Ellen

23/02/2020 / / No Comments

At a corner of the stars, like tears…
She was awake in distant a place afar,
And all eyes would be gifted a sight,
And all the walls beckoned she should go,
Then she walks, fast and in ecstasy!
All the walls wrote every second alive,
Every floor imprinted her trailing steps,
All the torches would eschew her name
This name only she saw in sweeter flame
Brings to her raindrops on soaked floor,
“I can see!” And laughter beckoned suit,
Trails of breeze blew walled velvet veils,
And she dwelt in the maze for longer still,
And she continued to run and look round,
Round and round still she looked. Beheld
Herself in all the veils held as she ran,
At long last she reached the centre,
At long last the shallow pool rippled in step,
Wrapped in veils she continues to encircle,
In an inertia of great joy she wraps further,
The walls torn away. The floor detached.
The ceiling now a waterfall with streaking veils,
And Ellen still wraps feet, arms and shoulder!
All round, her sight beheld the beauty kept,
So much was this weight of veil inviting,
Descending below the former maze now empty,
Within an abyss lit by an eye yea large and gold,
Only she could breathe the light in darker waters,
Till all she sees becomes light itself.
There she stayed, here she remained,
Only a hundred years since she awoke,
And a thousand for a veil she equipped,
Whilst she had swum in deepest waters below,
The sound of waves never became her
Whilst all streaks of veil from her floated,
It all seemed like magic, and she lived. Yes;
Now in union with herself, she gazed beyond;
I shall create a star. I am now that star.
The Earth I see, that Earth I shall gaze.

So spoke Ellen, in language of light;
Finest star, and all in gold arose,
There you shall find her in blissful night,
Whenever alone, needing light’s repose.

*

22/02/2020 / / No Comments

Have you forgotten, the whispers of old,
The echoes so smooth that sound silence,
Now cling the shield of light and glow,
In a single flash the feathers leave,
The horses riding through a field decayed,
And no daisy nor lily would grow in ash,
And all the Earth’s trembling in chaos,
So sooth the mirror on a sky you plant,
So inhale the shards to see ourselves,
So exhale a road long you follow,
In all that one you had, from birth;
Need not despair, the road is lined,
Glistening amidst in view so long,
Whether right or left, trees remain,
Standing tall, they invite your pace.
Walk through them, gently. Esteem.
They are calling your walking,
And you’ll find you have walked
Far from beginning; far from end,
Though keeps you is much walking,
So breathe; and linger no more.

Slings, Jokes, others

22/02/2020 / / No Comments

Prince, sulk beneath a hooded light,
When I say this joke however mean,
I truly do mean in stronger word,
That we’ll in charms have seen,
A misery a soul equipped to laugh,
Yet he would not in sight bestow;
A joke remains so, unseen, unheard;
Like a key, poking that dark hole,
Poking and turning, nudge and feel;
Resistance borne from persistence none,
He’ll let me in and then joke is none,
How sweet is the irony, the cheers!
Unlock when no lock is nigh;
Unlock.
But, no, sanity is my weakest noun,
Indeed, as you have said, I am most sane.
The most angelic and free, a God-enduring,
I forbid all evil mine eyes cross,
I kiss the cross, the Qur’an, the scrolls!
Throw yourself into a sea of words God
Pronounces so vividly for y’endure!
That storm of pages strikes so wound a chasm,
Now is knowing no more, thinking raptured part,
Tis this irony that I speak of,
Tis comedy till no laugh is sought no more,
Though this we call a world, given birth a reason
Makes devoid of laughter at all things wry,
And still the comedic tale remains!
The stage remains open. The curtains fall, yes;
But the act continues. On the streets, at sea. Well?
So-

Unfortunately, he was sectioned soon after.

On Bees

12/02/2020 / / No Comments

I give leave, if not wishes in green,
Now are they spoilt, the brown flickers,
As bruised a leaf on drugged field enclose,
Now are their stems and petals it woes,
I then ask, why then are bees yea sicker?
Who then, if not my honey, is but sweet,
That golden sap, not from maple procured,
Delights those round the table come is tea,
How then the comb soaks slow till ere fed
Then excites sense till all ignorance led;
This much whilst yond wall and floor laid,
Lies dormant enslaved, a colony, it wept:
Is pollen then just a pollen to accept?
Why, my senses dull; my wings so numb,
Yet continue my work, like reeling pain,
Till one of mine will drop,
Till more are dropped,
Then I too am a drop
On lidless field,
The pollen call.

1649

31/01/2020 / / No Comments

Whence charms have glade; mute is shook
A cold stutter was vanquished what may,
In musing freaks and daring lights esteem,
Now jeering spite and feeling cool is lined,
More hours are spent yea few reflected here,
My mirror sunk in rust, frames black as roe,
I spent too much of my time with people,
Only to realise from them I am this far fetched.
So give a word, counsel me here, I am gone,
Now mirror my words and behold half myself,
So shepherd me far, till noon is brought me here,
No sun shall spite my presence till morn is near,
When king is brought my scaffold jesters fear,
Ere the sound is struck my vengeance thaws,
Now enemies alight, a sword was struck by here,
Now feels the might, a cheering crowd is bare,
Whomsoever is cut by me, now is cut upon me,
Worn once a glove in warmth now twice in spite.

