Quotes and poetry by delling

the speckled rime, the tiny bugs, the mud splatter, the planks that run the side, the glide of a curve, the punch of a hole that sealed the facade, dancing nerves to the tune of the rod, a strike on from the bottom to the top, like the moonkiss of a sun burning a pulse in the wrist of hull, the rudder

the pass of the gutter, the slow twist and winter burn, the familiar turn, a migrants score along the wall, inward tempos, the stroke of course tattooed in the slant of a slight fall, the pitch of the rill, the roll drop by drop, nacre dulled, capitulating to gravity, the scorn that bore the lull of fleck held time

Dirty Water, Aegean Brime

delling 122w

The political warehouse has too many label makers and not enough box cutters.

History repeats itself because everybody looks backwards to get a model for the future

delling 123w

An argument is a sword with the handle in the middle, and two points. When you can see that sword for what it is, you're wise to step away from it.

Debate

delling 123w

the audience surrounds the singer, an ancient flanked by fledglings that never pass beyond the concert in years, the subaqueous spiritual awakening, taking the underworld of liquid to the echo chambers, the voice coil, the fernite metals, the paper cone spider; her whispers for the cold ear

The Sound Of Ice

delling 123w

A spigot of the clay urn slid down the rolling rampwell of the entrance to Lady Death's
facade

A soldier's head was smashed twice on the cleft of the front arrow head to Lady Death's temple

:

It is my time, it is your time! It's time to
free the souls of those of perish in the
wine filled rivers, of the martyrs of Baccus, those who have turned the eye away, who dissolved like salt; an offering

It is our time! The vulnerable, the pious,
the pure! The saved shall rise! Those that
can see. Those that can hear. Those of
The Word; my word, your word. All paths
will conflate like water; an offering

:

Simease twins joined at the feet, the hips, the head. Like legs closed tightly fall from mouth-side down

The waxing body. The waning body. Rise together above Thy Madre. One striking
the east, one west

She Sayeth Of Wrest

delling 123w

When the treetops swirl around the sun and meet as one in worship, and are blasted to scatter out to heaven in rebellion! Beauty is the curse. Damned. So much fire dancing. So many tears. The tufts of vales, the folds; the crosses born from when the Dragon of Four Heads necks lie limp over the horizon till the hand of fate slaps the bare skin of the supine belly, and the skull sparks of gnashing teeth are rising!

The symphonic sways in a lull, always titillating, never dull! The coarse sand grains come together in spans, a sweeping velvet bed. Inifentesimal rocks, pours, where the blood meets soft bedding in angelic torch songs; the flushing of blue rivers offered as sacrament to the three feathers and their broken circle-kiss dialed toward an expanding upper liminal right of wandering mind!

the Lady and the Fivefold Sign

delling 123w

heaven, arms extended, a sign, a symbol, a sigil, a cacoon, a wishbone broke, a stroke of affection, rejection is inevitable, parasize for the host, the gift, a comatose divinity, the feeding, the husk molted, life rewrote it, let it be for the winds, breath rescinds, for every guest of the lung there was some other kind of living, a sentient beginning for a rise and fall

Tode and Tissue

delling 124w

Hot honeysuckle day
A warm grave
Weaving roses
Rejuvenate
Elders wait
Strange saints
Anticipate

The airy tidbits pass, sprinkles of light that have fallen like seeds from the dark tree in the forest of chaos
Nothing has been found
Nothing has been lost

Hot honeysuckle lips
Melt the eyes of Taurus
Melt the sky before us
Hot honeysuckle lips
Twiney climbing knit
A puppet fit
A lost writ
Ripped for the wind
Shredded
Embedded in history
A forgotten mystery

The daring molt-mass of night
That has burned the reeds of the
Shallow seas that bore us dank fog
Nothing has been found
Nothing has been lost

Hot honeysuckle butterfly wings
Hot velvety skin
The taste they bring
The touch within
Hot honeysuckle song we sing
The right to sin
The rites of spring
Blooming sun blistering
Daylight hours dwindling
Come lady satyrn showers
Let us feel your powers

Lonicera Woodbine

delling 125w

keys, flowers to a wreath, leafs of a book, time blocks, locks; parting Ophelia's lips with Lizzy's cold kiss, a tongue sifting through dirt, mud mulled red wine, a sacred pine falls, the maleus pound, a cockrel pall bled all over four corners, a last squall found immortalized in an open grave, every hog gets it's Martinmas, ars poetica day, the arbiter of grief, the lies you weep, death was born to an early love, the poppy, the rue, the stroke of a verb - the last wild herb

Paint Unheard Above

delling 125w

I cross the mirror, the mirror crosses me
A dried mist from an empty sea
Brine remains on my lips
Lost from sunken ships!

The mirror, O mirror, reflections I can't see
Is that really? Really me?
Once there was sweet rosehips
The boon of drunken trips!

Dearest mirror; I am you, you are me
From each other we are not free
Time wielded like a whip
The marrs of brinkmanship!

Sad mirror I can not nev'r ev'r flee
Three eyes that can not see clearly
From bottom to the tip
There must be cracks and chips!

Lady mirror, filmy fog, can it be
So unclear? Is this really me?
Or have I just lost my grip?
No other page to flip?

My mirror, my mirror, so cold and hoary
The last line of the last story
Quite a storm of a quip
A last page I must rip!

Mirror of my mirror, when life does bore me
Hell's Heav'n is transitory
Ev'ry drop that you drip
Ev'ry slide, ev'ry slip!

Flames, Felled Rain, Memories