The Symbols in Chaos

The ten tales, gold platted fables,
Hand picked, polished, and let to fly.
Ninth of a piece, twirling in the wind,
The never seeing eye.

A dangling clef, tremolo plays,
Quivering voice of sleep, they fade.

The eighth fable, fabricated in white,
The seventh a sin to foretell.
Crackling fire kindles a remembrance,
Bereaved toll of a forgotten bell.

The pitch vibrates, lets out an angst,
Faith lost in the sinking carpal.

The beast from hell with head count of six,
Break one, form one, divide your fear,
The clock hands made a five,
The all seeing eye, doesn't hear.

Timber of faith, quivering sound,
Southern wind heard a faint cry.

The division bell toll four, morning, and night,
Amber lit sky hit a chord of three.
Pondering the everlasting meaning,
The sky lays, staring on earth, never free.

The tempo rose, sky the limit,
Heart beat along, match they say.

At two in the noon, the sun would smile,
Down at that one lily flower.
I wonder what the sun ever thought,
Locked in an unseen tower.

- Tim

The Dwellers of The Refried Bean Can.

This Poem is dedicated to the stranger named Eki.

The day was long, and night no different,
So he sat pondering over an empty can.
And long did his thoughts run, 
Wild did they go before dissolving into night.

At length he stood up, to throw the empty can
At length his thoughts failed, he had no plans.

The can spoke, a feeble voice,  or he thought, 
'The nights been long, I should sleep'.
The can spoke again, scared he dropped,
'I am Eki', the voice echoed through the night.

He was startled, 'My mind is playing tricks'
He was startled, 'I just heard a can speak'.

'Who speaks, I demand to know', he asked,
Scared white, and ghastly pale, he asked.
'I am Eki, and I live in this can', the can replied.
His sleep was lost, and darker grew the night.

'Why do you live in a can', he mustered some courage,
'Why do you live alone in a can', his thoughts ran strange.

'I am not alone', replied the can,
'Who else lives there', he sat besides the voice.
'I don't know his name, call him Clyde'
'And I love this can', the voice sparked the night.

'I must be tired', He thought to himself,
'I must be tired', to hear a can talk some sense.

'I was in Nebraska, before I moved in',
He couldn't help, but listen to the  talking can.
'And two years old I am', giggles, to tease the scared man.
'But Its dark in here mister, and Clyde is scared of the night'.

He couldn't help, but listen to the story,
He couldn't help for he felt a little sorry.

'I can help you move out of the can', 
'No, we like it here', retorted the can.
'So what do you call your can.' He seemed interested,
'The Refried Bean Can', the voice sparkled into the night.

They talked for hours, into the darkness of the night ,
They talked for hours, till the morning sun light.

Somewhere through the talk, his sleep caught up,
A small nap, as the morning rays hit his eyes,
He woke up, found the can in broad day light,
He opened it, searching for Eki, from the night.

The can lay bare, empty as from the night,
The can lay bare, Eki was nowhere in sight.

Half Face

....He watched the half painted face on the wall smile...

His eyes opened to a new morning, white lilies on his table,
The bright yellow tint of the morning sun, streamed his mind,
He watched the half painted face on the wall, blinked his eyes.

The nights spoil, spread under his bed, he could feel the heartbeat,
As he stepped aside to his new day, the face on the wall smiled,
The smile turned to laughter, pride his only emotion.

The spider crawled away, as his hands reached in to the depths,
Depths of his unaltered life, the lips parted in half a smile,
Love, he knew was that which changed the face, the half face.

The lily bloomed, a half white silver petal, fading at its root,
Something had changed from the previous night, spiders in his brain,
The red pool that had formed, reflected his evil self, the passion.

He watched the lily fade away, the white turning to pale rust,
He watched her smile fade away, the sunlight fade into darkness,
The spiders crawl back, as he laid her down, under his bed.

The Lady In The Portrait

The sweet smile, and a morbid love,
I never knew, what changed my mind,
But when I drew her on my canvas,
It was night for me, and sunshine for her.

I tried, to make the colors look alive,
But she was adamant, made me look grim,
I reasoned with her, and then a long walk,
But nothing would change, for she was mine.

I drew her, a damsel in distress,
I drew her, for I loved her face more,
The colors were alive, and vibrant with fear,
Then a scream, when my true colors came alive.

Was it the noose, or the blade,
I couldn't tell but she screamed,
She called me crazy, a compliment,
When I let her dangle on her life.

She was captured, never to be free,
She was enslaved, within my dreams,
Then with a chilling shrill, she broke free,
Death became her solace.

I tried reason, but she would't listen,
I tried love, but she would't understand,
For all she saw was a withering cloud,
Under the shadow of a new dream.

Then finally to capture her,
To enslave her within my portrait,
I tightened my noose and swung my knife,
Until not a red drop would remain.

Judge me

The Sour Grapes

"I just wish I had tasted the grapes, atleast I wouldn't have been cribbing about them being sour..."

Smiling one sunny day, the fox,merrily rambled away,
Through the undergrowth, and a wet path covered in moss.

A vineyard he did cross, whence he laid his eyes on the grapes,
Dark-purple and delicious, they did hang on the drapes,

He sat underneath the grapes, "A grape or two won't hurt", he thought,
A jump followed the thought, then another, and another, till he tired out.

No mater how much he jumped, no grape he could grasp,
So atlast disheartened he started to march back, with a heavy heart.

There sat a crow, watching the show, smiling to himself,
Then a question escaped his naughty little beaks, as he squeaked.

"Why do you leave Mr Fox, already tired and giving up are you?",
"The grapes are sour, and I don't fancy 'em any more", sighed the fox

"But they are sweet up here", mocked the crow, in a sympathetic voice,
The fox din't reply, he swallowed hard as he walked away, thinking.

"If only I had tasted a single grape, I wouldn't have lied, I wouldn't have cried,
but now I crib about the grapes being sour, even without trying one."

The Orange Ball

The streets were deserted.
Not a soul stood by,
Under the yellow sodium light,
Did the night come to life.
A little boy played along the way,
As his mother stood by, heard him say,
"Mother buy me an Orange Ball"
"For I want to play with other Boys"
"Who have the same"

The mother didn't reply, let the silence talk
For an orange ball, she couldn't afford
The child was quite, merging with his mother,
The silence talked loud, as they looked eye in eye

"But its just an orange ball I ask", said the boy
"Why won't you buy me one, mother won't you reply"
She stood there silent, no words ever came out.
The boy did nag, then something caught his eye,
A glitter of tear that swelled up in his mother's eye

"Why do you cry mother", he did ask
Silence again, she didn't reply,
For what her kid would know, what hardships were.
For all he asked was for the Orange Balls.