Dancing Suns

A moment to reflect 
And listen to the insects 
Outside your window 
Playing small tambourines 

A moment to inhale 
The air, sweet like tangerines 
Open your closed eyes 
To see the blues and greens

A moment to recall 
The first time you saw the sky 
Before you wondered 
And found meaning in it all 

A moment to realize 
How small we truly are 
How innocently 
We wish upon the falling stars 

A moment to reflect 
And watch the vast night sky, specked 
With tiny dancing suns 
For with their celestial gleam
They reveal what it all means 

The air, sweet like tangerines

                                                   September 2020


Inessential Engines

Bitter celestial winds take the flower

Where dirt and birds are one

A room of brutal distances

Where uneven hours rage

Screaming, burning, scarlet yellow 


Unbound sweetness dwindles 

Darkness scorched and scattered 

Consumes glaciers, devours gardens 

Endlessly reflected in the fluency of tears


While inessential engines burn the surface of a rose 

The ground where Babylon once stood

Ruins swept away by the hollow torrent of time

Spontaneous and inescapable, perpetual mirage


A palace of destruction where, impatiently, it

Drains all, hills, scarlet flowers, 

Emerald blue streams, quite villages, 

Grief, ascending, dreaming, the lyric veils 

Of rainfall, oceans, forests, it drains all 


Echo of a Ripple - EP

Lawrence Wilde

Released: January 23, 2020



I can still remember her features


Gorgeous lemon-blue fields filled

With weeping wingless creatures 

Floating reflections of imagination 

Touched lightning shying away 



I can still remember her features


Tree-roots versus machine

Forgotten hell, sanctuary, and all in-between

Smoke rising like roses 

The sharpness of time cutting through so it’s seen



I can still remember her


Tarnished solitude, overgrown, covered by 

Gentle metal flowers, their blade-like petals 

Shimmer in the night, sepia shadows in 

The windows of forgotten photographs 

In the quite beyond

in the quite beyond 




lips are tulip petals

eyes eclipse all suns

darkness is sweet like song


we dance 


in the space beyond 




flesh is eternal mystery 

night, a nightingale,

light, lost in a gale

echo of a ripple

remember to forget

in the silence that is absence 

breathe, for it is not yet 

in this night that is lightless 


stand in the torn light

In the trembling whisper 

the lilting of being

see, it is not yet 


No word comes 

listen, it is not yet

the echo of a ripple 

overwhelms you

does time have mass?

Your eyes speak of silence 

                                a naked abyss

Trembling at the edge of utterance  



As infinite brittle raindrops touch our skin

                                            lightly(as not to break)

The fragrance of air 



does time have mass?

                                I wonder 

as suddenly it feels so light 

The Mass of Time - EP

Lawrence Wilde

Released: January 23, 2020

our ancient dance

my fingers decipher you

tiny hairs on your body dance

like small leaves of small trees

fearful of touch

your eyes, stars, hide behind a dark sky

your heart, a cathedral consumed by fire,


leads us along the iridescent trail of moonlight  

pagan drums beat to the rhythm 

of the not so distant flames


how tender is our ancient dance

True Ink

Flirtatious hands expose true ink 

Skin embraces misery, a violent exile

Loneliness, smells, salts, and souls


Words, tender arms reaching for eternity

Flames and dust against ancient clear waters

Firmly touching limbs, drowning the dense, the visible 


Bare and starving we shift beyond nothing

Beyond smell, beyond sight, beyond touch

Embracing exposure we kiss as the darkness 


Around us shatters 

I kiss your round belly

I kiss your round belly

Inside our son is already



I kiss your breasts

His sustenance

I kiss your lips

His lullaby


I kiss your skin aglow

Like sunlight beaming


At your feet I fall

My heart screaming


Mother of my child


I’ve never known a love so whole

So kind

the last of the ancients

the ancients among us

i see them by their eyes

we have killed their fathers

they are so firmly set 

in this soil 

which means nothing to us

as we dream of a soil far away


the ancients among us

i heard her sing


it was just wind

i can swear it was the 

howl of a wolf 

or was is the string of a violin


the ancients among us

am I one of them

i, we see our people, men


there are so few

so desperate is our poetry

sometimes I think I’m possessed 

by a spirit that lived and is still living on this soil

i can hear his cry 


i swear it is the howl of a wolf 

i built a house upon his bones

but his daughter serenades me

with her violin

i’ve dreamt nightmares 

and violence  

the last of the ancients walks

and sings, and dances among us

how strong is her,their spirit 

for it endures this house of stone 

how long will you sing my child?

