© 2024 by Michael L. Utley
(#367)
river stone cairn
serenity in chaos
as life flows past
…..
(#368)
deathbed
her soul cleansed by
early morning rain
…..
(#369)
in my stillness
I become the mountain
winter squall
…..
(#370)
oneness with nothingness
this world can no longer
touch me
…..
(#371)
my silent world
sound dies
and I die with it
…..
(#372)
my essence diffused
I’m no longer here nor there
a crow’s cry
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
(#361)
November stubble
she tills the field
of memories
…..
(#362)
sorrow’s journey
drifting on the breeze
a sparrow’s plume
…..
(#363)
her sundered smile
picking up the pieces
of my heart
…..
(#364)
seeds of yesterdays
watered by the tears of years
memory garden
…..
(#365)
stream ice cracks
beneath the red footbridge
the hush of rushes
…..
(#366)
dip my bones in blood
etch my life across the stars
a soul’s journey
“I Can Hear the Water Cry”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
misty river bank
I can hear the water cry
through its mournful veil
from whence your tears
my friend
from whence your sorrow
the stream of life
long and arduous
promises nothing
takes wantonly
yet gives freely
drowns dreams
yet slakes hope’s thirst
erodes time
yet blesses leas
with hue and humor
I have bathed my feet
in your cool waters
drunk from cupped hands
of your living essence
and watched
as villages flood
and crops perish
your fickle nature
both boon and bane
the rage of winter’s run-off
the futility of summer’s drought
the chaos of confusion
the trauma of neglect
regrets eddy
among the reeds
koi doze in shadow-torpor
levitating dragonflies iridesce
oblivious to your siren-song
your current inexorable
immutable
fate’s dynamo
what of your sadness
what fears drive you
what memories haunt
your hidden heart
speak to me, friend
share your burden
help me understand
your tears
there is purity
in kindness
absolution in love
such a pity
a solitary meadow’s stream
a rill of life
darkened by despair
I see you, stream
I hear your halting whisperings
I smell your vital fragrance
I feel your urgent motion
I sense your profound depth
you are not alone
my friend
the mountain cradles you
the forest shades you
the flowers dance
to your melody
let the sun gild your surface
let the moon caress you
let your heart be
unencumbered
flow, my friend
just flow
and all
will be forgiven
“I am the Coin that Falls Between the Cracks”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
parts of me have died
that no one will ever know
nor will ever mourn
and why should they
I am just a remnant of myself
writ small among the vagaries of life
I am the coin that falls between the cracks
the sub-aural hum of power lines
the mote-specked silence of barn lofts
the dull glint of galaxies
as seen through rheumic eyes
I am the shadow
in the corner
of my cold
listless
mind
amid the howl of eternity
there are worlds upon worlds
fractal multiverses strewn
with thoughtless hubris
across heaven’s filthy floor
the dice of fate, kismet’s craps
as reckless gods play
with the lives of men
and alabaster-eyed
sentinels gaze blankly
distant and aloof
into the cackling abyss
once, beneath a leaden sky
a sweltering path led me
through shag-barked copses
and desiccated thickets
to an obscure clearing
and there
in midday gloaming
a spring appeared
and I knelt at water’s edge
seeking desperately
for my reflection
proof of my existence
which eluded me
upon the stagnant rancid
larval-glutted surface
I sought to see my soul
but instead espied
the foul machinations
of a craven universe
amid pond scum
and the stench of reality
and as I fled in horror
the pealing laughter
of amused gods
rent the sky
there are sink-holes in my soul
where I’ve lost myself
along the way
suffocating in tenebrosity
the detritus of shame
trailing behind me
marking my path
from tepid light
to torpid darkness
from inutile hope
to abject despair
the inconsequential
bric-a-brac of
22,000 days
fallen from the cabinets
of my heart
shattered shards
of worthless memories
my mind
a stuttering dynamo
choking on its own fumes
I
have lost
myself in
this desert of
alkali flats and
creosote bushes that
leech all moisture from my eyes
rendering tears unfeasible
seeking shelter from this thoughtless sun
and the mindlessness of my existence
take my hand
if you dare
and I shall show you
a broken soul
a half-hearted man
a mind in free-fall
a dumb dying animal
too cowardly to drop
to the dust and merge
with oblivion
a leprous life
in exile among
incurious stars
shunned by
callous sun
and careless moon
and exhausted
beyond measure
a half-life
every atom radiating
a numbness of spirit
my lost soul slides
languidly
toward
day’s end
and when my somber sun sets
none shall be the wiser
