Light but no heat

A mischievous sun,
up too early
and riding low,
he bursts in,
jumping through twin
abandoned panes

to scamper on
a delighted
ceiling, its worth
in crumbled brick.
He skips past kicked
debris, the tagged

walls, he'll now mimic,
dropping down,
bald knees balanced
on fallen pipes
to playful paint
his hued likeness:

a glitter gold face,
speech bubble
attached and crooning
discordant
song of wintry
light, but no heat.

— Francis Scudellari

---

This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #107: lighting the way at Read Write Poem. This was a photo prompt using the image Shotgun Blast by Shane Gorski.

Beyond

She sees strange lights, hopes
for explanations beyond
the ordinary

Patrick robs

Patrick robs Peter
to pay Paul and rents himself
a new hideaway

Float

It is said, suns rise,
they set. The truth is, we do
with our float and spin.

p.s. This is my 1,000th post to this blog... hurrah!

Pushcart

Pushcart, cobbled from
misfit parts, trundles past to
drop off a present

Green bag

Green bag breathed to life
by fickle wind, arcs then falls
covenant broken

Mirth takes a holiday

Feeling a bit spare
his mirth takes a holiday
to repad its girth

The hoary back turns

The hoary back turns
lush smiles to bemused tundra
a wintry neglect

I can't

I cannot

command a seasoned sun
to shine,
or crowding clouds
to shove aside,

but I can

be thankful when she does
ascend,
and they assent,
cleaving rayed paths

down to me.

Her blue eyes flare red

Her blue eyes flare red
to paint his great pate, and draw
peopled tides closer

A curious drape

A curious drape,
bound by hovering rod,
grown so weary of limbo,
flaps its wide trim,
filling the room
with dawn's restless light

Blood drunk

There wasn't any pain,
no prickle,
nor a tickled pink,
just this worldly feeling
of being pried
to a softer bed,
while twin fangs sank in
and rosy drew out
mere droplets,
planted by the shy
sun's unclotted gleam.
Its golden streams
pulled from primped-up flesh
to fill crimped-down bellows
till they bulged
bronze and round.

There isn't any pain,
no struggle,
nor a muddled shout,
just this bleary-eyed dream
of being led
to a slate-gray patch,
where blood-drunks dodder
and bloated belch forth
queer seedlings
that root at the stray
day's rolled-up edges.
Their crimson creeps
stopped by simple smacks
to spill pimpled oozings
till they sag,
flat and black.

— Francis Scudellari

Last leaf

A lonely last leaf
amber laments lost brothers
its fear, letting go

Black-stomached soil

The black-stomached soil
craves a savory serving
golden leafed decay

Impolite shadow

Impolite shadow's
greedy grasp loosens, over
time grows less troubling

Reveller gale

A reveller gale
mischievous twirling, reveals
trim maple's bare limbs

Molars

Inhabiting smoke
the molar melts, polar capped
to fouled yellow root

Sun slumbers

Sky sifts down soft, white
light hosting, while Sun slumbers
a winter away

Late season's teasing

Late season's teasing
breeze, mirthful birthed by
lake's rolling belly

Passerby stares

His eyes sliding shut
quiet the purple clamor
of passerby stares

My Christmas Wish

I have one Christmas
wish: we'd all let go
our pinch on old grinchy ways
and feel new, magic
unpackaged, unbowed
in gifts of everyday

Unmoored

His life's boat unmoored
he charts a course for unsure
sands on wayward shores

Dull-bladed stare

Dull-bladed stare twists
a quarter turn, to ensure
agony lingers

Odd hop

On narrowing path
he'd taken, destined footfalls
become an odd hop

Close tabs

He keeps close tabs on
the dull and drab, to color
his own misgivings

Fugitive blush

The fugitive blush
chased by a lowering glare
leaps off craggy cheeks

Lime green frog

Lime green frog hops in
the pond's murky brown cocktail
adding twists of slime

Stillness

In its falling,
a white hush
fell on me,

as you hushed me,
"Quiet... ." Still,
in your white,

you wait for this
weighty thought
to break through

the storm's cushion:

"Stillness, I know
may not stay
in your life,

but it will in-
still silence
to linger

in your life, and
remind you
there can be

more, much more still."

