*

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

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.

*

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.

*

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.

Places

Neither Oxford nor Webster shall refine
At ease but droll a sight as this:
Who would move and who would go?
I’m walking away, and I belong nowhere,
All the days and then the years pass,
From here, to there, patience sunk,
From nowhere, to everywhere I go.
So call me the fleeting bird departing,
So pronounce a new name, call me fleeting.
Nay, I am a wanderer. Wandering, walking;
Like wine, like K, give me all. Bit of it.
I shall snoop down my mind and crawl forth.
These webs, each thread is now a track,
Shoot each train my way. Nor yes nor no:
Say, will you travel again by my side?
No, you say? Very well. I’ll forget it all.
All the friends, the “family” – Gone.
These contacts? My Number? Gone.
Memories? Souvenirs? Gone.
A heart breaking? Never mind.
Neither land nor sea can change my sails.
I will blow the waves till no land is near,
Till all I fraught with little to no gain,
At which point, my existing is my land.
I’ll set foot at a new life, and new me.
All I had, so be it I am thus fleeting;
Then you’ll call a shrink my way here,
But my dear, I am nowhere here to be near;
From childhood I’ve been crept on and shut,
Imprisoned and sore were mine eyes at this,
So I devised a new plan to leave. Leave.
It seemed so amazing. I cried so happy-sad,
Now all I drank became that which I am,
A part of me, and I become the city,
So give me new, this much I am who as:
The sum of everything else. I see now,
There’s a trinkle of life by the sea,
But land is not enough. Nor people.
Just a travel. I’ll be French on one day,
Then German; then Italian, then Russian,
Oh, it’s a case of learning. But I’ll get.
Years later, I am still trembling with this,
I want you, but I cannot have you.
This land, this ocean speaks my name.
So whisper again. Now the light is soon,
I’ll be a lasting halo at twilight call,
When sun is set, then breathes so slow.

O Seeing Darling

I am the cloud that holds the sky,
The sky that holds the rain,
The rain that eschews a drop;
Whose drop becomes your drop,
Whose drop is flavour of mine,
Could never tell what flavour thine,
But know my flavour salt and sweet
Is never but royal yet tastes divine:
I hold a secret at whose core is teem,
This drop I add to the basin below,
This basin below I call the world,
Filled with more drops to follow.
I speak of others deliverance unfurled,
Yet yelled beneath their chins was led,
And cried in earnest how far they fed,
Of all songs heard and books they read,
Who could never look above stars to see
Ere question the depth of being they lead.
I am come from nothing of being swayed,
Tricked by echoes of peace and ought,
Then persuaded by soothest song abide;
Whose melody even God’s cheek would shine,
In whose rhythm even Saturn may wallow.
At the silent close of darkest state,
An only child would walk a path alone,
Whose parents never were, nor would feel,
At heaven’s disclose, least they’ll hear:
So my dearest so utter that single rain,
Then make my peace at hearth be made,
Whatever age, nor strength and wisdom fade
Shall you always be child, my sweet of mine,
Give leave whilst you sing a drop in here,
Of all colours and smell, taste and depth;
Some shall sink lower to the floor till naught,
Some shall float till light perish their woe,
But yours, yours shall sink with what you feel.
Focus on what life given that precious gift,
Then the path may follow, and all shall open;
What policy you have for what governs the basin,
That cry for what basin walls be painted then,
And so change the basin all you want tenfold,
In a hundred, a thousand, or even a million,
Shall never change that for which it holds:
So make your drop the lasting drop in life.
Look below, and care not the basin walls around,
Let that drop you eschew in the basin of water,
That sweet and soothing drop shall mix with mine,
With each hand yea wet, it glows with fire beheld,
All water under the eyes of He and He alone
So when time allows for the basin ought be drunk,
So may this one outshine all others he bades,
At whose entrance shall you be at one with Him.

Bitter March

I, the Duke, from Brunswick hail,

Have marched lone yet never sail

In emotions sought; thus I cease;

Then comes my being hence at peace.

A bayonet I sharpen twice,

Whom no light fails to sap its vice,

May our guns be loaded. Twice.

When time allows is gifted vice;

They felled our French brethren royal,

Now who can sing ought be loyal?

Yet web of ties bears no loose ties,

Silked and perfect, no end in sight,

I go a task wherewith I signed,

That city’s mixéd air we find,

This ‘republic’ ye call splendour

Is nothing more than one turned sour.

So this be real as what we’ll teach,

Than see them goad a hollow leech,

Swift they assembl’ I can’t deny,

Our trinkets rouse, including mine!

Shake the muskets with all your will;

One comes more ill when sees the ill,

So shut the feelings, thoughts and fire!

So ere we win: French sons we sire!

We’ll marble place for bricks replace

Venus Temple of Austr’an face,

Lend more wine for one finer night;

She gives us now a bitter light.

*

She didn’t know what brought her
Through yard upon yard she walked,
Distant slopes called all to bear
That echo of all waves they tucked,
That calm and smooth sound forgone,
Not long before a city swept it gone,
Till more was new than weeping song,
In dearest pride she is barely done.
And in the steps she carries weight,
These steps that carry this too far,
In lieu of such glistening hand to fate,
Now begins one reality from old to bar,
But waves continue, no fire perish,
And the sun still shines even unseen,
Beneath which solely stood was she,
Nor could she on sun’s rays lean,
Could scarcely spot a cracked sky,
In the midst of storm, in the breadth of dark,
She seeks the light; Seek the light,
God is the light.

*

A chain turns cold round my waist,
Whose iron bonds give weight tenfold,
Nor right, nor left a turn I bid anew;
The sight I see is one enchained,
In every sound I speak a wisdom
Whose echo casts a shadow on me,
But never I said don’t walk away!
These bonds that break, my fate resigns,
Mute are the words of child he thought,
To pass adult now still his mind abides,
Though once I was able, now I am not,
With all I will so my heart endures,
Break the chain with warming heart,
Cast the Sun’s rays mine eyes do kiss,
Ere blinded by life anew, who could tell?
Rather I this much blind than be unseen,
Link by link, double bond by bond: blessed
Be those who have believed, but never seen.

Seeking you

Every star, a story untold,
Hermes sought a light now gone,
Limp is he, but whose stand is fraught,
As breeched his air now casts a dew,
Breathe a light so my life is so!
Rumi, give me the darkest depths of light,
Hafez, alight mine eyes on God’s dark iris’,
A Milton speaks here, so give Maker my life
In Ire, nor ere more greater words we wrote.
Shakespeare chant, and now is being non-being,
Negative as I seem, nor cynical as I optimise,
Seal my trust of breath this happiness lasts,
I seek the dark, so do You. Reader, seek, seek!
Money and charm, fame and breadth the world deny,
From Kilimanjaro, Everest. Oh, Chimborazo! Deny!
Now I see a moon, a star, more stars, a dark.
A past I forsook, even Cleopatra is her snake relayed.

Bring all venom from whose deny,
Give breadth mine art this solo,
Breath the wine that breathes a lie,
I play the tune that fills with sorrow,
Oh, it is now my crease from whose awry,
Now sings songs of hapless woe backward.