In the tub another scent falls.
I have to keep your coveralls
Separate from my undies,
To not mix sharp with ivories.
Yesterday folds flat unflattered.
Today is still unhampered.
A pocket kept key is a find,
Spinning the churning inside.
A cool down cycle cannot chime,
Till stains are aired in due time.
Changed clothes, lid won’t close,
No socks in vent where we expose.
This old outfit fades to mundane
Shades of blame without gain
Bent shoulders stretch and grieve,
Wearing your heart on my sleeve.
Staging captured audience.
Then curtain tore top to bottom.
Despite quaking judgement seat
spectators slept through finale.
The next acts have no intermission.
removed to higher tier,
Pit replaced by fresh well-springs.
The building burned to grey walls,
old ones wail but will not leave.
Lye and ash cannot scrub clean
Look ; that foundation wall never collapsed,
where the beams had fallen,
despite a blinding dome like a skull cap.
Towering edifices will all fall.
Dreams are not the stuff of martyrs.
The truth was buried in the hill,
the stone has fallen away.
forgive the wielders.
Tongues of fire seek, consume
everything, and that is the end.
But eyes are not the mirror to the soul.
The best invitation is heard in person.
And, the door is always unlocked
By the free pass key if you discern to turn.
Promise fulfilled in the newborn…
Peak Of Understanding
Flat plain eyes to easy ground
never raise a prayer to view?
I struggle, compelled to climb,
limping mountain man shadow.
Heavy matter, raw boulders,
these I cannot stand under.
So much valley gravity,
each iron clad situation.
Polar opposites attract.
Two wrongs do not make a right.
Far too many negatives.
Are we the same, you and I?
Somebody made a left turn,
missed the signs yielding to life,
Dead end path to screeching stop.
Cliff will not be death of me!
Past depths weigh each weary step.
A long climb, my soul such thirst.
Teardrops taste, salt sweat on tongue.
Raindrops have no strings attached.
A covenant of freedom
Lifts my face to upper cloud
at peak of understanding.
Wisdom’s word, the solid brace:
Who seeks peak unless from depth?
Final peak, lifeline forward.
But I need faith, just a cinch.
Mist I crave obscures, for real.
They say summit air is thin.
Wind of spirit close to breathe.
Hope, a light above this cloud,
its gift is the final word.
Turning the other cheek to another tack
Behold and beware the plumber’s crack
See His Image
fragile crystal eyes
street people load bearing wall
God’s worn graffiti
Following the line
My signature touched your face
But story was yours wrinkles?
Hands steeple fingers
I saw no temple therein
Unfolded palms turn
About the Poet
Misty Rose poetry is published in 4 hard-cover anthology books at the United States Library of Congress and in academic journals. She is the only accepted “Spoken Word Artist” in the state of Oklahoma, U.S.A. on the Poets & Writer’s Directory http://www.pw.org/content/mistyrose_ok . She was the Featured Guest Poet in 2014 at Houston Texas U.S.A.