“When Ivory Kiku Bloom”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
it’s my hope in time to come
when ivory kiku bloom
you’ll remember me
as I remember you
those days so long ago
in absence of joy
fraught with fear and agony
you gazed into the abyss
what did you see in the din
and darkness of depression
what peered back at you
shattered your very soul
in this winter tempest
golden suisen
hides its glowing countenance
waiting for the storm to pass
yet its radiance lives on
deep beneath the blowing snow
its beauty obscured
dimmed for but a moment
I saw your light shining
through your blackest night
with the brilliance of the sun
rising moon’s intensity
in your sorrow you were blind
you saw neither light nor love
nor could you believe
your heart was still alive
thus you mourned a life lost
buried your own soul
oblivion’s rueful loam
brings forth its bitter harvest
in my heart there lies a tomb
wreathed in ivory kiku
every day I pause
to offer my respects
every day I mourn for
what could never be
place my heart upon the shroud
of these fading memories
it’s my hope in time to come
when ivory kiku bloom
you’ll have found your peace
for I’ll remember you
(originally published at Masticadores Philippines, 3/23/2024)
“Snap-beans in a Wooden Bowl”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
snap-beans
in a wooden bowl
and tears
on her cheeks
my mother’s sorrow
exorcised by
the rite of
working hands
the ritual of
silent contemplation
as evening sun
gilded her world
in holy ephemera
her safe place
ensconced
in her own
sacred light
her garden
her universe
the weeds she hoed
during languid summer days
of sun-burned neck
and aching back
how many belonged to her
how many the memories
of fear and violence
in desperate need of
eradication
her rough ancient hoe
her crucifix
against
my father’s rage
her blisters
turned to calluses
turned to armor
her fingers bent
with age and arthritis
yet strong enough
to hold herself
together
day by day
to contain
the tears the anger the horror
corn silk
her hair was corn silk
as she merged with
row upon row
of papery whispering stalks
her naked feet
rooting into earth
deeply
deeply
where her spirit lived
safe in cool moist soil
a fertile loam
a secret energy
regenerating her
scarred soul daily
only to be
shattered nightly
the cycle of the seasons
her heart always
an autumn heart
forever offering harvest
to all, then burned
to the ground
without a thought
as my father’s
winter approached
I passed her one evening
as she sat snapping beans
in a wooden bowl
her bare feet beagle-draped
farm cats lurking amid
squash blossoms
the westering sun
haloing her tired face
and she gazed at
the distant horizon
staring at the empty world
a faraway smile
nearly touching her eyes
as a tear fell
among broken beans
in her lap
and she looked at me then
and her smile was terrible
an anguish
I’d never seen before
and I knew
that she knew
there was nothing
either of us could do
“Still I Toil On”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
my old hoe is dull
and the weeds
resist its blade
still I toil on
iron sharpens iron
rust begets rust
the crucible of life
makes or breaks
which shall I choose
do I even have a choice
my garden’s neglect
pains my soul
its hardened soil
thirsts for more
than rain
too many weeds
too few blooms
a loathsome facsimile
of the worst of me
these hands
cracked and dirty
beset by age
and the scars
of a futile life
once strong enough
to break the earth
shatter stone
yet tender still
to caress the lotus
dry the tears
of my beloved
these calloused hands
empty now
save for the
piercing splinters
and burning blisters
of stillborn harvests
and sundered dreams
once, long ago
across the stream
my young man’s eyes
beheld the youthful willow
nubile and lithesome
her slender feet
glissading upon
the cool water
sinuous fronds
breeze-blown
her sultry-shy gaze
beckoning me
offering respite
from noonday sun
and I watched from afar
as egret and kitsune
nestled in her shadows
and I yearned for her
but my garden
needed tilling
my hoe dull even then
my back bent
from years of struggle
my heart distracted
by worries of harvests
yet to be
and in my hesitation
she turned away
and all was lost
cicadas drone
in the bamboo grove
their maddening chorus
a condemnation
their brief lives
leave little time
for memories
but plenty
for judgment
their desiccated husks
reminding me
of life’s brevity
all I’ve lost
all I needlessly
carry with me
it has been too long
since the rains fell
too long since the wind
cooled my brow
too long since
my soul slept
too long have I
gripped this
infernal device
my entire existence
rooted in this
garden of regrets
I have become
the very weed
I wish to slay
still I toil on
for there is naught left
