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.

SON TEMPLE

Staging captured audience.

Then curtain tore top to bottom.

Despite quaking judgement seat

spectators slept through finale.

The next acts have no intermission.

Skeleton orchestra

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

unsettled generations.

Look ; that foundation wall never collapsed,

light stream

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.

Rawhide welts

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.

 Cheeky

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

Your Temple

Following the line

My signature touched your face

But story was yours wrinkles?

Opening

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.

The post Poetry by Misty Rose first appeared on Prachya Review.