Salt of the Earth

An episode carved with scalpel in stone,
The loreless maiden, entombed in a crone.
Fists clutching the sanatorium’s gown,
As the man on the ledge flung himself down.
No grave did he find at the bottom red,
But surgical cotton, a makeshift bed.

The Stranger, the Hermit, the Lover, Death.
The Tower, the Prison, The Beast’s last breath.
A shared soul pavilion, slightly deranged.
Indefinite, though parameters changed.

Crush the headstone, by its lesson abide,
Swallow the rock dust to soften inside.
Reach far past the pit with all its regrets,
Forgive all the world and its living dead.
Freely dispense the soot from my hearth,  
So it may become the salt of the earth.  

August 13, 2019, Tuesday by Passenger B ©

Here Comes The Tide

As the old lighthouse casts its light,
The thunder echoes through the night.
Hours later it keeps me awake,
The steady whisper, gentle ache.

Here comes the ship, here comes the tide,
Crashing through what I tried to hide.

To the river banks, you and me?
Past the ruinous monastery.
Do lie down with me for a spell,
Hear the secrets I have to tell.

Here come the Saxons, comes the tide,
Crashing through to the other side.

May 8th, 2019 by Passenger B ©

Turncoat

Turncoat, awaken, time to leave.
Suit up in black on Mournday,
Although you have no right to grieve.
And change to white on Truthsday,
In remembrance of his shroud.
And gray for Whose- and Whensday,
To blend into the faceless crowd.
Slip into red on Thirstday,
Anguish in parakeet disguise.
Blue, perhaps, on Fryday,
Incinerate your childhood lies.
Coffin brown on Satinday,
When laid to rest we both shall be.
In ashes dress on Someday,
When, Turncoat, you will have found peace.

April 26th, 2019 by Passenger B ©

How Exquisitely I Rage

What’s this most indistinct of sounds?
The sigh of the lost and never found?
A trapped jayhawk’s despondent cry?
A predator’s most vulnerable lie?
The rhythmic hum inside the hive?
A murderer’s campfire lullaby?
The anguished yelp of a fawn shot?
Whatever could it be, just what?!

Across the land, and time and space,
No border law could impair my chase,
No matter, though, how far I go,
How intently listen in my woe,
I can’t detect from whence it came,
Surprisingly, due to my shame,
I turned within and found…and found,
It was my own soul which made the sound.

Oh, how exquisitely I rage!
And neatly furnished this homemade cage.
Was that love once? That trampled rug?
The heartstring curtains and skull cap mug?
The house Ted built, our legacy,
And far from reach, a finger bone key.
The house Ted built, what, what have we done.
And what’s left now…to do and to become.


April 26th, 2019 by Passenger B ©

Emily

My home, my only home,
Swallowed now, by Sand and by sea.
A comfortable, homely cave was he,
Made out of word shells, prettily.

My home, my only home,
Dismantled now, and silently.
Did you forget so easily?
That my true name is Emily.

I’m About Rage, I’m last June’s lust,
I am repose, I am disgust.
You cannot run, you spirit whore,
Not outcrawl me at Ocean Shore.

My home, the man you slew,
A tiny crab shell I outgrew.
But in the sky waits my forlorn,
My murder twin, a Capricorn.

April 6, 2019 by Passenger B ©

She’s My Savior, My Perdition

She’s my savior, my perdition.
My pursuits without fruition.
A luminous goddess, a slut.
Butterflies, a knife in my gut.

Perish shall I dare I beguile.
Still…probe will I and know not why.
Another credo penned in vain.
Unwavering, she yet remains.

I am the cap that crowns this fool.
The risen son on every Yule.
A manifesto of regret.
Success in loss my epithet.

She is my possession, most prized.
A squalid secret glamorized.
My heroine in every sense.
The spike upon my picket fence.

Perish shall I dare I deceive.
Still…will she truly never leave?
Another promise made in vain.
Though staggering, she yet remains.

I vanish unless I repent.
Am worthless but for her lament.
Stray I must to remind myself
She is the one, unparalleled.

February 20th, 2019 by Passenger B ©

The Empty Space

They echo inside, these words most tender.
Ricocheting off the enclosure’s walls,
Dancing, spiraling through the empty halls.
Seeking that high from when I surrendered.

But I still, I still remember!
And do you, do you miss me sometimes?

Confined to memory ever shrinking.
Lost in quicksand of a presence most bleak,
And a future past that had reached its peak.
Into the passenger I am sinking.

But I still, I still remember!
And do you, do you miss me sometimes?

Just one more dose, one sip, that I may rest.
Sleep off the ache of another missed call,
I’m a monster dreaming it were a doll.
Any affection was but human jest.

But I still, I still remember!
And do you, do you miss me sometimes?

Autumn I am, without a September.
A poet’s worst work to practice his rhyme,
Each verse carefully metered to pass the time.
It is with shame that I now remember.

February 18th, 2019 by Passenger B ©