Holy Candle Blues

Lire en français
page 2
Gone Like That
4am Zen Sunday Blue
Doll With No Mind
Holy Candle Blues
Marooned Bells
Raspberry Café
Back Cover

In the sweet red sunset

angel brother bends his blown glass ear over the wall of eternity

listening in on my restless rathouse jam.


She entered peeling story-caked walls

riding lightning rod brooms

swept me out to half-dippermoon bridge

we swung downtown where

waltzing heirs warmed six-figure derrieres above smorgasboard fires

I faked all the right questions into hell’s paradise


panting at the emerald city orgasm

waiting beneath her olive skin gypsy thin cocktail feast

ignoring the runaway beast


and someone beamed

they make a great couple

as we dished sweat

to god’s blistering last-chance desperate romance bugle call

my ragged sailor heart pirouetting out the hornpipe door

where muddy cliffs lick their chops and more..


On the way down

the devil in white linen gown served dark red obsession wine

before flaming flambé soft brown coconut limbs stole my grin

a fly doing backflips in the honey pot.


The lava-baked sea

million miles away

a moaning rusted ship creaked like a red infection

begging to be freed from the last ripples in that skin game port.

You knew all along prophet of the beautiful tracks

that my ramble played in a forest of doom

I surrender dear Monk in the sad samba night.


That wind pushed me mountains away

flushed me out of hiding in the prehistoric pubescent

road-burnt grotto

at the piano bar you played me like a thundering chord

till a midnight candle grabbed the shades

fire roaring down in flames

we crawled like god’s sweet snails to the clear-as-a-bell day.


Glaring up through the dark blue smoke

where red sunset angel rained wild, untamed amazing grace ashes

down on desperate love’s last twitch

applauding the singed curtain call

'live! live!' he cried from his bongo perch on heaven street


hot orange coals fading in the chilled breeze

words we’ll never speak again you and I

unless fate has too much time to deal strange train cards.


This harp strung midnight reverie

sad violins hijack innocent dreams

and twist the arm of violet-coated wishes.


In my hidden dark room

holy candle blues...

whispers a sea wind blowing.

Poem Michael D. Amitin,
Photograph Julie Peiffer