Without a Filter

I’m tired of your wine-and-dine parade of foods,
Unfiltered for the full effect and captioned too:
It’s “just a little snack” or “dinner made for two;”
I know you say you’re thinking of dear you-know-who,
But keep your kale and eat the lamb,
Just Instagram your love.

I’m sick of selfies, forty-five degrees of space,
The half-seen arm, the posing preen and angled face,
And all the friends who fit into a tight embrace—
I do not care about the sight-seen background place,
Just please adjust your camera-hand
And Instagram your love.

I see your pictures of a dress, but I confess
I want to see that wrinkled wrap you had post-rest
That time I captured something that your eyes expressed
But you detested, discarded with “I look a mess!”
Forget about your filter-tan:
Dear, all it needs is love.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on November 23, 2014 at 10:15 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , ,

Love Lies Bleeding

There is something breeding, Love-lies-a-bleeding,
Says I to the dead Amaranth,
For I’m not misleading, but I feel a breathing
That’s wrapping my neck with romance.

For something is breeding when Love goes pleading
For feeling embraces again,
But Passion is leading, her dewdrops are beading–
Men die when she’s all that remains.

But something is missing, Love reminiscing,
Says the hangman to the headman,
For you say I’m wishing, but I say I’m kissing
The lips of fair Death as deadman.

For something is missing in Amaranth’s string,
When she’s tugging him up from the ground,
But that’s not dismissing the way hangman’s hissing
With drooping black hood at her frown

There’s something completing, Love-lies-a-fleeing,
Says Death through her red velvet lips,
For lies are in meeting, and lies are in greeting,
But Love-lies-within earthen hips.

For something’s completing when Death comes defeating
Her friends and her foes all too soon,
And hangman is cheating, but it’s only fleeting,
For everyone hangs in full bloom.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on October 11, 2012 at 7:14 am  Comments (1)  
Tags: , , , , ,

Amaryllis, the Nightly Amaranth

I never knew my Amaryllis well
Until she turned full bloom to Amaranth
Beneath the moon, and underneath that spell
Her petals fell, while mine were deviant.

She once was the white of innocent eyes,
The ones well-rested still unstained by red,
And I–yes I, the devil in disguise–
Spotted her in that sacred flower bed,

But in another light, by that dark sky
Her color bled, but fed on purple stain,
She bloomed again, her face unchanging dye,
While I was left behind–her red remained.

Her love lies bleeding now, and feeding on;
But truth be told, she feasted all along.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on October 10, 2012 at 1:58 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

She Could Peel an Apple–In One Long, Curly Strip

Forever is always a moment away,
As if ‘twixt the tick and the tock of the clock,
There’s a moment it skips, that you miss as it stops,
And she was between that, but she never stays.

Forever is only a hair-breadth ahead
On the edge of the world–horizon met plains–
And one step from “never was heard from again,”
But beckoning me to her nowhere-shaped bed.

Listen! She’s muttering something obscene,
Between the swift censor of celibate time,
Its second-hand breaking her promising lines,
As if warning me what infinity means.

But she is infinitely calling me near,
And constantly tempting me walk towards the ledge
To hang on the side along Damocles’ edge;
Forever’s no friend, but she’s calling me dear.

She’s promised that she will be kind through the years,
She’s promising me of a love with no end,
She’ll promise no price on affairs we’ll begin;
She feels I’m her lover, so why feel I fear?

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on September 25, 2012 at 11:34 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s Yours

There is a place in distant Aberdeen,
Unseen between the gravel esplanade
And golden sand; not quite a place of Dreams,
But where they visit reveling abroad.

Within this sacred seaside hideaway,
There somehow stays, imprinted in the sand,
A pair of prints around the ocean spray
That mark the steps of woman and a man,

Who, side by side then turning face to face,
Must have become reflections of the dreams
That danced, clasped hands, and reveled in this place,
But never stayed; not in fleeting Aberdeen.