— Francis Scudellari

---

This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #106: Repeat after me at Read Write Poem. The prompt was to practice repetition.

Dali

As mirrors depict
features' drippy slide, he learns
Time paints like Dali

Peppers

He peppers long-stewed proffers,
fresh-ground nods and piquant winks
gently stirred, in hope to prosper

Sunday blew in

Sunday blew in
breezily
popping pinstriped
cuff to bare
a cunning and
ill-cutting
hand,
manicured tips
of rounded
pink extending
to un-shake
my seldom firm,
oft clammy
faith.

— Francis Scudellari

Cheerful flaws

His cheerful flaws
all pause for chats
and chuckling come
to realize
their comity
of errors

Steam

Steam from a vent
as impermanent
as my spent
breath

Ten rigid cypress

Ten rigid cypress
helmeted march through autumn
never once swaying

Wedged in the y

Wedged in the y
of a winter-bared branch
the plump squirrel screeches, then grunts
its oddly coded greeting

Gold Apple

At its very core
his gifted gold apple proved
ucommonly rotten

If I scoured

If I scoured our heaven's
sprawled-out stain,
its light-dusted logic
would leave me
cleansed of flesh and folly

Essence

His molten essence
grown woeful dim, buried in
cotton-cloudy age

Damp-cloth words

Wringing damp-cloth words
she wipes clean his chalky slate,
draws a sharp-edged frown

Ungently

Ungently gone from good
he'll break night's gait
to meet a fate
he hung unstockinged
once upon the tines
of yesterday's forked crossing

Scraps

Scraps of pictured smiles
he picks through, then gathers to
make his Sunday feast

Holiday Cheer

He increases the dosage
pulling tight the strap, but
he still can't quite seem to
inject some holiday cheer

Problems unbalanced

Problems unbalanced
equating, adjust to find
inward solutions

Shaggy head

Scratching shaggy head
he finds a moral buried
with the dark, limp tail

Newbie

A newbie to the north,
she waits for the snow's first fall
so her angels can take wing

Five radiators wake

Five radiators wake
to shake off six months' dust
and whistle steamy
ballads of winter's
ever-soft approach

Gruff grumbles

Gruff grumbles, stubbly stares
donned daunting those wanting
to poke his little-boy heart

Hit

The dolled-up moon may star
in this pierced black reel
sprocketed and spun
to catch our night's lazy
attention, and why not,
what with her curled lip,
her too-precious stare
and her meteor lines
whispered low in the wind
to pull our buzzed ears
a little bit closer
to the telephone,
but don't neglect the trees,
and their stiff-borne backs
abiding far off
our radar, knobby limbs
raised strong to always
offer us support.
Without them, this shell
of a shimmering game,
even when we're best conned,
would never quite hit.

— Francis Scudellari

---

This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #105: borrowed words at Read Write Poem. This week's prompt came in the form of a demanding 18-word list borrowed from another poem. I managed to fit them all in (click the prompt link to see what they were).

Petal plucked wishes

Petal plucked wishes
she'll toss before her flower
of youth perishes

Recital

A vodka-soaked tongue unspools,
his conveyance for the dazed dance
of early morning lies recital

Porcelain worries

In unbittered blue pools
they stir glass-stemmed flowers
healing her yesterdays
where teacup mouths were scooped
by porcelain worries

Ferrying wind

This ferrying wind
delivers crisp messages
with a stick-tapped code

Subsumed

Striking these stubborn matches,
he melts her
frozen pose, the features too
soon subsumed
into catalogs of loved
forgotten

My eye doesn't despair

My eye doesn't despair
this spare urban sky, black with
possibility

A steaming lake spurns

A steaming lake spurns
winter's immodest advance
slapping at the shore

Runnel plaints

He pens runnel plaints
through snow white stationary
crisp, clean and icy

Day shouts

Day shouts severely
accented, but dusk coos back
in her shaded voice

To their forbidding

To their forbidding
doors, he sneaks and tacks
bombastic lists that tick
off his tactics
for in-word allowing

