Michael Carroll Green

                            

       A Baker's Dozen...With Not A Dry Eye In The House.

                              1. 

              Dull this drop of bitter wine -- 
                   liquified from stone. 
                 Clarify its taste for me, 
                     hitherto unknown. 

                             2. 

                  Sinking veils of sadness 
                  freeze the barren earth. 
                   Frosting out potential 
                   blighting out rebirth. 

                   Empty winds of harvest 
                   skirt the shining waste. 
              Searching now for fresher soil, 
                 in cold relentless haste.

                             3. 

                    I cannot look up -- 
                cannot even lift my eyes -- 
                        to the sun, 
                     or the night sky. 

                  Instead, I look away -- 
                       tears flow -- 
                streaming down in rivulets, 
                    dark salty things -- 
                 mixed with blood and fear. 

                         They fall, 
                      and I follow -- 

                       looking down. 

                  Bereft of friendship -- 
                       companions -- 

                      and bright eyes. 
                  Another piece of meat is burning -- 
                   a service to the God. 

                      It is blessed -- 
                 most honored in its agony, 

               Honored most of all by service 
                    -- and being served. 

                               4.

                Madness is a State of Grace. 
                      Honored by God, 
                     and Feared by Man. 

                    Those who seek it -- 
                     choose willingly, 
                  to live in THEIR World, 

                       Not THE World. 

                      They go there -- 
                        with vigor, 
                       and in chains. 

                    Their haunted faces, 
               at once alight with pleasure, 
                      and with pain -- 

            They seek the gentle side of madness, 
                 a quiet room for solitude. 

                     Where souls go -- 
            having been burglarized by passion, 
                          raped -- 
                      held captive -- 
                        and ignored. 

                     Too long, they cry -- 
                         Too long! 

                    Compassionate reply. 

                       No life . . . 
                        to speak of, 
                   No joy to pass around. 

             No vain attempts to counter Fate, 
                No sorrow when they've gone.

                               5.

I have risen from my slumber 
and pull forth my ragged waves 
I shed the silt experience 
of fitful sleeping days.           

My time has come for churning 
I crave the salty spray 
and wiping blood from off my brow 
I turn to wet the day. 

                               6.

Points of pleasure mixed with pain -- 
these are the gentlest kind. 
Melancholy grief again -- 
a precious cruel find. 

 Metronomic thoughts unwind 
in metered rhythmic rhyme. 
Twisted echoes of the mind 
caress a pantomime. 

Gentler features contraband 
Bind a martyred soul. 
 Terror grips a tempered hand 
as gales begin to blow. 

 Hurricane my troubled friend, 
 ally in despair. 
Peaceful do you seem to me 
when I at times compare. 

                               7.

Anagram -- Cryptogram 
Search the soldier's maze. 
Find the right solution 
clear away the haze. 
Fire the gun without a shot 
Push the pellet through the slot 
Ask for brighter days. 

Alice had her darker side 
A part which she could not abide. 
Was it through the looking glass 
Hiding in the unkept grass? 
Could she approach the bride? 

Seek the door not often tried. 
Find the answer still not met. 
Do you know the answer yet? 
Would you, could you make the bet. 
Would you know I lied? 

                               8.

Unimagination dries the soul 
and trims away the spirit 
leaving skeletal remains 
of those who do not fear it. 

                               9.
Often when I sit to write 
a guilt will overtake me. 
Why can I not enjoy the light, 
why so morbid lately? 

I toy with wondering awhile 
then toss the guilt aside. 
For if I wrote of gentler things 
 A child could see I lied. 

                               10.

I'd like to find a peaceful mind 
and think its thoughts awhile -- 

then leave it to its own device! 

                               11.

Welcome world insanity 
Welcome bloody days 
Hatred now conditioned 
Chauvinism praised. 

Welcome independence 
Detachment now in vogue 
Songs of modern prophets 
trampled in the road. 

                               12.

After the roses came the war, 
then the heart that mourned the gore. 
Trouble was after all that pain, 
we came full circle to start again! 

                               13.

Poets tend to talk too much, 
would-be poets more. 
Seems they've just forgotten 
what their ears are for.

1.

He who knows my think­ing,
will know I under­stand.
He who knows my wor­ries,
will sure­ly take my hand.

He who knows my spir­it,
will read my inner soul.
He who knows my feel­ings,
will help to make me whole.

He who knows my patience,
will know I can with­stand.
He who knows the need in me,
will come to take my hand.

2.

Alone — and I may not recall
the strength of his embrace.
I must for­get the rough­ness
of his beard upon my face.
Alone — and I may not recall
the pain of my dis­grace.
Must learn to grow accus­tomed.
to the cold­ness of this place.

1.

Drunk with pas­sion –

not to men­tion booze.

Pro­fess­ing love,

prone to self-abuse.

Dis­re­gard­ing glances

in polite rebuff.

Rec­og­niz­ing oth­ers

with a trace of lust.

Ver­bal bril­liance –

the right turn of phrase.

