Prey…

My heart pounds…
Oh, how perfect things
had seemed just minutes ago
Before she flushed me
from my cover
I was safe and warm
inside of my
nebulous thunderstorm
listening to the sounds
of the gentle raindrops of
my indifference
softly pattering against
this verdant canopy
of polite conversation
nocturnal, idle prattle

all the while, unbeknownst to me
she tracked me
behind main courses, wine glasses
and fan-shaped folded napkins

It was the whiteness of her
canines against the deep
velvet of her painted lips
that stilled my heart
and set my ears up to listen

She, fearless, approached with
the wind at her back
Her scent encompassed
our venue
but I had not sensed
the predator within
those gentle pheromones

The touch of her hand
at the hair against her neck
The blush of her cheek
after a sip of honey wine

I was mid-sentence
when she reclined
both elbows on the table
folded her hands
and rested the scenery
of her face upon them

The pose of a reverent prayer
within this carefully
practiced religious rite
of which I was
fast becoming a believer
and its high priestess
A huntress, who would take
my heart
a trophy

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Canticle…

In that instant
I saw for the briefest of moments
The evening horizon reflected
In the dark pools of her eyes
And I can’t
For the life of me
Remember having seen anything
Ever
Before that

Scribes came
From the four corners of the land
Spilling dusty tomes
From the folds of their robes
Upon the mosaic floor
I poured through them
one by one
Ancient texts, encompassing
The whole of creation
Eveything that ever was or will be
And there was no entry
To be found
For Her

The ink on these pages
A pigment formed from the ashes
Of the birth of creation
Emblazoned here
Upon the pulped memory
of a tree born long before my shadow was ever cast by our sun
Her soul was no work of creation
It was prelife
Beyond anything that could be considered
Memory

I took up my sword
With rusted edge
And ran like a madman from my bed
Its blade ignited under the full moon
I stood upon the ramparts
Raising it over my head
In a mocking cry
I cursed the gods
For giving my heart
The vision
To see hers
And for the distance
They placed between us

For what wealth is there
To be spent
That can cross the void
What currency may be paid
To lay a bridge made of Oathstone
across this chasm
Charon could dig to the bottom of his purse
and find not even a whisper of thread that would prove worthy
To place my feet upon
Her flagstones

And moreover
If my feet ever did find purchase
Upon those sacred stones
I am but a vagabond peddler
Rapping at her door
With only stories of my days
Beneath martial banners
To sell
Rusted armor and corroded intentions
Blue black with the ravages of wars
Fought over flowered words

Better I should lay my blade
At her doorstep and seek the lower places of the world
And on the morrow she should find
That instrument of wrath and rage
Carefully preserved by the morning dew
never again to be wielded
By silvered gauntlets
and never again shall it spill blood

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For Halo

The depth of feeling in her gorgeous soul is immeasurable. Rest in peace Halo. And all my love to you, My Warrior Sister. ❤

TheFeatheredSleep

My debt rests in your fur

as they light it

and it burns

and your form shrinks

from this world

your black and white paw limp against my clutching

fingers wishing you here

those images are cookie cut into my mind

called intrusive thoughts and flash-backs

I know them well

they are not my friend as you were my friend

I imagine what you feel and then recall

you no longer feel anything

though that does not seem right

without religion I am left unknowing

where you land next or if you will

awaken in paradise or remain slumbering

whether sleep or a void, if we can truly leave

and have nothing of ourselves remain

but ash and debris

it seems impossible that you were once

jumping onto the table and making me laugh

with your antics

only to be nowhere and gone eternal

I may not possess sufficient faith

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Stormsurge…

early August swelter
banana leaf shaped
fan blades
spin 15 feet above my head
the old plaster ceiling
full of cracks and divots
my eyes follow the broken rhythm
of the lines
as if they were etched
by a low slung blues guitar
graffitiing my field of vision
with morse coded messages
as we lay tangled in linen
your damp hair is like a cold compress
on my aching soul
a wave of magnolia flows
across my face
as you settle in place
your fingers tracing across my chest
speaking a powerful pantomime
sign language to my heart
I sigh a pleadful prayer
for mercy
for there is no doubt in my mind
in Nola
May through November
you, are the goddess
of hurricanes

