Ayaz Daryl Nielsen

There are lakes of emerald water
where harbingers soak their feet--
I hear their long sad sighs.

"hate is unequal,"

ayaz daryl nielsen

"hate is unequal,"
the 60-year-old woman sighs

her sigh makes him shudder
as she strokes him
with mouth and hand

well, mother

ayaz daryl nielsen

well, mother, what I
can do for you now . . .
spread your
ashes over
   this quiet
      valley

61 year old bass player in a pretty good blues band

ayaz daryl Nielsen

upon the piano . . .
rowdy drunks at
the bar bellow
“one more, a
nine couples
sweaty from
dancing, a full
glass of single
malt scotch
ss-
holes!” rebel
yell from a guy
lying on the
floor, two bras
and a joint
tossed upon a
beer-stained
stage . . .

more than
enough for
an encore

Leaving

ayaz daryl nielsen

leaving as a daydream—
a quick “goodbye” as the
room begins to fade

horrorku

ayaz daryl nielsen

her sewing basket,
a collection of
orphan eyeballs

early morning coffee
and the usual
emailed death curse

ant antennae
feeling for missing
back legs

locked ward
hides my shadow
hides my claws

biological clock

ayaz daryl nielsen

her biological clock has stopped
and she emanates
unadulterated promiscuity
and it is so good

this city's

ayaz daryl nielsen

harsh night life—
morning sun
nervously probes
gutter and alley

big booger and

a bicyclist

by ayaz daryl Nielsen

a red light and

I'm digging away

at the tail-end

of a booger

and I've almost

got it despite

the couple beside

us in the Buick

staring at me

with grim distaste

and my wife stating

"that is so gross"

and as the light

turns green, I've got it!

it's wet, sticky

and humungous!

I roll my window

down as my right

index finger care-

fully maintains

the integrity

of this awesome

booger and with

great dexterity

and accuracy

flick it through the

window onto

the back of a

bicyclist in

pink and purple

spandex on a

$10,000 bicycle

and this day

is just that

suddenly

so much better.

the hounds within my poetry

by ayaz daryl nielsen

These howling hounds in my poetry.

Who are they? The hounds who love poetry.

Why are they howling? The love hounds

of poetry, it's their laughter, the laughter of

love hounds, this howling in my poetry.

Lonely

by ayaz daryl nielsen

Lonely as a grave is

six feet deep. Maybe

much deeper. Measure

my loneliness at six-and-

a-half and still descending.

hangover

by ayaz daryl nielsen

hangover and a

mossy rash—what did I

sleep with last night?

profound entrenchment

by ayaz daryl nielsen

upon the man-throne . . .

if I just had cell phone

‘cause am ripping sound

profound and new girl

friend should, could

listen in . . .

or . . .

maybe not.

cabby

by ayaz daryl nielsen

cabby mentions

the undeniable:

“flatulence”

flapping her vents

by ayaz daryl nielsen

flapping her vents—

an unexpected hot flash

from her reactor core

old iron bed frame

by ayaz daryl nielsen

old iron bed frame

the lover my pillows

gossip about

faulty mirror

by ayaz daryl nielsen

faulty mirror

a reflection of

last year’s fool

just a few beers

by ayaz daryl nielsen

just a few beers

(and a shot)

and we’re

no longer

strangers

guys howling

Beast of Burden

full moon

by ayaz daryl nielsen

full moon

blood cousins and I

hunt as a pack

how to address

by ayaz daryl nielsen

how to address

the Cheshire Cat's

nicotine addiction

psychic shithead

by ayaz daryl nielsen

psychic shit-head

knows my poker hand

before I do

buried

by ayaz daryl nielsen

we buried

each arm

a few feet

either side

of his grave

he always

asked for

plenty of

elbow room

meditating

by ayaz daryl nielsen

meditating before

breakfast—already

egg on my face

roller coaster

by ayaz daryl nielsen

roller coaster

you reach

the high notes

and yo-hum

by ayaz daryl Nielsen

and yo-hum . . . another

off-world non-redneck

alien intervention

always the same issue:

none of them

bring along beer.

what the magpie

by ayaz daryl nielsen

what the magpie

of gastrointestinal distress

must have done—

dribble, slobber,

barf, then chortle

in the font

of my morning's

karmic dues

the weight of bones

by ayaz daryl nielsen

unknown bones

solitary murders, mass

executions, forgotten graves,

homicides, human sacrifices

abandoned, unknown,

the never known—

"when we are of

body and spirit,

they carry us

as we carry them

and when they are gone,

we linger and yearn,

an earthbound yearning

from the forgotten, the hidden,

for somebody, somebody

to bless us and tell us good-bye"

in the vast seas

by ayaz daryl Nielsen

in the vast seas

of far Kleptonia

the best bait

for trolling lines

is earthlings

grandma and I

by ayaz daryl nielsen

grandma and I

follow wolf prints

around the barnyard

(until we realize

they're ours)

