I shall not break

I shall not let that held back fall

I shall not break I shall not shed

I shall not show I shall not cry

I shall not cry, no, no, I shall not cry

No mark to mar the mask of smile

I shall not bear my shoulders down

I shall not look forlorn to earth

I shall not look forlorn to heaven

I shall not look forlorn to man

I shall not cry, I shall not cry

But keep this ocean in my soul

Let gale winds rise, let storm seas toss

The floodwaters come, they rush they roar

The dam is breaking, the eyes shimmer

No! Hold firm! Do not let it show!

A deep breath. Eyes burn and they close.

And as the sea dies down inside

Everything falls into the black void

The soul becomes so small

And drifts without sight of end

Through the obsidian nothing

Floundering, slowing, lathargic, dying

No more feelings no more sorrow

No more anger, joy, peace, hope, true

But no more sorrow, no more crying

There can be no broken dam without a dam to break

But times, there are times,

When this floating, floundering soul

Finds itself in a sudden squall of sorrow

And screams to be known

When comes the hour of the blade

Let the tears now be blood

Let all the words that need be written, write

Let the soul return to darkness from this light

The Weighing of the Soul

Come now, iron bracer firm

Cast in adamantine bands

Beat your steel spikes through the holes

Drill through iron into my soul

Come now, chain of lead

Child of serpent and steel

Forged in anguish, cooled with tears

Yet burning red always as you sway

Embers in your searing wake

Come now, O Weight of My Soul

Let me kiss the too fimiliar burden

Lay upon my back the whip, the iron, the sack

Upon my shoulders, yoke me to the millwheel

That al my days I should stumble blind

In circles grinding the stones together

Yet never a step closer or farther

Come now, sweetest blade

Shall I fall upon thy cool call

Come now speedy end

As all the pillars come down

Come

The First Frost

Sorry, but this is what comes out at 5:30 in the morning. Maybe I'll come back and edit it. Maybe not. Maybe I'll write a sequal entitled "The First Snow" or maybe not, Eh. I'm gonna go sleep now. :P

When Evening Shade has dropped her cowl

Across the face of the vaults of Heaven

Star studded obsidian veil

Shimmering in the late fall night

Then rise the Moon, the glorious Queen

Her fullness round and beaming brightly

Raise her head through Darkness cowl

Laughing moonbeams upon the sleeping Earth

A whisper wafts upon the willow leaves

Curls about the ivy, rustle the rue

Upon the air currents runs a laughter

A puckish voice within the green

Then from the Emerald Deeps come lanterns

Dim stars shining upon the earth

Their lights caught deep within the mushrooms

Paraded forth by the little folk

Lines and lines of the wee running ones

Their torches held like flicker flames

A sea of candles upon the forest floor

No word is spoken, these are not summer games

They have all come now, to the old oak

Its viridian foliage gilt with gold

The gnarlled and twisted white bark

Creaks in reply to the anxious faces

When suddenly the wind whispers near

Kicks the leafy carpet of brown

A laugh is upon the breath of heaven

The wee folk draw nearer the base of the oak

And stepping out of the deepest darkness

The night itself about his shoulders hung

With skin as white as the Moon his mother,

Stepped the Prince of Ice, her son

Where ever his booted foot took step

A frost cracked as it spread on the ground

The air grew still and turned all to silver

As beating breaths came out like smoke

"I have come to thee, oh Forest Lord,

To claim what is mine by right of law

The seasons bid you hand now over

All your power to Winter's maw."

The ancient oak, its blackened seams

Creaked in reply a breathy voice

That rose from the hollow of its base

Like a silent whisper of the woods themselves

"Prince of Ice, your claim is heard

But here today you shall not prevail.

Your claim must first be prove'd still

Before these ones work to your avail."

So the Prince of Ice in furor rose

And walked the glen towards the King

But ere he passed within harming's reach

He stepped within the mushroom ring

"Come no further, you shall dare not.