My stairs lead me somewhere above,
Now no light is treason to hark,
Forgo my solemn night now morn,
The muted glow is all I suck,
A taste of divine for once I love.

Bring me close; now all I knew is all I dear.

Fool’s Glory

25/01/2020 / / No Comments

At once a queen was laid atop a king,
Placed so far down the sheets would crawl,
And interrupted he, playing away;
So speak his friend, “when do you finish?”
Thence a jack was laid, beneath his queen;
“Not yet; still there’s more to come.”
And bruised are the moonlike cheeks
Of sported queen. A horny jack, plucked from ace,
And steal a courtier’s eye till all he fades.
Two. Three. Four. As easy five can be,
Ere placed are those in descending figures,
Then calls louder, a friend and foe kept watch,
By door they gathered, by light they hindered;
Now cruel was the lamp beside their guest’s debris
In whose cards adorned. Their king and queen await.
But, P. was no man in interest of free and slaving bits,
Nor could breathe a breath to light the fire,
Nor cheat a jack with cheated queen.
Nor ace the pile till stack compile.
Now breathed from none to pile till one till done,
Who knew then? His friends still watched afar,
The moves. The thoughts. Every move beckons which.
Though slightly disoriented by gaze of card and friend,
He knew not who were truer to worth of his,
That bet he shone, that gold be had. Glory he called.
But then he sunk his teeth in dry-chapped lips,
His arse swollen by excess seating in lonely chair,
Now cheeks command a silent break from silent play,
But would he then? If not so wise, he ought.
Meanwhile the game was finished, and turned was he
He would say, “Look! I’m done!”, but no free is this,
More he wanted, but less he wanted. But more is now.
Yet continues to play till all friends now a pile,
This much they’d bleed from boredom and excess,
Now shat their curses and disdain: off they went.
Leaving only P. alone with cards for glory.
Leaving in the dark was P. for king and queen,
So soon he found no card to place.
No card to move.
And so he sat there, in thought. Alone.
Now casts aside those faulty cards,
But could not rejoin his friends alight.
Having lost both friend and card,
He resigns to drink till sleep is nigh.

*

09/01/2020 / / No Comments

My day is measured as thus:
Twelve hours of awakening,
Four hours then of enlightening,
Eight hours reflecting (slumber),
But hope has it a goat appear,
And deliver solemn words aghast:
These angels past, the devils fart,
And so my word is mute on flute,
And were it not my song so loud,
Then the tale of God can never pass,
Within sanctum of my being,
The second of my beating,
Lays a wreath adorned by thorns,
In every thought pricks the heart.
That sanctum is my religion;
That being is my philosophy.

How Happy the gleams

25/12/2019 / / No Comments

Whence light ought to drop as snow
Increase, will you? Muse us with more,
My soul yea fierce, parting by the low;
How easy is pain whilst turkey tore?

So sweet are the ripe and tender flesh,
So bitter yet sweet a cranberry top,
Give all, or more I seek how fresh,
One I eat, one I drink and one I pop.

I’ll stir a bird in homeless creed,
So please my wine with sombre words
Of the cold, the immoral in whom heed
A pleasant word from those cynical turds!

I grow tiresome of this crowd of infidels,
The people; the jokers of my existence,
Such laughter, such folk are hardly revels,
So take me, give a Devil to take me hence!

I seek a dance with dark moss on a field,
So empty. So foggy. Give Chestershire mine,
In minds alike shades walk and yield,
Shall thwart and ere they snort a line

May transport themselves from here escape,
How easy it is for this happy thought surface,
Now mind this eased shall be more than ape,
Till grief alone is my sorrow happy base,

And this we feel through our faux blood,
I take it as much I tasted my forbearance,
As much I have given it as much I know my rod,
All joys are swept, now all is but nuance.

*

20/12/2019 / / No Comments

And a sound as far the hairs can sense,
Did give leave for widened eyes deceive,
Who would know then this joke recompense?
This lie I call my pursuit of ought receive,

Only to realise a path whose rocks swept
Through the banishing fog of utmost vine,
Towers before me; if not so God is left,
Now there’s a story I tell, when we run,

To no end at all: a breath and eyes move,
To no end at all, clearance at fog’s depart,
To no end at all; his pain is mine to soothe,
To no end at all. Then I said be all but ought.

*

14/12/2019 / / No Comments

Within a mountain blue poured below,
A trickle of snow rolls from hence,
Breaths of ice form at base yea low,
He did not see himself at all then.
Like clockwork, each gear at work,
Care naught for same sans its move,
What shall we spell? His feet went.
Then his hands. Then his head.
Didn’t care much about an avalanche,
What better disaster than his gain?
“So, I’m before a lonely hill,
There’s not much here. I’ll follow.”
Working away and soon he’ll live away,
Now there’s a cause for freedom!
This danger does not become him,
This fear he knows yet he resists,
So walk, nay climb, up this snow:
Look down. See your past down there?
How shrunk you were, swallowed by snow.