“now that's gross,”

by ayaz daryl nielsen

“now that’s gross,”

she states, “zombies

with chicken pox,”

thinking to myself,

who’s gonna notice

myths, slumming

by ayaz daryl nielsen

every now and then

among our eons

myths emerge from

the primeval void

within Mediterranean

whirlpools, epicurean

merrymakers and a

few fortunate humans,

reassurance of our

gene pool’s well-

being, vitality, and

ability to party

a faint taste of human

by ayaz dayrl nielsen

a faint taste of human

have to get better

at brushing my teeth

chile verde

by ayaz daryl Nielsen

chile verde

her lips as if

needing a kiss

squeezing peaches

by ayaz daryl nielsen

squeezing peaches

thinking of the

men she’s dated

from the files of: Necro Mancer

Colorado P.I. (Paranormal Instigator) . . .

by ayaz daryl nielsen

case:

aspen dryad, lost

destination of said lost dryad:

august Aspen Lady's

forever tender embrace

said august Aspen Lady:

green fairy queen

of local aspen dryads

enigma:

dryad's lost pathway home

recommendation:

as cicada's dormant silence

between winter's glistening sheets,

sweet-dream as a dewdrop

tumbling with tumble wolves

down a full moon's light-stream

into awakener's waiting arms

awakener:

forever tender

Aspen Lady

outcome:

dryad, dancing among

woodland royalty

around the aspen

of her own home

case:

embraced

file:

closed.

sinews of the primeval goddess

by ayaz daryl nielsen

Sinews of the primeval goddess

stretch and shrink in their sentient

engagement with all dimensions of

earthen interaction, the visceral

foreshadows of an ageless embrace.

breakfast with the soothsayer

by ayaz daryl nielsen

breakfast with the soothsayer

and she

predicts

“this day

will be cold,

cold as a once-revered saber buried

within a forgotten battlefield’s debris,

a saber capable of transmuting ill-will

and evil intent into an intrinsic realization

of the sacredness within all existence . . .

and this saber . . .” pausing, she grasps

my arm . . . “it can, it must be found, found and

wielded by hero and heroine, working together,

as one . . . and you and I,” she states firmly,

squeezing my arm, “it’s up to us . . . it’s us”

the steaming coffee cup

halfway to my lips, suspended

in the silent, fertile morning light. . . .

my breakfast table

by ayaz daryl nielsen

my breakfast table

maple syrup’s sweet-talking

the blueberry pancake

“don’t mind all the calls”

by ayaz daryl nielsen

“don’t mind all the calls”

grandma says to grandpa

“soon there won’t be any”

spouse asleep on

by ayaz daryl nielsen

spouse asleep on

four-fifths of the bed

my gentle nudge

she sleepily states

“move over”

the earth shudders

by ayaz daryl nielsen

the earth shudders

truth-teller of deception

I deny everything

note above Cafe Luna’s toilet

by ayaz daryl nielsen

note above Cafe Luna’s toilet

Please don’t flush:

tampons, <your career> pads, diapers,

paper towels, <underwear>

cups, <your integrity> <plants> trash,

only T. P. peet poo.

thank you.

all our neighbors think that

by ayaz daryl nielsen

all our neighbors think that

we are a bit

weird

could be

the third eyes

and we think all of them

are a bit weird

could be

the extra arms

and it seems that

we’re all

a bit

right.

grandfather’s starship

by ayaz daryl nielsen

grandfather’s starship

dry-dock and mothballs . . . yet,

sis and I, our dreams

empty spaceship

filled with shadows of

deep-space adventure

the old robots

waiting in great-grandfather’s shuttle

yes, they remember

within the robot eyes

dreams and visions the

color of humans

further, even further

beyond all known boundaries

yes, full-throttle overdrive!

this unexplored black hole

singing hymns of well-being

for whatever awaits us

and at least

take time

to explore

our universe

for you

for me

for

all

us.

neighbors complaint

by ayaz daryl nielsen

neighbors complaint

early mornings

with our kids in

their tree house

drumming the sun up

the unspoken words

by ayaz daryl nielsen

the unspoken words

between this ‘bot and I

the vibration

as our eyes meet

“let’s plug in

together”

rogue dragonflies

by ayaz daryl nielsen

rogue dragonflies

drones that have gone feral

lunar colonies

rogue drones

by ayaz daryl nielsen

rogue drones

raddling

through the aspen

wind through the evergreens

by ayaz daryl nielsen

wind through the evergreens

waves of rogue drones

flowing in it

and so, naked us

by ayaz daryl nielsen

I pause beside

her table, saying,

“umm, you know,

it appears you’re

sitting here

with nothing on . . .”

“au contraire,” she replies,

“I’m clothed in warm air

and summer sunshine

and the soft-cushioned

seat I’m sitting on and

my feet are resting

on a lovely burnished

mahogany patio and I’ve

this full glass of

sauvignon blanc for

my fingers, lips and mind . . .

and so,” she then purrs,

“would you like to join me?”

A few moments with

a completely blank

mind, and I’m saying

“yes, I believe I will,”

and we have a lovely

late afternoon into

evening, naked, together,

yes, and so we did

and so we still are.

fyi

by ayaz daryl nielsen

fyi

how to tell if

graveyard thistles

have penetrated a

newly-buried body:

they’ll bloom with

malodorous grey

flowers seeping

a black acid that

bees and birds

won’t go near

last journal entry

by ayaz daryl nielsen

last journal entry

found with remnants

of our missing

uncle’s body:

“well, we’ve proven

silver bullets

don’t work”

poet

by ayaz daryl nielsen

when being embraces

what a page can bring

white within black

and light within dark

timelessness beyond

electronic uncertainty