but to toil
until my blade breaks
or the harvester’s scythe
takes me away
“Clarity”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
in my twilight world the seasons blur
snow on flowers, freezing summer rain
I seek clarity
dim uncertainty
gloaming settles on this silent vale
neither night nor day exists for me
in the mist beyond the frozen stream
yurei whisper in the burning woods
Yomi’s fey lament
nowhere left to go
hesitance and indecisiveness
stranded on the threshold of the fates
in the heavens moon eclipses sun
as Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto
fervently pursues
Amaterasu
fulfilling his futile destiny
casting earth below in shadow gloom
machinations of the earth obscure
as this spinning orb succumbs to guile
in its rayless fugue
and all eyes fall, dazed
as the haze of chaos binds and blinds
my discernment crumbles into dust
truth has lost its glimmer and its sheen
pyrite baubles magnified as gold
in one hand a rose
in the other hand
a dagger; the heart of man depraved
confusion’s inferno conflagrates
forests turn to ash, and ash to snow
bitter flakes descend upon the tomb
of veracity
cloak in acrid pall
verity’s forlorn sarcophagus
candor’s mere slowly evaporates
I can’t tell the darkness from the light
hope, despair—awareness betrays me
every day the scale
of acumen fails
there is naught left but to close my eyes
and weep for lucidity’s demise
“A Latticework of Tears”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
autumn rain has come
orb weaver’s sorrowful web
a latticework of tears
a trellis of weathered memories
in this mournful
forgotten meadow
abandoned
as dusk’s demise
renders moot
vestigial joy
and hope
gives up its ghost
your dreams, you say
what of your dreams
those airy flights of fancy
those rumblings of your soul
tinged the hue of
virginal sun rays
so bright as to
blind you to
the world’s apathy
and horror
so urgent and strident
as to stay your sleep
at night
so incendiary as to
ignite worlds
birth universes
I know of dreams
I know of death, too
the slow withering
of saplings whose
brittle stems
shall never
reach maturity
whose once
verdant leaflets
become piles of
yellow dross
that fade into
oblivion
I know the soul-crushing
pressure of expectations
the futility of failure
the exhaustion of anhedonia
I know the tainted love
of depression
a foul mistress
the bleak and hollow
echoes of loneliness
the roiling pit
of dread and uncertainty
for what lies ahead
dreams memories tears
an elegiac dirge
for a life lost
a life misspent
bereft of love and lenity
the godless howl
of the past
the gaping maw
of the future
I know these things
shattered pieces
of my dreams
litter this lea’s
desiccated grasses
I must tread with caution
lest I slice myself
bloody
let the weaver’s web
display my tears
as trophies of defeat
I have bled enough
let what’s left of me
fall to the earth
as autumn rain
“Stream Among the Reeds”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
stream among the reeds
peeks at me through cattails
laughs and runs away
do you know you have my heart
do you, little one
I am but an old man now
nearing the clearing
in the woods where I will lie
among columbines
and verdant ferns to make peace
with the universe
every season has its end
every leaf must fall
Luna’s aspect silver-sheened
cycles heavenward
but you, my fair lithesome stream
whose silken skin glows
gilded ‘neath this summer’s eve
whose siren-song calls
forth the sweetest memories
from a lifetime’s font
of sorrow and bleak despair
whose ethereal
caress balms this broken soul
you, my little one
nurture and rejuvenate
keeping hope alive
koi kitsune dragonfly
tree and earth and sky
all accept your gracious gift
but what of you, friend
what recompense lies in store
for your kindly ways
koi glide somnolently in
slow shadowed currents
oblivious to your touch
wary kitsune
drink covertly, disappear
into bamboo groves
gone without a second thought
dragonflies alight
absent-minded and aloof
on reeds and never
acknowledge you smiling face
as you watch amused
do you ever wonder, friend
if anyone cares
does your joyful mien disguise
a heart bereft of
love, a loneliness so deep
it cripples you and
leaves you reeling as you wend
your way on life’s path
through wood and meadow and cleft
choking back your tears
I am not long for this world
but I’m here for you
my friend, let us sit and talk
and commune beneath
this willow upon your bank
let us share our souls
let our words pierce through the veil
that obscures our hearts
let us spend what time is left
in good company
years ago you smiled at me
peering through the reeds
and that’s made all the diff’rence
in the world to me
you’ve made all the difference to me
Silent Pariah 