Zdzisław Beksiński, Untitled, oil on fibreboard, photo: courtesy of the Gallery of Zdzisław Beksiński in Historical Museum in Sanok

Desiccated by tweet to burden
calm by conspiracy for the climb,
escalating the remains of self
unencumbered by love for partisan
peers, they massed in jowls and joints
with limbs to mob transition.

Hallucinations of Pelosi and Pence as non
persons of interest garnered lynch value
when Christian incontinence
was spewed in the chamber
bludgeoned over blood of order and law.

Lives do not matter when blackness is a catalyst
for rage engendered by the fraud known as Trump —
the aborter of eight whitewashed to pro
life gone askew with beatings by flags
MAGA vandalized to whip those in blue…

Free verse and Election 2020

Photo by Bianca Berg on Unsplash

I am undone with a sequence of dreams
and a trip over tiles
spelling _OUR_ON at the corner of St. Ann
as I smack lip gloss rainbows
into deflated balloons
red with MAGA
bound in pastel shades of ribbon
faded with piss
coiled around a Heineken
broken at the neck
at the edge of the French Quarter.

The transition in blinks
wanes with the blinds drawn in blue.

I pinch myself with the truth.

Democracy has projected a win
over the wrenching in my pangs.

There is no blood
and no stench,
but I feel such a welt
from a celebration of sleep

Free verse and loss

In loving memory of Brandi Scanlon

Photo by David Reynolds on Unsplash

I scour the halo from my bones in denial. This ending of yours comes unbound from the pages of Marvel, where we’d scamper the waywards of New Orleans to ride mechanical bulls and squat on thrones.

I am amiss in the stream of a wildfire on this laptop atop photos of a courtyard and a tavern drive-by, crumpling to ash like a ScanTron of Bourbon Street swirled up and ablaze with mountains in lackluster. Sierra Madre and Jackson Square sashay to fire in the picture of your eyes. …

Benign brain tumor, lipoma, MRI of the poet, edited with Bazaart. This lipoma, combined with resulting autonomic flares from #Dysautonomia, makes it difficult at times for this poet to write.

beyond some lipoma

Photo of lightning over Bogalusa, LA by Dionne Charlet edited with Bazaart

tinged gossamer-like ambrosia tendered of stretch

Photo by Dionne Charlet on iPad, Lee Road, Covington, LA — August 8, 2020

collaborated, cloned, and splat where Cybele squats in…

Free Verse and William Wordsworth

aligned under hyperspace within the context of whim

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Turbulence is chic
when italics cap matrices
worked, worded, spoken
to Wordsworth with the keys
molded, holed, and guttural
under fingertips. Acrylic,
apple candy, and filed to fastidiousness
owned, blurted, renowned…

As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye

we roam as characters on a page
of grasses, willows, sky, and wind.

The air and Romanticism,
— his ‘beauteous forms —
meld with the chip
pounded in letters spaced
like Limbo for the Anunaki
aligned under hyperspace
within the context of whim.

Her feeling, rendered more compassionate

I regurgitate and harken cubistic
some wherewithal untold
shrine to the thoughts of a…

the call of your kiss is vivid in the winds

Photo by 兆航 樊 on Unsplash

Carnivorous, like quiet,
the absence of your voice forebodes
with the oracle of mourning
alight in a torrent of rains
that stream with strikes of lightning
deep into the sands we imprinted
beneath the thunder of free fall
to an altar of knees and eternity
washed to heaven with the tide.

The call of your kiss is vivid in the winds
that pace and howl across a pane
so thin, the air itself is a slap of the nothing
that is no longer your embrace,
but a wall cloud racing my dreams
across the leading edge of madness
quelled, in theory, to calm
by the memory of…

Free verse

lilting in cadence

Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

Flustered in my wanderlust,
I tiptoe the meadow of your intent,
sidestepping buttercups
to sacrifice clover
and pluck a cattail
for bookmarking sunsets
aglow in your eyes,
marigold with honeybees
or burnt blue like crystal
besmirched on a spangle of acacia.

I will the sallow to misfits
when mounting your preferences
on an edifice of dianthus,
catching like crochet
unembroidered to a floss
upon the thorns of spurges.

I, stated with euphorbia,
am flowering with fiction,
lilting in cadence,
ever bound to upturn
dandelions in flounces
of chiffon and baby’s breath
fondling your cross-references
to Biblical horticulture
before I blow them to bluster
in an allusion to cotton
with a fistful of wishes.

Thank you for reading! For more free verse and imagery by Dionne Charlet, please click on the link below:

Dionne Charlet

Contemporary poet. Dysautonomia may ravage my mind and body, but no illness can mute my ear for words. Imagery is my Kung Fu. Thank you for reading! #SheWrote

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