In Service of Flies

Fyodor waits inside the parlor

A fin of port slowly poured

Then

Deep voices are skillfully eased

The coy canter

Propositioned and the pace inaudible begins to rise

I sense a turn in horror

Menacing latitudes of innocent clouds

Eastwardly 

Though my ears know the clear report of distance

In thunder I stand unusually calm

I’ve discerned these clouds before I tell myself foolishly

These birds from sun that touch on high

Spared indenture over the care and hands ‘neath tide

Each one plies its own orphan

Swirling copiously

Naked and shimmed in poison

It is only moments till they bleed their crags

Moments till we know our crumbling stage

And two score the doors forever closed

Or so the zodiac goes

Fresh sons will die tonight

Their daughters and revolution

Slaughtered with the elders and

Each lost inside the bed of starry-eyed prophecy

But the time is still made young 

We but customed cod are locked inside our barrels

Set in route to hinge like spiritual catfish

And in the vinegar transit I cannot help but realize

Pour out the port and

Engage these climes alone

The parlor dark and the soul alive

Beyond the service of flies

Author's Note

WIP

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Sounds like a good opening to a fantasy novel.

[Perdition]

You didn't catch the movie? Hey Fabian, good to see ya again and thanks fof reviewing the title. Always there for what matters and quick the matters the matter to rest...lol. Come round soon to see what you've done since last I hobbled past lies to rest the weariness of this tiresome ole rattled cafe. Or in otherwords ...God Bless ya dear poet..haha~

[Fabian G. Franklin]

And many fine returns to you of all things bright and beautiful, F.

[Arundass TP]

Nicely written Excellent poem. Loved it

[Perdition]

Thanks, appreciate the read~

[ThisSiteSucks]

It's me Eternity. I've changed my photo and handle for a story I'm doing.
Ah, Perdition, I absolutely adore your writes and when you're gone, the land here is dead.
Every line of each stanza is a poem within itself.
My favorite: Pour out the port and

Engage these climes alone

The parlor dark and the soul alive

Beyond the service of flies

(Your photo looks just like Depp) I thought he was very poetic in Pirates of the Carribean.
Thanks for sharing the write!
"Desiderata Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story."

[Perdition]

Has been a minute or two, hasn't it, though? Such things are these made for our days of December. Memories in the winter days, a fresh covering of snow, while we sit beneath a trillion different flakes spiraling with our words in wild sharings, free is always the best, isn't it ?! Such are the beautiful words, bordering on the banks and reminders of ancient loveliness. I hope it snows this year...seems like it will, but, to me, THIS is a snowing of sorts, so I'm going to make an Angel or two out of it...you're welcome to join in, and there's fresh warm Hot Apple Cider or Coffee inside ..yep, wine too if ya like...grab me a cup if you don't mind, thank you so much. A Wonderful Review Indeed!!..lol. So you've gone into stories, have you ..Hmmm? Well, if ever a story was to be written, I can think of no other author better than Eternity!! Smiles and Hugs from across the Cafe...Happy December!! ~

[ThisSiteSucks]

No, Perdition, I am no author. I am the one who waits and pines for the great one to arise. Please do me the honor of pointing me to your novels.

[ThisSiteSucks]

Perdition, and now as before, when I return you will be no more. The mountains will have you once again and once again I wait for your return to have the joy of your words though brief. Alas, the hell...the hell.

[Perdition]

You see that star just to the right of Polaris..There...there is where my soul from words spindle on cold nights like these whern all the air is fresh with the scent of evergreens and the pen must wait for the hollering steamed water just now coming to its boil, a fresh cup of something to be made are in these Eternal things when all the darkness seems to twinkle from the soft, tiny sparkles of the shivering gaslit city. Almost as if it was always meant to be...Any books beyond these, I'm afraid, lie in streams or atop the Spring grass, where the clouds of the ceiling chips away in paint, slowly floating down from above in a sort of mental rain for the recoverings. Sometimes that storm within the coffee cup, though it has been a minute since I've had any such potion or renderings. Thank you for the inspiration and kind words. I suppose you never know. Maybe, just maybe, that now quiet Crapemyrtle last August when white was keeping notes all along, perhaps a novel or two may be in his wake come Spring? Go, write the good words and the greater stories. We are all our authors of some sort or another. Web makers of memory, I do believe it was a worthy page you left, but I will look. ~

[Priscilla Sayers]

I can not help but feel the sorrow, the tension, behind the voice that drives this amazing piece....
As always I love the way you bring a flow, all your own, to the page. The old world tongue drips like sweet nectar for the hummingbird, whose wings beat into invisibility, as she hovers, sipping the offering of heart and soul. You are a cherished poet.

[Perdition]

When the, What the, How did ya??....Well, we'll have to discuss this one day soon, Canvas...lol. Been far too long and I know, totally my fault! But remember now, I have always been that man on his mountain without any wifi. Wishing you, a bit late in the making, I know, but a Merry or Happy Holidays all the same~