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Dec 2015 · 656
HUNGER & THIRST
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
THIRST


Oh hollow Thirst!  

How it drowns life's liquid scenes,

All trenchant memory now

dries the tongue;

When recollection swims with dire aches

In the stomach lingering

Deserts  

once oasis-providence:

              the ease of us

              sifting with the sand

Minutes limpid between caress

Creation our chalice overflows

Quenching in and each other

Love for water

As the hours go touching vastness'

That open us / our heaven's sky :

Illuminating in you

Both assuage and succor...

          But I am drought and man

          Flesh heavy / crawling through

         War's searing hills

         Chafed of what made me fearless . . .

         A Traveler discarding haste,

Still Thirsty for those palm trees’ shading moments

Still just pictures of bodies felt

and yet still feeling.


It is as though an affliction’s game

To wait

Between search and weaning

No swift elixir

I am just a bare tree leaning

praying for love's rain...


This Thirst is deeper than remembering

The drink that once was Us.


.  .  .  .

HUNGER

Halcyon: bathing in your adoration,

Nothing so sinful, or miniscule, as to need

Redemptive rinses and the spirit

When we were

As what we only knew how to be

Ourselves yet together sharing feasts


Which we lay out for each other

Ceremonious only through having its discovery

Knowing to trust in this (which is between us)

Oh How to feed the hunger I have longed for

Softer than the dew on skin

When we have the outdoors with our mischief

Attentive as the grass when we look within…



These eyes that pierce me now

Understanding / how my breath shivers

With the slight tips of tender fingers

Through a body famished and weakened,

Needing

The food from in between kiss and spark

On a smile that shares heaven’s glee

In each other’s sensations, feeling the answer

Rather than being told to eat



Reverie of wines tasted, the lifting of all things

To a memory, yet not having the full course

Of dining with serenity, finding that destiny

Has yet to begin

When love was the race I was questioning

Kind supposedly human

And dreams came true with happy endings?



Hunger can make the world seem cruel

When we give up on searching for meaning

We ourselves make

The feast from meals

with our believing …
Dec 2015 · 602
INDIFFERENCE
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
(It is like...)

. . .  a brief farewell
dismissive and brusque;

the outdoors as grey and as serious
as nature is without mercy

. . .

we sit across from
one
another
demure & remiss of words

as time between
colorless
bleeds

the Colosus
of our silence / becoming
a book
we master to read...
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
OCEAN

Her bright irises
blue Mariana Trenches
weeps deep Pacific.


SEA-HORSE

Pregnant father sways
rocking chair to oceans' gait
champions patience's race.


LOTUS FLOWER

Morning-star-burst-bloom
floral crown on tranquil lake
she walks on water.

BUTTERFLY

A dangerous thing:
inspiration's fragile wings.
Metamorphosis.


METEOR SHOWER

Friday night space lights
as we caress the hours,
streaks across the sky.


TAI CHI

Dawn's ceremony.
Wet grass tickling bare feet,
wave away the night.


WINTER GIFT

Downey skin so white
like a cold glass of fresh milk,
unwrapping Christmas.


STAINED GLASS

Broken pieces shape
the cathedral of your soul,
stained light still shines true.
Maybe a couple of these are questionable as haiku, possibly more like senryu, just hope you all enjoy them.
Dec 2015 · 1.9k
TO SPOON THE MOON
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
I make smiles from shattered eyes

cry December's distracting frost

move my soul with hopeful sighs

and pray our devotion is not lost



It is the eve of renewal's glee

gave sad promises to spoon the moon

but in the haste of glass we freeze

pose with strangers who fill our room



sweat bemoans my reaching hand

your eyes are vacant with his lust

he bids the hours by your command

we smoke our feelings into dust



this boy is weak yet worships you

opens darkest gates to breed

now enter light that stirs, confused

my screaming tears unheard,unseen...



i am a wish of hearts refused,

the sound of fallen poetry...
Dec 2015 · 569
AT REST
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
[PLOT

                 on the green / Cemetery Row]

A stroll

through Carthage stones...



Gargoyles in grey gloamings

of Autumns

of Winters

of the remains of days

the done-buried

keep secret in rigor mortis  

kiss



the grave

pushing up daisies, the cherished

our cherubs below tombstones

there lays

In green tarmac flights

On crucifix runways




Mausoleums with eyes

of pyramids and storms

house the ravens watching ghosts

from above just ants below,

beneath undulating cotton lakes

Upon the soil and worms and

souls


           mausoleums...


As granite angels mime

upward in prayer

waiting in the weight of the lifeless

wake

    white marbled expressions

consternation

    of devil may care

None for statues or halos

they're capture in boxes,

coffins / all inmates

                                The American gothic gallows


Caustic the silences

once stories of beams of light

Such lives afire

now mere half paragraphs

in respite /

In unforgiven mires


[On a plot of green

in cemetery row...]


Gargoyles in the mist

these arrested flights

of wish dismissed

of effulgent life


through the spindle of an hourglass

spider-webs of fog

where I share my path

Here the haunted besides (roaming)

a land of quietude

                 futures devoid yet still turning

The cyclic times

The unlearned

dreaded cold below


[On a plot of green, Cemetery row...]


Rest will happen

but my spirit is a phoenix

Great flocks of birds


Asphodels


Whilst

taking a stroll...

Past plots of green,

        In cemetery row


How such silences scream :

         the fallen :

death's blanket of snow.


[Carnage. &. Stone.]
My submission piece for Hellopoetry.com.
Could be considered a holloweeen kind of poem too....
Dec 2015 · 549
HIRAETH
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
The aging blind man at the florist's
Recalls his vision, his statue'd youth

Here, the sensation of scent
Is a meadow of heartache
When days were alive as a bouquet
Nostalgic now to go / see his love.

Alas when sight was fragrant...

He carries lilies out the door
Old and blind
A man holding memories
Of bright befores...

Alas when sight was fragrant.
Dec 2015 · 997
COITUS
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
We dapple our kiss
hot white Zinfandel

and like the blind groping for
doors, you open me

longingly for warmth,
one hearth we coalesce.

— The End —