I tried to stay as well, but not for long,
For there’s a different shore where I belong:

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on September 23, 2012 at 10:05 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , ,

To the One I’ve Only Dreamed Of

Dreaming Fantasy

I’ve seen you in my dreams before, some night
When I slept well, when sleep seemed more complete:
The stars aligned, conditions were just right,
And you were there, my vision made concrete.

Above were golden candles burning fog,
Beside you, marble made of mercury,
The dinner guests were chatting, yapping dogs,
All drinking and dining on mystery;

But of the things both great and small and more,
Of all the fantasies I saw there, too,
Of everything I fancied to explore,
I found I only dreamt because of you.

I don’t sleep quite so soundly anymore,
For beds feel much more empty than before.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on September 22, 2012 at 9:56 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , ,

Off the Page

“Why don’t you write me something beautiful,”
She breathed, her question hot across my neck,
Her fingers tracing something suitable
Along my chest, like signing for a check.

The hair that framed her face played over mine
As she explained “like, something from a movie:
Moonlight reflected on a glass of wine
As starlight lovers dine in secrecy,

“Or maybe flowers from a bought bouquet
Still fresh, despite the dusty sill beneath;
Write something beautiful and far away
For me,” she said, and sighed herself to sleep.

I only saw the streetlight through the blinds,
On her, and writing wasn’t on my mind.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on March 31, 2012 at 10:07 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , ,

Tennessee Williams and You

So I’ve been watching a large number of Tennessee Williams plays recently. I figured I may as well sooner or later, being part of a University whose theater department is funded on half his estate. My analysis, for the most part, is such: he is a terrible playwright. Not terrible in the unskilled way; he was extremely capable in my opinion. No, he is a terrible playwright in how his plays portray consistently terrible situations, usually with no clear resolve at the end. His players are losers who continue to lose, and his scenarios are bad and only getting worse. In all honesty, why would one ever go to watch one of them in the first place? After every single one of his plays I have seen put on, I have been left with a sinking hole in my heart reminding me of the despair of the human race. It is not exactly comforting.

It is, however, beautiful. I cannot describe why, but the characters–even in the midst of their despair–present a rare insight into the greatest part of the human condition (if played well, of course). I must say that, while I do enjoy comedy, it has never moved me half as well as a good tragedy. Perhaps another part of this human condition is a fatal attraction towards drama, tragedy, and ill-fortune–kind of like how one cannot help but stare at a car crash in the making or why public hanging became so popular that it was eventually outlawed. Perhaps, as my brother has suggested, tragedy becomes so popular because the audience lives vicariously through the play and are reminded to their relief how their life isn’t. Perhaps we are in love with emotional trauma, and good ol’ Williams knows just how to serve it. God help us, though: we are misery junkies, and God help me, I am hooked on Tennessee Williams’ plays. Gimme my fix, Blanche DuBois: I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

But this is all tangential to my poem-post. If blogging is the food of thought, then here would be the main course:

To Her Sad Condition

O terminal affection, unconditional disease,
To her you’re no infection, but a love she cannot leave.
I’ve seen your wretched smile and I’ve seen your toxic grin
Stretched between her ears, but in a curl ’round her chin.

From there your agents whisper to her all-too willing ears
Bitter sweetened nothings that she made herself to hear.

Meanwhile, through her smile, down her throat, and in her chest,
You lie in cradled comfort as she holds you near her breast—
Dear cancer, how you hold her back! O hands around her heart!
Squeezing warmer blood away until it falls apart,

You cannot just be cut away; that treatment’s surely wrong,
For when the surgeon pulls you out, her heart would go along.

There’s no abusive manacles who make her stay this way,
And nothing forced her starry eyes within a weary gaze,
But Tragic Touch, Lamenting Love, I know you made her smile!
If music be the food of love, then yours would be the bile!

Despite her sad condition, though, she still insists she’s glad:
She wore your wretched smile ’cause it’s the best she’ll ever have.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on July 24, 2011 at 1:35 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , ,