I've heard "It's in the eyes"

Like fog laden mirrors reflect only haze, the eyes of the dead can no longer gaze
although they appear to stare into space, the vision of such is damned hard to erase

Awkward to handle until rigor sets in, flopping around like a limp thespian
unaware of the crowd of bystanders there, all craning to see, some deeply in prayer
.

Or even make out a sheet covered form, that no longer breathes, lost to the storm
of uninterrupted, never ending malaise, those lingering, those fatal, long final days
.

There's always that one, you see is a skeptic, can't fathom that shell is no longer septic
I wish we could just remember the good, if only their trek could be more understood
.

I'm sure it's acceptance that is hard to find, I know there are some who feel left behind
but death is not where I want to follow, no matter how hard being alone is to swallow
.

I'll let it suffice, that my pillow be damp, and hide my fears like the greatest champ
move on, anew, forget that sickening glaze, the eyes of the dead that no longer gaze

.

Twenty Seven Red

An expensive high, I mustn't lie
it grabs and holds your attention
Temporary as it may be, at times
it can dwindle ones pension
.

During the roll, or as it is dealt
sensibility sometimes omitted
Laying down dough just on a hunch
really should not be permitted
.

A free country it is, where I can win
or end my days in a shamble
do as I wish, spend till I'm broke
after all it's only a gamble

The Itsy Bitsy Siren

Maybe a somewhat boring existence. For several days now I have been watching the antics of a spider, yes a spider who has taken up residence under one of the eaves of my house. I have watched from day one when it began its first web straight through today ( 3 webs later ) and it may sound odd but this little arachnid sure has stamina. This morning for the first time I watched "the hunt" and it spurred me to write the following; I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The Itsy Bitsy Siren


Glistening filaments coated with dew,
suspending neat packages, not just a few
looks nearly abandoned during each daylight
yet a buzz of activity all through the night

.

When it seems to encourage every mosquito and midge
to try to fly through it and adhere to a ridge
tangled and snared like flying rats in a trap
their seconds are numbered before it's a wrap
.

Lighter than air and stronger than steel
a floating boudoir with some desirous appeal
or hence it must seem to each unknowing moth
who when injected with enzymes turns into a broth
.

Airborne pieces of lint and small bits of hay
are culled from her web all during the day
to prepare for the eve when it's time to clobber
unsuspecting prey who are turned into slobber
.

Eight shiny legs, slender and pointed,
appear carefully tended, almost anointed,
ready to scurry and work on demand
delicately placed, each on a strand

.

The dew that I mention is truly a foe
which causes her mansion to actually show
I think she's a widow but does never wail
and where she has been there's never a trail
.

Disgust and fear she instills in most men
almost as chilling as World War Twos Bren
looks tiny, petite, but has venomous airs
and all over her body she sports tiny hairs
.

A master at hunting, knows how to enthral
she'll take them all on, the big and the small
apparently fearless and on the ball
yet if she could write I know it'd be scrawl
.

Call me ridiculous, call me a fool
but things like this can make me drool
knowing that this spider is fully content
doing the only thing she's alive for, what she was meant

.

.

DS

Nata 1918 - Morta 1920 - Little Rosalia

It was in Palermo I recall that overcast day
unlike the majority of my splendorous stay
Architecture so grand, regal and proud
Sicilians all hurrying despite the great crowd

.

The "Boot" of the mainland not far away indeed
was calling me back as if I were it's seed
But that same morning I had but one agenda
to see Rosalia Lombardo, yes, still ever so tender

.

See, she was the highlight, a Capuchin claim to fame
yet I wanted to spy it all, every monk, every lane
which housed her mates, all still in their death
straddled side by side, long since their last breath

.

All the ruins I had seen each day since the start
had not prepared me at all for the feelings today would impart
Not once did I ponder where all the people had gone
I was overly enthralled with the heft, with the brawn

.
But when I entered the cavernous mausoleum of sorts,
the catacombs with walls lined with lime not with quartz
there was a coolness in the air, it was natural they said
perhaps this is what helped in preserving their dead

.
Eight thousand in all literally hung in this abode
all shapes and all sizes, to many this had been bestowed
as the best place to lie, some stately some royal
some prone in mock coffins, some laid in a coil

.
Wilted bouquets, relics and toys lined almost each wall
dates to the sixteenth century could be made out in scrawl
Skeletons, mummy like, bones, hair and clothes
at first was horrific, should have been sacred, not exposed

.
Slowly I walked my way down each section and saw
that I was not the only person pulled by the draw
of the dead that were here for each eye to view
perhaps this is what helped make me construe

.

That this was not eerie, not disgusting not vile
I thought "these are their memorials" and managed a smile
Twas then the sensation hit me with a great whack
I had been "Stung by the Splendor of Sudden Black."

Seeya..........

Hands down, It needs to end, I'm tired, bored and sore
on call from dusk, til dawn, til dusk again,

screaming I want no more
.

There's only so much I can give before my mind gets charred,
you'd think I would have picked this up

the first time I was scarred
.

I need to float away from this, indeed before it's too late
so I can still walk with pride,

forgetting this feeling of hate

tick tock...tick tock...

Dating?

Not yet,

still waiting
for the day I know that I can
rediscover

myself,

not her
for though she's now gone,
I know I must continue;

live on

Debating?

Yes,

but waiting
till I once again can believe
without her

picture floating
through my mind leaving me
blind;

for its only her

I see

Ablating?

No,

just waiting
for the grand disappearance
to occur

so that I may begin
again wanting to sense,

to feel
new emotions;

not the unreal

Shocking Tale!

He arrived home from work late that rainy night and the short walk from his car to his 19th century bungalow had left him drenched. With the current real estate market being in the condition it was he had snatched up that property for a steal knowing full well that there were a few things that needed repair. He prided himself in finding good buys. His soon to be ex wife Kathy hated him for this quality but she'd soon be out of his life. To some the bungalow might have appeared as a discarded soapbox (Kathy) but to Charlie it was a treasure since someday the demand for this type of property in this neighborhood would be high; and he knew it and could wait.
.
Not only did the great price tag include this shell of a home but it also came along with a few acres, a rarity for sure. Charlie was usually a patient fellow and in the past this same patience had payed off so he wasn't really concerned that the roof leaked nor did he care that the old electrical system needed updating; time and a little cash could turn his investment into a goldmine.
.
As he was flipping through the days mail and sorting out the bills from the junk he simultaneously was slipping out of his soggy clothes and was thinking about a nice bourbon and coke. After getting about halfway through the mail he decided to go and actually change into something dry and warm. Although patient when it came to some things, he was not at all happy about dripping water onto the new oak floors he had installed in the little entrance way.
.
Just as he began walking back to pick up the rest of the mail the lights went out; typical he thought, "I probably should have had the electricity fixed first". He headed towards the back of the house where the old fuse box was located and as he approached it he realized that it must have been raining harder and longer than he had thought; the pot he had under the leak in the roof must have overflowed because he could feel the unmistakable dampness of water permeate his socks.
.
Without thinking he reached to open the fuse box and even though no one was around to see the flash or hear the pop Charlie stood there looking like a character out of a comic book with his hair on end seemingly glued to the box. That night was the end of Charlies dream to ever make good on his latest investment.
.
A few days after the funeral Kathy was at his house, now her house, when she noticed a stack of unopened mail on the hall table. Next to the table was a wastebasket with a postcard sized mailer sitting right on top and she couldn't help but grin when she read it; the bold type ad read "Our Rubber Soles Save Lives". Kathy literally said out loud " sorry guys, the lack of rubber soles is what just saved my life". You see 50/50 would have been a struggle but now that it was all hers, well, maybe it wouldn't be that hard after all, and maybe now she herself could be a little patient.