New Poetry

Ron Koppelberger

Endless Will

The chagrin of blazing spirits and

Exhilaration, a baby in possible clouds of certain riot,

The sapphire assurance, the scarlet temper of

Bones and dust, love and passion in row,

To this true, what’s been and what has the fable

Of seized salvation and tender endless will.

Ron Koppelberger

Crystal Goblets

The otherworldly spirit of speckled

Confusion and souls of chance,

A breeze in airs of conversion and scented

Lilac bouquet, a blissful invocation in

Communion with the discerning benevolence

Of frothy brandy spheres and crystal goblets

In azure tincture.

Ron Koppelberger

Wise Owls

Surveying the design of twilight fire and ashen coals

Of ebony enchantment, allied, forever in a moment

Of glowing sensation, a delicate balance of clever

Caste and black cat cries of pleasure, the vein of cinders and

Dusty blood, a faint discovery followed by the sayings of muses

And wise owls, by the will of nighttime awareness

And the flight of ancient pilgrims in

Concealed vestures, in silhouette and

Eternal beauty.

Ron Koppelberger

Midnight Sure

The design of suffering drama and

Feasting silence,

A shadow in substance and discovery, the sanctified prairie

Tumble fulfilled by the shy ancient

Allay of what’s taken in close comfort and upon

The mantle of affair, brilliance and etched crystal

Beauty, the miracle in midnight sure.

Ron Koppelberger

Sanctity and Love

The calm magic of faintly candent, cozy

Moans and gasps, manifest sweltering

Sashay and seldom wicked fray. A flurry

Of emanating tide in eyes of sullen velvet

And lips of perplexing yield, a holy

Reflection of encompassing breath and

Warm sated dreams, a reckoning in reasons of measure

And bond.

A delicate wisdom of

                                                                       Sanctity and love.

Clutches of Spider Secret

Ron Koppelberger

Clutches of Spider Secret

In courageous cause, enraged by the drama of a variegated sunglow vista, she fought for the harbors of life and patient sedative, in brandy dreams and hospice respite. A dissident mood of whiskey high expedited the stitching of a scarlet cloak, in spider silk and tender twofold covenant. She drank and she drank and she drank, Brandy for coffee, Brandy for the symmetry of a drunken embrace. The spider, the raspy haunt of a moth in the likeness of a soul borne of heresy and the sufferance of sin , her sin a spider bride and humble arrangements of conferring beggars. Begging for the wrath of spider secret.
A bond of evening and a designed indigo darkness enshrouded her dreaming temper. A wedded spider in eulogies of fat despairing consort. She emanated the value of a plaything and a parched child of fate. Spider sure in clutches of secret nourishment, she defined the route and the destiny of those who were chosen for the alter.
The crosscut pass ran next to a streamlet of rushing water, there she sat. Thermos and flask, hand in hand, waiting for the common amusements of a man, a special man. Smelling of wheat and saffron and sunshine. She had a spider secret, bones and breath, sweet and dusty piles of alabaster splinter and crimson gore. Piled in spider secret, clutches of men, the bones of a dozen husbands in crunchy decay. She waited, hungry for the flesh of the man, the special man……in clutches of spider secret.

Netherworld Outcasts

Ron Koppelberger

Netherworld Outcasts

The doorway was neglected and defiantly, day by day, in its affirmed rush of energy and mystery, mystery for the birth of rivers that define netherworld rebels and wolfs that grin in tender assay with the sunshine and the rain. They employed the doorman and the password was “DAISY DAYS”, a growling consent and entrance. He watched as the doorman grunted and a tiny panel in the scratched oaken door slid open, “Daisy Days!” he responded. The panel slid back and the sound of locks turning and tumbling echoed in the shadows.
A gaunt man with the features of a female hen greeted him, “Cluck, Cluck!” he chuckled as he shifted to pose in the form of a welcoming wolf. His lips curled and he snarled, “Welcome Firefly.” Firefly fell to his knees and bound the fabric of a dream as he padded into the secret enclave.
The door swung shut and the clan of the gray fray and southeastern wilds convened in gauze and smoke and misty lace. The rest of the world pushed on and secrets were shared in the meeting place, secrets that would shape the future of mankind and, indeed wolf kind. Suffice it to say the wolf found solace in the encroaching twilight that would find their final acceptance by man.