The ground you step upon is mine alone

If you wish to make your claim tonight

You must first mark all you would make your own."

So retreated he from the Oaken Glade

And took upon the wings of night

And looked he far for the wandering shade

Who took many forms by the moonlight

Robin Goodfellow called was he

At least by some in some forms he would take

Puck, Trickster, Thief, Green Boy

When the moon was full none could place him

But the Prince of Ice knew he plan now lay

Upon the shoulders of the impish lad

For there was one form that Puck could take

So that all the lands by the Prince could be had

So flying high and flying low,

Across the sea and land

Searching forest, mountains, glades, fields

The hidden depths and foreign strands

But nowhere could he spot the imp

And so with feverish dispair

He cried unto his mother the moon,

"Mother! I can't find him anywhere!"

The guiding moon her soft radiant glow

Smiled down upon her child

And her lights gathered upon the forest

A place most savage and most wild

And there within the darkened bough

Beneath the willow curtain

Lay that impish boy called Puck asleep

On a bed of chamomile and lavender

"Puck! Robin! Whatever your name be!

Halt and I would have words with thee!"

"Nay, but sir I must away from here

For daylight soon shall appear,"

"Noble Puck, please hear my plea

If thou help me, I shall reward thee."

"....."

"What kind of reward?"

"Anything, anything thou desire,

Name it but, and it shall be thine.

But please, take form tonight as me

And help claim all the world as mine."

The imp though quick upon the task

And then with boyish giggling laugh

He declared he would for the proffered prize

And so set he about to make his disguise

He wove about him the same cold skin

The gleam of ice upon his brow

He took upon the same blue weeds

And silver set was his crown

Then with a merry giggle he flew

Across the ponds and woods and glades

And where he went he blew and blew

Upon forest and sea, nymph and neraid

And where his cool kiss did come

A sheath as cold as death itself

Hard as adamant, pure as pearl

And sharp as the diamond's point

The crystal dust he blew and threw

And painted upon each blade of grass

He rushed it along the river path

Enjoying his silvery task

Then came he upon dryad glade

And melting into the black guise

Crept and fell over their frames as a shade

And blew sweetly upon them the ice

Dancing upon river, writing upon glass

Dusting the world with his diamonds

He circled the land and returned again

And was hailed by the Prince of Ice

"Well done sweet Puck, they work is grand

Thou has taken my visage and done to the accord

And covered every inch of the land

Now, good imp, name thy reward."

"You Prince, you say, you are put a Prince

And carry not yet the title of King.

So how is it that you shall gain authority

To rule over everything?"

The imps question was met with reply

Both short and to the point

"I shall marry the Princess of Snow,

Then shall all my power know."

"Then my mind is made, I know what I want

To meet this Princess of Snow."

"Then follow me, thou sly sprite

And away to her castle, we shall go!"

Her castle stood on the farthest shore

Where monuments of ice stood firm

And mountains moved in waters cold

White as snow was all around

The two walked into the High Gate

And up the stairs to the throneroom

They passed into the presence of her

Whom all knew as Lady Winter

"Who comes here now at this hour?

The world seems colder to my taste.

Who threatens the serenity of my bower?

Speak now, both of you make haste!"

"I come imploring your hand princess,

For now having seen your face.

I would rather die here upon the ice

Than away from thee take a single pace."

"What now, what foolishness is this Robin?"

Cried the shocked and outraged Prince

"You are nothing but a rude forest imp

This treachery comes, from wence?"

"My name is not Robin (at least today)

And I have come a very long way,

To tell you, my name is Jack Frost

And I would have thy heart at any cost."

The Lady of Winter looked through her white veil,

Eyes glowed silver with the dancing light

Then stepping forth brought out her hand, pale

And using only a fraction of her might

She pushed both out of her court's door

And they flew from there to the snow cold

And skidded across the icy floor

Till they came to rest in the land of old

Where now all things were covered in Frost

And the Prince drew back in his cloak of night

And Jack Frost stood up, having never lost

Against man or beast or troll a fight

But then the words of the Winter Queen

Echoed through the clearing where they stood

"Foolish you have both now been,

I seek the one who my heart understood."