Suspended Animation

Dear Santa

Seeing how
I haven't seen you now
in more than many while's quite,
I thought I'd write
this letter laden wish,
not big enough to be a list,
as it's just one thing,
and that thing is else no thing,
but a pod. Yes, I wrote pod, but not

any pod
you'd find hanging green
on a bush. I mean those lean
bits of oblong
and white that best belong
in the movies where one's out knocked
and then inside tucked
cozy, waiting for long trips,
or patches too rough, to easy slip

by. I'll glow
in my pod, yellow
digits the ticks down-counting
till zeros sing
alarming doors to whir
and pop, dropping a discovered
when both safely sound
and reanimated found
on the far side of neither's going.

But knowing
you Santa, to be
a bastard red and jolly,
if I know you
at all, then here's my due:
one ragged blanket from Good Will,
some pretty pink pills,
and an unassembled cough
instructing me to "go sleep it off."

— Francis Scudellari

Sponge Cake

Starved for the few words
she never spoke
he molds sponge-cake fancies
to trick his ears full
with sugar-false sounds

Unhappy story

Unhappy story:
an aging after forgets
to follow ever

Armaments

Curious cat's paw
swats at ornaments, launching
red-green armaments

Bluffing

He wagers his last
days loose stacked in tipsy piles
bluffing a smug smile

Half moon hatches

Laid on winter-hardened clouds
a half moon hatches
phantom tides

Many dances

Many dances
festooned in our moment's
finery, while Few waits
patient for the happy
tuning to stop

Cautious flames

Cautious, blue-toothed flames
nibble at damp air, waiting
to leap and swallow

Morning barely breaks

Morning barely breaks
spilling its naked red light
as timid seas blush

Snaky chance slithers

Snaky chance slithers
by tempting a lunge, always
proves too slippery

Gray

Winter's withered hand
dabs at gray palette, painting
sky and ground, alike

Fossil

He would have been much
more docile a student
had the fossil not displayed such
an inviting comparison

Sugary scents

Sugary scents jingle
bells of a late-night's peeking
to trap that red chap
and his cookie thieving

Texture

His coarser consonants
and sharpened vowels
texture flat sermons
carved from hollow scripture

Jingles jangle

Jingles jangle, demanding
he pay more attention,
but his coins are too few
to clang, so they'll cling
instead, pocketed

Whispers

Drifting snow whispers
myths of beauty tricked below,
life held in ransom

December spits ice

December spits ice
picking fights with its blue-white
braggadocio

Calomine

Long-plotted lives, just so
calomine pink and unspoiled
she itches to be more
than a little rash

Crunch

Her cherry red boots
step swiftly through ice-glazed snow
a delicious crunch

Thimbles

Teaching his fingers
to be more nimble,
he practices deception
with a pea and three thimbles

His fears came dressed in

His fears came dressed in
black and white habits, preaching
dogma's denials

Bellicose wind

A bellicose wind
rattles on with mock courage
passive moon frowning

Brooches

She fashions five gold
brooches from acorns and twigs,
then sprinkles them white
with the freshly fallen snow,
hoping for winter's magic

Stripped of its color

Stripped of its color
the black arcing bough poses
chilled, dripping questions

Long employed to serve

Long employed to serve
others' wickedness, he quits
to master his own

dissolving

I may waver
before my wavelengths
soar, gathered from pea-green
depths of bubbling soup,
fully measured
for spoiling.