Saints of Silence - EP

Lawrence Wilde

Released: January 23, 2020

the vacancy of time

Paint crosses a canvas 

And a man stands upright

In the distance a boy descends 

To the fallen gates 

Where the sea beats itself upon the rocks, 

A bell is rung, an invitation

Swallowed by the wind 


In the darkness, broken white sails 

Of ships are tangled by the sea, 

All words caught in the wind are lies 


The waters stir the heavens 

Calling out to God, 

Who shuttered the window 

For the night


Depraved and burned, 

The soul beats itself upon the rocks


A bell is rung, 

It whispers

And withers away 


The painter gashes the shutter 

And light bleeds through 

As if set ablaze 

The screen is in motion


And the vacancy of time 

Is felt underneath the framework 


Weeping, famished, shadows

Extend their hands,

Reaching for trumpets,

They climb out of confusion 

As if they had wings

Saints of Silence

We don’t want to be loved

Truly, genuinely loved

We cannot be loved

Sincerely, wholly loved

Love stifles us


Abandon it

Leave it in the rain

Trifle it

Sell it

Give it to the poets

Who get high off it

Who die because of it


And laugh at them

Laugh as they drink 

Themselves to death


Laugh as they hang themselves

In small cheap rooms

In the outskirts of cities



Laugh at their gods and their goddesses 

Their muses, it’s all dust 

From when man was young


Dismiss the childish rhymes 

Of their silent songs 

For poetry is dammed 

There is nothing worthy of veneration 

Written by the saints of silence

Poetry is Dead

Poetry is dead

They put a bullet in its head

Took away its bread

Poisoned it with lead

Burned the books it read

Censored every word it said

Suppressed every revolution it had led

Cut its veins so it bled 

it bled 

it bled

Will You Not Sleep? - EP

Lawrence Wilde

Released: January 23, 2020

                                                                                If I was a wasp

                                                               I would sit upon the crust 

                                                     Of a big ol’ apple pie

                                                          I would fear no deadly swap 

                                                                                          I’d slurp 

                                                                          that sweetness up 


and if a godly human hand came down upon me with death’s wrath

             I would sting its plum-like softness and have myself a laugh

                           while the godly human runs his hand in a cold bath


                                             I’d return to my sweet pie 

knowing my bade-like stinger is the reason I didn’t die


                                         so come ye mighty hands

                                         proclaiming your big ends

                                     with oceans turned to sands

                                            and armies like fire ants 


                                                i’ll sting you with my poet’s tongue

                        i’ll sing

                     and sing

                                                          until you recognize the song

                                                         recognize that god’s the Sun

                      and the moon, our savior 

 the end will not come soon

    at least not this afternoon 


                 cause there’s a wasp savoring

                                                     this sweet apple pie


                                           and it’s not yet ready to die

The Wasp



Silver birds


Millions of tiny knocks upon our door

incomprehensible tongues 

There are branches with golden leaves


hands, eyelashes, wishing to feel

the gentle fire


Wide gleaming galaxies 


A summer night

Wounded Rays


of dayspring dew, 

A  t r a n s l u c e n t  pendant,

d on a blade
(conceals the universe itself)


The light shatters into millions of pieces within the drop

And every ember of the sun's wounded rays

(a dying fire)

Is a star(t)

Will you not sleep?

The night gently dies

As the bright orange eye

Illuminates our tiny fraction

Of the starless sky


I have not slept

The night unsilent

Through raindrops wept


A secret, for yet another hour

It has kept


And now the day weeps too

For night, a silver phoenix 

Is rising from its ashes

And with its blade-like beak

It slashes, and the day begins to



It asks me gently

Will you not sleep?


The day now violet

As secret too shall keep


The Kiss

Your kiss is scent of apples 

We picked beneath the shade of leaves 

Through which the heavy golden sunlight spilled 

Onto our skin 

Cooled by late-summer wind 

And blind to the difference between 

The warmth of light and touch

                                                   September 2020