Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Poetry and Justified by fire

Ron Koppelberger
Magic Wildfire
Accomplished in flourishes and raves after the glancing vision
Of ebony eyes and raven’s silk, the sweep of lacy beauty
And blossoms in velvet sashay, a fast furious flirt
Defined by the coy smile of maidens in heaven’s
Desire, A tumult in tempest swirls of
                                                                       Magic wildfire.

Ron Koppelberger
A Warm Wind
Dissipating rains of melancholy sung by the spirit of
Careful bond, by symphonies of sainted assurance
And mists in sweet whispers of
Eden, a remitted desire in blossoming dandelions
And pregnant faith, the attested changelessness
Of sunshine imbued in the proof of god’s essence and
Embracing beauty, resolved by the touch of warm
                                                   Wind and quiet moments in reflection.

Ron Koppelberger
Asylums Still
A snapshot in the salty tears of praying sash, crimson
Splashed by circles of flame and dark silhouette, the seconds captured
In a fervent whisper of perceived, everlasting
Sunset, driven by the eyes of synchronicity
And unbridled desire, the wont in wear and wash, the hungry passions
Of a dream in pass, told by the light in machineries of mercy, forever
                                                        Alive by the tabloo’ of asylums still.

Ron Koppelberger
A Mothers Magic
In wardship of fathers and babies in cradles
Of destiny, the tiny coo of a child in asylums
Of love and sanctity, by starched cotton down and chubby
Cheeked smiles of glee, all in a mothers
Magic, the embrace of a song for the
Joy of a family in verse, a tender credo of

Ron Koppelberger
Kindred Eyes
Convening in secret, shy whispers of love,
By the passion of an adoring oath in blood and
Desire, the kindred eyes and the bond between
Souls in journey unto the complement of reveling
Belief and sweet stems swaying in appetite and gentle bloom,
By legged balances in beauty, gasping in grins and great
Slumbering dreams of sated revolution.

Ron Koppelberger
Justified by Fire
The virgin leaf was unspoiled by the amber colored substance, opium in a purely secret demonstration of surety. Always there and wanting a host to the lonely deliriums of addiction, the opium was always there and willing.
Harmon Blue was bred by the passage of denial and the tiny green leafed store of opium wasn’t tempting him to dramas of confusion. Instead he found himself on the border of a giant expanse. There were Poppies as far as the eye could see. Harmon was calm as he unscrewed the cap on the ten gallon can of gasoline. As he poured the fuel on the blossoms he thought about his daughter. Twenty-one years, that’s how long she had lived. The gas lolled and dripped from the plants. She had, in some insane yoke of fate, become an opium addict in blooming concession to all things expressing her former life; she was encumbered by the symmetry of the substance, tortoise slow and easy in the great race.
The gasoline sloshed in moist cloying union with the deceptively hateful flowers. He knew he was justified in his remedy. They had found his daughter face down on her apartment floor.
The echo of the shimmering fluid as the last few drops trickled across the temptress weed was hollow and desolate. Harmon Blue set the unequaled expanse of poppies on fire. He opened up his arms and cried; the poppies burned in a glittering conflagration of beauty and utter darkness.

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