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Transmogrify…

Whisper and the Roar

girlgrass

She lay back
into the plush green
of the meadow
with lids closed
she turned her face
to the warming embrace
of our radiant star
hands cupped under her belly
she pulled back against
the soft velvet of her skin
an embrace of singular passion
for herself
the birds in the conifers
around this arena
burbled and whistled
like the voices of so many
just outside her peripheral
always pontificating
always instructing
do this
say that
be humble
be a lady
be demure
be a pleasant decoration to the room
a china doll
wrapped in taffeta
on a shelf
not to touch, engage or hold
to be seen and admired
but not to be heard
she was to be expensive and fragile
and placed behind glass
to sit upon a mantle in the parlor
for the sport
of the rich
to be won as a prize
for expertise in misogyny

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Redolence – Eric Syrdal

Once again, honored to be on Free Verse Revolution. ❤

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

When I passed

this pretty flower

I thought to bring it to thine heart

For all things beautiful

must attract

and in each others company so create

a world in which I wish to live

For all things beautiful

I had thought to have seen

but never so lovely as thou art

but in presentation

of such a gift

I have o’er cast my soul with shadow

and my heart skips a beat of distress

for your bowed head

and dark lashes closed

to enjoy the redolence of my gift

I have deprived myself of the world of your eyes

and in doing so

though your beauty smolders in still life

and all of nature would hold its breath to admire you in this moment

I find my spirit stands upon the tips of its toes

like that flower

upturned its face to the sun

to better grow in the…

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Mortality…

By what will do I live?

heart?

aye a heart to move
crimson rivers betwixt
my wingspan
an aging man who sweeps his arms out wide
to encompass the soul of mankind
and like a hearbroken father
whispers unto his child
be still
I know that you are frightened
and I know that life is unfair
but do not throw yourself so carelessly
against the glass walls of this prison
lest you take
what is dear to me
and the sole light burning amid
this wretched and dark world
I would not see it snuffed
under the cold iron of panic and doubt

lungs?

yes, tell true
without a breath of air
I cannot tell you
all the things that are written
upon my soul
all the stories there
written in secret pain
I could not take enough
wind into my lungs
to tell you of all the dreams
I wish for you to see
and how I hope that you will walk
in a garden of eternal light
when I am gone

and how I pray
that when the wind is at your back
and across the glittering sea
you watch the falling sun
slide into its shimmering bed
you will hear my voice
calling you by name
and feel my fingers in your hair
and know that where I am
I think of you
too

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Eric Syrdal Reviews Conversations With My Higher Self by Rachel Finch

My Review of Rachel Finch’s new book. It was an honor to be asked to do this. She is an amazing writer.

Indie Blu(e) Publishing

To walk outside your own body. To look back and see yourself
as the universe sees you. To see the
entire story of your life laid open before you and to thumb through it page by
page and truly understand. To see
clearly, all the events that have lead up to where you are now and the choices
you made, actions you took, and to gain a snapshot of your soul.

Pain, loss, joy, grief, death, and rebirth. To know that you have done it all the best
you were able and that above all else you survived. And love, the greatest of all emotions, is
within you. You are loved, you have
loved, and you deserve love.

Most of all the deepest love possible.

To love yourself.

What would the scenario described above look like? If anyone is capable of drawing out a sketch
of these events, I believe…

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Through…

I carry the blade over my shoulder
it used to ride upon my hip until it was needed
but now
I carry the blade over my shoulder
the weight of it reminds me
of the burdens I carry
the prickle of its edge against my neck
reminds me
that I am mortal
and cut easily and bleed often
I crush my fingers into the soft leather
of the wrappings around the pummel
I can feel the thrum
of my heartbeat in my palm
I am alive
right now, today
In my other hand
my fingers close around the edges
of a talisman
something cold and hard
a relic of yesterday
constructed and imbued with incantations
to make me strong
to give me courage
but courage is not found within objects
courage is a blue eyed woman with raven locks
who stands at my shoulder
one hand on the small of my back
and whispers to me
with a gentle strength in her tone
and offers me her sword
if mine should fail
ahead of me
looms this dark and terrible wood
some claim
at its heart, lies a place
where death resides
others say all who venture into it
are lost and never seen again
I only know
that it lies within my path
and my journey demands
that I travel
through

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We the broken…

Hundreds of gallons
Of water
Rumble and crush against
My feet
Standing here
I feel the sands
Pulling at my skin
Downwards
Ever downwards
To drown the light
Behind the shadows
Of a ribcage split wide
Upon this shattered shore
She took the white froth abeam!
Rolled against the rocks
As I gulped down the brine
my hands grasping for nothing
And filled with so much nothing, they clung
For dear life
To the flotsam
Of this derelict existence
As crawling upon blooded knees
I made my way to this spot
And with heaving gasps of sanguine pride
I look out upon that raging sea
We the broken
We are parts searching for a wholeness
unremembered

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