i have looked for you, as i have

i have looked for you, as i have looked for myself
and never finding either, but you call
softly to me over the blackest of night,
caressing my cheek with your song.

your silence frightens me, as the thought   
never to hear your voice, like bells
ringing to the heavens, as god smiles;
never has there been such a sound.

if i shall never hear you again, the memory
will carry me over winds of time, scattering
the ashes of my existence to the place
where you will be forever, waiting for me.

we are nothing apart, but together we are one
we are the same, connected by the fragile cord
of love, brilliant with the fire of the sun
and deeper than the darkness of the heavens.

i cannot fathom the power you hold
over me; sometimes the most extraordinary
things are not destined to be understood
they just are

© K.D. Schultz

The Mask-Maker (Il Mascherai)

I am a mascherari as ten fathers before me.

Their magic lives through my hands,

Enshrouding those I touch in mystery.

Venice sleeps under the blackest night;

The morning brings 30,000 from many lands.

I am a mascherari as ten fathers before me.

Many seek my touch, my skill, my insight,

But the choice is mine, you understand?

Enshrouding those I touch in mystery.

Jewel glass blown, leather stretched—gesso white

Gold leaf gleams with the touch of my hand

I am a mascherai as ten fathers before me.

Feathers in black and white take flight;

The bauta keeps your secrets where you stand,

Enshrouding those I touch in mystery.

Black velvet, the soft shimmer of your veil—ignites

Fire unknown, you disappear with a wave of your hand.

I am a mascherari as ten fathers before me.

Enshrouding those I touch in mystery.

© K.D. Schultz

Table Offerings

Cracked leather, safely
tucked away in the fortress
of old mahogany.

Pages crackle like kindling,
burning in the red glow
of fire and light.

Great, great mother of mine.

Delicate fingers, faded
swirls—seeped from feathers
plucked; sharpened nibs,
like an arrow in blood.

The secrets you left come to life
on the alter of creation;
amid heavy iron, ceramic bowls
in crimson and gold.

“A clove of garlic, a pinch of salt,
grind the pepper, don’t forget...”

I hear you in the gurgle: bubble, bubble...
I see you in the steam,
did I do it right?

Smooth oak handles crowned with Celtic loops:
turning, stirring, scooping
cleaver concoctions of wisdom.

Witches brew, goddess potions,
magic fare ignites, when                          
past and present collide
on the dinner table tonight.

© K.D. Schultz

The Doll

Why do you put me on this pedestal?
The metal rod hurts like hell.
My body marred with time;

empty bisque shell,

my splendor gone to the wayside.

I come from greatness: exquisite.

I am a Jumeau—his hands,

like God’s.

Memories haunt my mind

of carriages and little girls,

twirling in silks and muslin,

theirs no less than yours.

A thousand little caresses

passed on and on

to you,

Their adoration lost,
in the slow tapping
of time.
My delusions of grandeur
end now, with you.

Tears—murky water
stain my satin bows and pinafores.

I wore them with pride.

Soft, small hands
caressed my silken strands,
black as night,
now tucked away in twelve years
of dust and grime.

My eyes gleam bright
in the kaleidoscope light.
Azure blue, like yours.
Faded with time,
and respite.

I am tired of spiders,
weaving their silk tales
on me every night.

I am tired of moths,
nocturnal feasting mouths
on my brittle clothes.

My china face you awed,
I did yours every night.
The tap-tap chips away
till I am nothing,

but dust and dry bone.

© K.D. Schultz

Lost in Hemingway

Photo Source: Wikimedia

Ernest--
The Seine laps the Left Bank,
Softly penetrating deaf ears.
Clicking feet meander down
Boulevard de Montparnasse.
Do not yield to the call
The one that you heard, always
Always, in Montparnasse.

Ernest--
She looks for you down Rue Delambre.
The Dingo Bar, now a restaurant,
Obliterates memories
Of days long gone, when
Streets teemed with brilliance.
Electric air--charged
With the mind of the God.

Pen and paper like dry bones
Are reborn with flash and beeps,
Fingers clicking, devoid of inspiration.

She only wants you--
Ernest Hemingway.
Only you and only yours.

© K.D. Schultz

Ghosts of My Blood

Ghosts of my blood beckon me home,
Like ancestors, I brave gunmetal water.
Toward England's shore I've never known,
Her arms stretch out, enveloping her daughter.

How many have trespassed this tower
Of gray and stone? How many roam
The crooked streets to marvel at its wonder?
Ghosts of my blood beckon me home.

Big Ben stares into the dark night alone
I keep him company in the wee small hour,
Crossing London Bridge, stepping into the unknown
Like ancestors, I brave gunmetal water.

I breathe in the night of Westminister's power.
Starlight falls across St. Paul's dome.
Familiar stirrings fill my soul to wander
Toward England's shore I've never known.

Bestowing centuries of wisdom renowned.
The voices, long ago called to the Father.
The soul: rising, wanting, long foregone,
Her arms stretched out, enveloping her daughter.

The Thames brings life in blood and water.
England's children come back to roam
In London's dark bones and mortar.
I join them, open the mind to its tome, Ghosts of my blood.

© K.D. Schultz

Passion's Poison

The filtered light lays
across the emptiness of your side,
my hands clenched in memories
of calloused strength
caressing folds of pink.

The oak smell permeates
the satin walls-
a cage holding you in,
molecules of passion embedded
forever in me.

I languish in death dreams
of yesterday
of you.

Tomorrow is
of no consequence.

© K.D. Schultz

Movie Star

The vultures are circling
Perched to strike
Again and again.
Are you looking for a sign
Of frailty?  Of weakness?
In my skin.

They eat me whole
While smiling.
Lights flashing
Taking my soul
It tastes good,
              doesn't it?

I adjust the mask
It has to be tight
If I must survive
This business at all.

Breathing in, I see
Their mouths
Of jagged white, 
I breathe deeply

And smile, and smile, and smile

My best role is yet to come
Such lies everywhere-- no?
But fools abound.
I begin...

"I'd like to thank the Academy..."

© K.D. Schultz

I do

(Photo Source:  Dan Becker of Democrats)

the lady stands
in white, gauzy pleasure;
wrapping the world
in purity.
only for a time.

©  K.D. Schultz

Salvation in White

(Photo Source:  fahrmboy)

soft lush in twilight

caressing the marred earth

ruination by human touch

wiped clean 

each footprint disappears

so easily from memory

©  K.D. Schultz