Granny Chaos

Ron Koppelberger

Granny Chaos

The curious brew was crossbred with disease and unfurled deserts of violence. Grannies fervor was a resonant rattle of pans and the silver luster of her mixing spoon. She measured out a dollop of depraved smiles and wicked woe, for the intrigue of a ventured challenge, for the gain of an appeasing moon and the misfortune of man.
Granny Chaos mixed her brew with the sordid crypts of insistent gambol, bets bidden in chance and fated turns of cunning. She mixed her cauldron of root and bloom, of anger and bitter embargo as she sang,

“Lawless, scaly

And jeer, the will of my

Cauldron in a year,

A night, a breath,

A pinch of death,

A telling lie,

A groan and a sigh,

The shade of night and by

The pure prophecy of

Sight, I flay the bones of the

Son in tomes and the

Flesh of a dream undone

By the seams,

A dah a dee te la I seethe mists of

Wing fly raven and the reverie of

A haven for all the fuss and

Flame of the stew,

The same”

Granny Chaos chilled her mix with the ice of an evil eye and the guile of a nightmare demon. In this unheard a drop of love, for the sake of mankind.

The Destiny of Weeds

Ron Koppelberger

The Destiny of Weeds

Bothering the ambition of speckled flowers, blossoms in sweet fragrant answer to the spring and desires of an adorned bride, the ragweed sprouted and sang the song of an unwonted bloom, in tiny eyed dander and a poor mans rose, in the spaces between trees. Shrub and open fields of play lay the dreams and destiny of weeds, the innate consciousness of a haven inhabited by the unruly and the sturdy, the weed being tougher and more abundant in its propagating birth, in its unabashed growth.
The destiny of a weed in favored places and desolate untrod ground, to live ugly or perhaps beautifully by the promise of an appreciative glance and a day borne only for weeds and the castaway wonder of what’s understood by few but the love of a peasant admiring the wishes of a dandelion.

The Light in Snake Fuss

Ron Koppelberger

The light in Snake Fuss

She wriggled and questioned the deft snakeskin bond, the ceremony in sated beliefs, the belief that the viper would mind the miracle in course. She charmed and prayed. She committed her half-blood desires to the suspicions of an insatiable thirst, thirst for control over the cool, sleek craft of her performance and measure of passion.
The silence of her wild inborn assumptions weighed in equal parts lust and need. The snake shadowed the silhouette of ash and the woman waved the mists of perfected art with nimble hands, just a touch of blood and the serum of saints, she thought. The snake fell into a listless sleepy subjugation and the woman, in sanguine appetites of affection, danced and gestured in gleeful commune with the souls of those akin to the snake. Her fangs shimmered and the snake submitted its’ wrath to the devotion of a charm.
In assurances of divine resolute will, she sunk her fangs into the pliant flesh of the snake and sipped, just a bit, just the briefest reprieve in the mystical arena, the sure shed skins of existence. In the nature of creatures we wish, she grinned in triumph and slaked admittance. The portion of the snake that laid hold to the nether realms of whim and fancy completed the woman’s wish as she spun in circles of delight. The sweet nectar of the apple, the taste of blessings in snake fuss. In a moment of reflection she questioned the difference between apples and snakes blood, nevertheless the moment was flittering in distant thought as she thought of nothing but the gain of her appetites.

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New Poetry Ron Koppelberger

Ron Koppelberger

Pearls of Passion

Manacles in mire and swamp morass,

Muse and alliance to the mistress of err, a cerulean awe

In conscious exception to the ruby wrought

Bedlam of towering craft and edges of smarting faded darkness,

A gasping, grasping gulp in the

Grin of great aghast and a light virgin pause in

Pearls of passionate purpose and employed visages of

Royal reign, of free will and the

Satisfaction of souls in

Sought sojourns of

Ancient

Bidden

Accent.

Ron Koppelberger

Tender Belief

The discourse of secret plenty, profuse in fame,

Terse in verses that will the wear of vestures in
alabaster and exclaimed crowns of

Sapphire, a calm dose of what’s been

And what will be the ache of a heartfelt resolution

In ash and tender belief.

Ron Koppelberger

Professed Resonance

The revived condensation on final fracture and external sinew,

A proof in clusters of wild dog will and cannons ablaze,

The heed of doomed impasse and narrow

Subsequent turns, on the page after the end, on the

Soliloquy courted near the edge of advantage. A magnified devotion

                                                                  To professed resonance.

Ron Koppelberger

Rain shower

Expecting the country in rain shower assessments of thirst

And cascading rhythms born

                                                                Unto the patter of tears.

Ron Koppelberger

Vagabond Windows

The errant wings of ravens’

Fluttering by the greasy panes of

Vagabond windows and

Torn seams, a confusion of what’s laid bare

                                                                             By fortune.

Ron Koppelberger

Looking Glass

A warm flowing passion in bidden suns and

Looking glass love,

The dream of warriors adorned by the shifting stars.

Ron Koppelberger

Dark Drama

Self styled eyes in intimate degrees of intensity,

A glimmer of scarlet and ash, speckled gold and silver

In tattered nuance and frayed gaze, a breath of mist gone in a

Lungful of mystery and great gasps of secret,

The dreamy solution to dark drama and shadowy

Beams of velvet sash, further in ribbons of

Blood and in err of desire.

Ron Koppelberger

Bidden Release

Lace edgings and untouched minds of symmetry and exhaling

Sighs, gasps and desires of attentive love and sober harmony,

Verses in silver sash, in glowing acquiescence, affirmed fires of

Passion, the graceful balance between dancing

Dreams in wedded satisfaction and sensitive romance,

A practice of refined bidden release.

Ron Koppelberger

Whispers of Solace

Corn silk bonnets and tufts of fur,

Told in nascent whispers of solace

                                                               And tied bundles of straw.

Ron Koppelberger

Somber Eyes

Classy assortments of silken expression

And somber eyes,

                                             Ringed by shadow and lines of weary expectation.

Ron Koppelberger

August Rain

Triumph in rigorous wishes and better most the passion,

An express utterance persuaded to the prophecy of

Emotional fervor and trial in want, a sworn support,

A clean opposition defined by the need of fighting

Fury and wild birth, shaded by the shores of

Rolling wonder and pregnant skies brought forth by the sanctity of

August rain.

Ron Koppelberger

Raven Song

In disarray, unfocused by the light of vagrant tatters

And ambiguous shreds of gossamer, the concealed pupil

Foraging in fame and antique souls of fire, the fringe of notions in bleak,

Bare profession and rare well bought realms of sadness, the undesirable

Conflict assembled by part and dollops of spirit, a pocket full of abandon

For the cares of living yield, a succinct moment of untied

Alliance Between moths and

                                                                           Raven song.

Anthologies Featuring Ron Koppelberger (Available at Amazon.com)

Amazon.com

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.