Gregory Wallace

Poetry

 

Dark Shadows

 

It has a Gothic shape

sky of gloomy religion

master of carillons

of fate & eternity

henbane embracing

crystal world

when she appears on the beach

a star whispers in my ear:

a feather not snow

blew against the window

stormy sky & not washed out

 

The face of an effigy

hollow

spirituous mists

cold and planetary

your vibrations

supernatural bell

live on

you murmur your magic

mermaids obey you

thin film on the sea's

dark shadows

 

Stones of Fire

 

Inversion of crystals

dreaming far above

the flame

formless blur

replaced the man

the balloon-head

trapped me, but the

image that came

to mind was “bubble”

I became a

tree of fire-bright gold

 

Every paradise seemed

familiar to me

I looked down upon

the circle of horses.

the leaves on the trees

the grasses on the hills

and in the valleys, the waters

in the creeks and in the rivers

knew when i entered the stream

          naiads reveal

                    enchanted grotto

 

 

Black Forest

 

Mermaid touches

beautiful world

echo in crystal river

on shores of stars

emperors child trials

and the phantom tree  

remained with night reefs

small neighboring papers glide

your whiteness a flaming eye

ardent bird flayed crowns

you make color so black stars tickle

angel from rainbow  

radiant against indefinite cat

thin small key adorned window

women surprise anthracite

blue shadows laugh

mermaid lighted small lanterns

gas nymphs savage as glass

and street angel

 

 

Arcadia

 

As I reexamined the

giant, it dwindled

insignificant among

non-reflecting glass

this is not crumbling

of groggy boxer

mother and father

ready to transform themselves

          spiral staircase

sunken deep within the shadows of

other stairways free of time

his striding vehicle ceased

to seem wild, alien

          immobile

& as I entered the temple

some stones floating

above a sea of mist

traversed the

white leaves of Arcadia

 

 

Diana

 

Her lithe body

spinning slowly in space

among green deer

 

In the Arician sanctuary

young girls strip among ancient trees

I almost touch

          palace of the pole star

 

She wraps her languid arabesques

around rays of the sun

her pretty head rolls slowly,

she sits in the clouds wearing a hat of blue gauze

 

Their eyes closed, a row of young girls

stand naked in the sacred wood,

only one of them is dreaming

 

 

 

Gregory Wallace is a poet and artist living in northern California. He is author of The Return of the Cyclades. His work has appeared in Black Scat Review, BlazeVox, Danse Macabre, Sonic Boom, Clockwise Cat & Five 2 One. He has a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature and a Master of Arts in Creative Writing.