Invited out
to doubtful places
we each must know, I'll step
blithe not grim, trimmed in
pretty-patterned
suits. Their smear

of plaid-scented
tears splashed with paisley-
flavored sighs, I'll rinse through
herringbone-strained smiles,
as the pinwheel-
peopled years

gargle my garb
fresh for bathing. Then,
to bathe I'll go, striding
on the bric-a-brac
bridge that spans the
forgetting

where I wavered
before my wavelengths
soared, and plunge in to bob
atop chic'ry-swirled brew,
fulfilled measures...

dissolving

— Francis Scudellari

(This is a revised version of the poem that I posted at Flowers of Sulfur a couple days back)

Smudged-on ashes

Smudged-on ashes crossed
inarticulate recall
our long lost causes

Preludes

this thought, preludes a word
this word, preludes a deed
this deed, preludes regret
and that regret,
preludes everything

Her piercing eyes raise

Her piercing eyes raise
an alarm, awakening
love long blanketed

Bared by colluding

Bared by colluding
wind and rain, again two crows
squawk defiantly

Hours upon shadowed wing glide

Hours upon shadowed wing glide
clasping wriggling cares, they'll devour
atop morning's light-bathed crags

Once thick, straight and double yellow

Once thick, straight and double yellow
the lines he hesitated to cross
now curve and stretch
as thin as his prospects

His doubt lingers, two-headed

His doubt lingers, two-headed
gnawing both floor and ceiling
to collapse comfort's redoubt

Amid tangled roots

Amid tangled roots
topped with broken stems, he plucks
her name, flowering

These fell cuts

These fell cuts
rather than weakening
scar over in thickened flaps
to shield against
each following blade

He chased glossy scents

He chased glossy scents
down prescripted paths
to the dearly purchased,
but love and happiness
never happened along.

He triples the dose.

If I could wish...

If I could wish,
I would wish upon
petals not yet plucked
from yellowed guessing

If I could wish,
I would wish upon
furry seeds white-tucked
in breathy nesting

If I could wish,
I would wish upon
stony time's rolled back,
concave-gray jumbling

If I could wish,
I would wish upon
yawning star's stretch, black
tales awkward mumbling

And when I did,
each counted could-be
would be a wished lie
down from undoing

— Francis Scudellari

Glowing proud, this moon

Glowing proud, this moon
boasts its theft, risking the sun's
eclipsing rebuke

Black ink penned on milk

Black ink penned on milk
he writes his beloved
messages instantly lost
in squiggled gray bleeding

Marina

For my mother, on her birthday.

The unexpected

The unexpected
crash of a single raindrop
can topple small worlds

Each successive year paints

Each successive year paints
him thick and clumsy, their brush
strokes smudging once vibrant
detail to a drab sag

His derring-do doesn't

His derring-do doesn't
dare imagine those nevers
beyond timid's reach

The sun dangles red

The sun dangles red
low, prized fruit to tantalize
zig-zagging sparrows

I meet Ingi

I meet Ingi,
stumbling down
from the opposite blend
of a tumbled path
paved with impatient falling
matters.

Nearer,
our split-bottom steps tingle
from the crumbling glass,
as slivered gum-ball ends
spike bronze gowns
of brittle leaves.

We swear to sea,
and shake frowns
till our best parts do bend,
toppling humble hats
where waves diverge, to grow then
flatter.

— Francis Scudellari

When I die, I'll jumble

When I die, I'll jumble
that placard long-posted
at the Inferno's gate

To read, "Enter
here with abandon
all ye who hope!"

Drinking in the evening's black

Drinking in the evening's black
blood, he waddles prone to listing
the many wicked vagaries
of less indulgent imbibers

This oft-stooped sapling

This oft-stooped sapling
stands at attention, ordered
by a martial wind

The musing of her

The musing of her
resurrected smile
provides much needed
morale for his
developing story

Bauble Brothers

Bauble brothers hang red,
one rotund, one spouted,
both made a magenta
melancholy by fog.
Its white whispers nightly,
slipping their bloody seeds
down paper-funnel tales
of supple branches stripped,
and the skin-cracking eyes
coming too soon to cull.

— Francis Scudellari

---

This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #103: pomegranate at Read Write Poem. This week's prompt was the photo above right (Pomegranate by Nasos3), which has a spooky air about it that I tried to capture in the verse.

His once-was pulled up

His once-was pulled up
treading the asphalt drive, then
slammed back to being

Paralyzed in waiting

Paralyzed in waiting
his fixed stare of broken thoughts
watches numbers creep