So they both departed in sorrow and despair,

But as they drew to leave

The Lady of Winter spoke again

So that they would not have reason to grieve

"I depart these lands, but only for a time

Till then you both shall stand

And cover all the world with what is mine

Till Winter has covered the land.

And I shall return to you once more

Once the first snow flake come down

And then whom ever has spread the most, for

him shall I share my crown."

Then the two were off night and day,

Jack Frost and the Prince of Ice

And they worked tirelessly covering the world

And uncovering each other's work in turn

So that is why the first frost came

And that is why it has come ever since

For to this day Jack Frost and the Prince

Still try to win the heart of the Lady Winter

Tales from the MAX

People on the MAX always look tired. Tired in the morning when the train pulls up on its sleek steel sliding rails. Tired from their long nights. Tired in the evening when only the sound of steel tracks and the lights illuminating tunnels of raindrops tease the weary senses. Tired from their long days. They need something to wake them up.

Here, let us give them a siren.

As the loud call grows closer and closer, the effects of the siren awakens the sleepers. Is it ambulance? Is it policecar? Is it firetruck? It is the sound of disaster growing closer in its circular call going round and round with the flashing lights.

The old man shakes his head, somewhat slowly, then reaches for his iPhone– that's right, go ahead and drown your thoughts in music. The woman across from him reading The Economist furrows her brow, a quick glance up– eyes back and deeper furrow– try to concentrate. The teen guy, baseball cap askew– go ahead and guess at his ethnicity– looks down, thin fingers meant for the piano or violin turning the large diamond stud in his ear.

The next clump of people. A man with a thick neck, tells his story of being dishonorably discharged- telling how unfair it was- telling how he has no idea where it came from. Then he stops. Stops midsentence. Has to comment looking towards the sirens' directions "mother-rapers". Well he definitely gets points for creativity. Though I think the correct declination would be mother-rapists. But this comment doesn't seem to sit well with the middle aged immegrant–don't ask I how I know she is middle aged or immigrant– places her hand on her cheek and shakes her head. Which just looks odd, fabricated, artificial.

But the people begin to fade again. The small flame we began has died down to an ember. A dying ember. Shall we wake them up? Shall we colour their grey monotonous in technicolour?

Here– let the three come in through the sliding, beeping door, into this dreary, wearisome scene. Go ahead, start telling the other two your story about trying to find a deadbeat job in this kind of bad economy, of fighting off those idiots that grabbed at your girl at the bar–your girl!– and how hard it is to save money so that you can go to junior college next year, all because of your no-good thief of a mother who steels the money from that old pickle jar to buy cocaine. Go ahead and tell about how your lil' sister's car seat wasn't fastened all the way by that same crackhead mom, how they went for a drive that afternoon, how the car went flying over the side of the cliff by the dairy queen, how no amount of make up can hide the way her fat face is scarred.

But you're not the only one who has some entertainment for these weary travelers. Go ahead, yes you, tell the other two about your girlfriend's mom. About how she's an even crazier bee-otch. How you'll let your girlfriend go out on the town on her own, but not with her mom. Because she's so desperate she'll try to sell your girlfriend off like a "ho". How once she even tried to sell her off to a nigger. Thats right, go ahead, use the n-word. Upset the nice African American gentleman that's staring such daggers at you now.

Yes, it may be better for you to get off now, you don't seem to be making too many friends here. Maybe people enjoy their weariness. Maybe they need their tiredness. Why? Who knows... maybe if we simply watch for a while, no interference. No sirens or disruptive interruptions. Let them simmer in the grinding down of their live's through the rough hands of the clock running around its silver rim. We will sit. We will watch. We will reserve judgement. For now. We will be silent.