haiku1

“Magic really speaks
in the mountains. From every
bird and evergreen.”

_____

Daily Haiku by Marshall Deerfield

Have a personal haiku sent to you through my Dream Poet For Hire service!

(source: marshalldeerfield.tumblr.com)

Advertisements

The Syzygy Journal issue no. 2

bloodmoon

Today some of my traveling haikus were published among the literary stars of the Syzygy Poetry Journal issue no. 2. This special collection has a theme of the eclipsing blood moon we just witnessed only last week. Perfect for an Aries warrior poet… You’ll find me in the constellation Lampyridaen. Enjoy!

Check out the collection here: https://syzygypoetryjournal2.wordpress.com/

The Syzygy Journal issue no. 2

In The End, There Are New Beginnings

In the end, I think my funeral will resemble that Truffaut film
That one where the playboy dies
And all of his past loves appear to see him off
Then the film retraces his life through their stories

In the end, all the women of my life will be there
Some will be crying in misery
Others won’t be able to hold back the urge to spit on my grave
They will be unsure of exactly why they even came
But something pulled them all together in this precious ballet
My mother will be there too
And she’ll be proud of how many friends I made
While I lived
Sharing a handkerchief with the one’s who I loved the most
As far as friends, I guess she is right
We were all friends at some point before I died.

Iin the end, they will all be surprised to see me go
They will all be surprised about who else is there
Their stories will reflect upon both my positive and negative attributes
But mostly how I left them wanting
Some will have wished to marry me
While others will have wished to watch me die
A thousand times.
And in the end, I don’t think any of them will feel satisfied.

In the end, I don’t think I will have really died
Instead, I think this will have been just a new beginning
All ties freshly cut and new horizons possible
With everything I have learned up until this point
Stuffed into my pockets
I think, in the end, I will be able to finally rebuild my life
The way I should have lived it all along.

In The End, There Are New Beginnings

And now, a love poem

Long golden locks
Collecting the sunlight in their amber
Curls I could get lost in
With my fingertips
Interweaving my life force with yours
Soft relaxed breath
Salutations of my heart
Beating against your backside
We drift to sleep
Complimenting each other’s personalities
Being impressed by what the other has done with their life
I dream the compliments continue empathetically
And through our skin so close we vibrate fondness
From the way your body rests wrapped up in mine
You say,
Thank you for being the being that you want to be
Your freshness emanates hope for the rest of us
And I hold you tighter to me saying,
Thank you for being the being that you are
Without you and all that you do
Things would fall apart
There being no hope to muse upon
We drift further into REM
Our bodies final ode
A simple chorus
Thank you for being.

And now, a love poem

Point of Departure

20140630-161538-58538294.jpg

“At first I thought I was traveling through space and time. Then I realized space and time were all cyclical and I was only a small point in this grand departure.”

Photo of Feeling the Fall, an art installation at Plato’s Porno Cave: The Trial designed by Marshall James Kavanaugh and Augustus Depenbrock. Taken by Willow Zef.

Point of Departure

City Life in the Summer

20140626-160052-57652170.jpg

Took the train to Center City. Then bought a new pair of shoes to replace an old pair full of holes and covered in paint. Walked to Callowhill. Walked to Fairmount. Walked back to Northern Liberties. Walked up to Kensington. Walked in the daylight. Walked in the sun. Drank tea and walked further.

Saw the tired. Saw the homeless. Saw the crazed. Saw the 9 to 5ers and the unemployed. Saw people up all night and people just starting their day. Saw the soup kitchens. Saw the cafes. Saw the backyard barbecues. Saw the empty park benches. Saw the morning air fade. Felt my slanted nose with sudden pain and walked on further into the day.

I dreamt I was a simple man, walking in the woods. I imagined the skyscrapers to be giant mountains and the roadways little streams. Trees everywhere. People’s voices distant bird calls. And so much greenery. I thought what it would be like if every day I started with a walk, and instead of a city I had an endless wilderness to call all my own. I thought this and I continued my walk home.

City Life in the Summer

Muse Poetry

20140523-105121.jpg

an excerpt from a forthcoming book of love poems devoted to the inner muse

The muse floats in on a breeze set from far south.
A springtime celebration of all that is.
Satiate the writer with your arid flow.
On the opposite end of the dream is a new reality.
Crossing oceans. Crossing continents.
Bliss is a fail safe for the undramatic.
A king’s ecstasy in love for the one who created him years ago.
Passion. Satisfaction. Exactly what was meant to unfold.

Muse Poetry