Selects a lover –

for some pas­sion plays.

2.

Writ­ten out of time –

and vogue.

Bit­ter prod­uct of mis­for­tune.

3.

Guid­ed by a muse –

too weak.

Dealt out a mea­ger por­tion.

4.

Your every high­way is my tomor­row –

Your open road my brand new day..

And in the morn­ing when I leave you –

Like a mist I’ll fade away.

5.

We can­not recall our feel­ings

nor try to cut them off.

Instead we learn to live with them,

despite their awful cost.

For cer­tain they are pli­able

can often be delayed.

But once their set in motion

Their ran­som will be paid.

6.

Bring back the days of beau­ty

when you spoke to me of Love.

When morn­ing broke the mid­night,

and split the sky above.

7.

I must desert this ragged ship –

move on to brighter seas.

Where sequined sirens lose their will,

unable now to please.

I must dance with the dol­phins now –

then whis­tle with the whales.

While mer­maids cast green curls about,

and wish for more than tails.

I must turn to face the wind

unfurl my glis­ten­ing sails.

Where seabirds soar and cast about,

avoid­ing dark­er gales.

8.

Spin­ning thoughts go tum­bling through self­ish minds.

Oh god, I’ve for­sak­en the Babe –

and the Sky has fall­en clear into the sand.

Turn­ing, I see my peers –

Look­ing most con­cerned yet help­less in their agony,

and indif­fer­ence.

I turn again, then find –

Fear.

Because the world’s come down –

Crashed in on us with a sin­gle blow.

9.

Why not, feign a lit­tle car­ing?

just for the sake of the chil­dren –

We can go back to schem­ing

Once they’ve gone to sleep.

10.

Over­load –

the socket’s blown.

The light­ning strikes the beat!

What a time to be alone.

Emo­tions hit their peak.

Can’t we just con­tain it?

Store it up some­where?

Or let our brain regain it,

Elec­tri­fy the air!

11.

Give me –

My answer!

Can’t you see it — Pain!

Want me –

Tell me!

Suc­cor me –

End­less my refrain!

12.

Do you see me lit­tle broth­er –

Have you looked into my eyes?

Per­haps I real­ly fooled you –

You greet me with sur­prise.

Do you see me lit­tle broth­er –

Have I betrayed my pain?

Per­haps I sim­ply fright­ened you –

You won­der if I’m sane.

Do you see me lit­tle broth­er –

Have you the tie that binds?

Per­haps I’ve uncon­fused you –

You’ve read between the lines.

Do you see me lit­tle broth­er –

Have you under­stood my plight?

Per­haps I can­not free myself –

To join your whole­some flight.

Do you see me lit­tle broth­er –

Have I told you where I’ve been?

Per­haps I’ll try and twin myself –

One free, one full of sin.

As you lie there in your slum­ber,

my thoughts you’ll nev­er know.

You’ll nev­er hear the thun­der,

nor hear my voice so low.

You won’t feel my soft caress,

move gen­tly down your side.

Nor feel the sting­ing wet­ness,

of tears I can­not hide.

Bring back the days of beau­ty

when you spoke to me of Love.

When morn­ing broke the mid­night,

and split the sky above.

                   When I was here before 

                  I knew a word’s delight. 

              This time I’ve opened up my eyes 

                to worlds beyond that sight. 

Seek not to free this ora­cle
from its treach­er­ous obses­sion.
Its habits are its des­tiny,
not prone to indis­cre­tion.

Some­times the answers irri­tate,
deny­ing sweet relief.
So none return to ven­er­ate
nor cul­ture its belief.

Yet oth­er times the ora­cle
speaks kinder bits of fate.
And then its most devot­ed fans
come forth to cel­e­brate.

1.

You don’t …

KNOW me,

but if you did, you’d hate me.

You don’t …

WANT me,

but if you did,

you’d WANT to change me

… or wish you could,

come late­ly.

2.

Who picked so poor a case­ment

for this sad and frag­ile form?

What mad Inven­tor paused to rest

before His work was done?

How Can so pure a force exist;

unsure of recla­ma­tion.

When will the Mak­er rec­ti­fy

His trou­bled com­bi­na­tion?

3.

The ways of the world come freely now

to take away my trea­sure.

Their earthy mass grows uncon­trolled

to rob my life of plea­sure.

4.

There is a cer­tain numb­ness

I seek when I’m alone.

It helps me pass the time away,

Or bear it till it’s gone.

I seek to be anes­thetized

from sense­less self-absorp­tion.

To keep myself from pon­der­ing

my melan­choly for­tune.

5.

T’is pain that dri­ves me from my rest

to face thy fierce expres­sion.

Thou art my most ungain­ly guest –

Con­temp­tu­ous obses­sion.

Thy facts con­spire to mar my day –

besmirch my best illu­sion.

They force my fan­tasies away –

Unfor­tu­nate delu­sion.

6.

Abstrac­tion seems deter­mined

to come between me and my brain.

Cre­at­ing new neu­roses there

that my mind can scarce con­tain.