*

Though I do not know who you are,
I feel a time where once I knew,
So sweet and subtle a feeling gay,
In midst of fog and dark did blur lights,
Who knew not this man to enter a gaze,
So kind at first, but cold at last,
Though few doses was enough, it wasn’t:
Like a drug mixed with the driest wine,
Who knew not what it was, what he drank?
Only a bitter taste with sweet after tones,
But knew not an effect so subtle thereafter,
First it was so sweet, then rich came poor;
This man once I knew how repressed,
And whose beast inside of me then encaged,
One kiss then slips another, too few, too much,
Oh, fog of hallucinating joy, kiss mine eyes adieu:
Why did you present with me such toxic waste to spell
His name then forsake me at crossroads to guide me here;
Did I ask Love to kiss my lips then soil my heart anew?
No, it needn’t must so; all love for him I now repress,
Whilst he alone continues his pillaging of others,
So to speak; but not for mine, whence now I leave,
But alas, my horny state I cannot forgive,
It was I who so ignorant of my being a storm is swept,
Then years later I’m reminded and so you approach.
No, I do not remember you; but I feel whom I used to know:
Leave, and so never return. Leave, and so never return!

*

A horse rides in the midst of mind and sand,
Ne gaze neath the hooves from whose rider brew,
A sudden madness, and the drops of rain short.
Give commas and colons an argument present,
A lady in waiting strangled by fate is fought,
Ye give reasons he should not pass you by,
Ne friend, ne breathing not, ne thinking nor
Shall he picture a woman hoisted at sea,
Nor from the east, nor of the west at bay,
From afar he watches tears of grace befallen,
A storm in heart breathes ripples yet slow,
Yet breathing in the water is a lidless word,
And a cracked Earth whose ground it shakes,
I’m breathing water and drinking a harsh cold,
Give me all figs that God had so me concealed,
Let these waves of words wash upon your figure,
Crash that dress in white till salty urchins reap,
Whose Madonna I perverse a niche figure retain,
Do your eyes not give leave your gaze upon a sky
So rich in spoils of hope and colour you lay waste?

I’m done

Ere no word of mention: I’m done,
All the words I said are all but gone,
And he said that I was all in awe,
I’m done. It was all for much this sore,
For heaven blind me this creased man,
So sing me tears from molten glass, an
Insight of this love once I foretold,
The months and years have my heart in fold,
So do what you must, and so leave me,
So give me nought, and now I am to be,
Is this it? Am I half the man I swore?
To disembark myself from skin I wore,
Now kill me here and all I am to sing,
So hearken my call; this love a fling,
‘Tis all but marred in mute task alight,
And won’t give life wanted without fight,
A shadow of angels now curses my own god,
And this god is the man of the inner dog.
Now I am whole again, I shall be better,
But when I see you again, I’ll think better,
Enough. All dreams I had with you. Enough.
It’s over now, and I have said how tough;
So muse me with silence, and all shall fade,
Close mine eyes; I’m done, and adieu I bade.

Moving Out

Ere but all the times to know,
“A drink? It’s boss. I’m fine.
There’s no need. I’ll go.”
It was not the drink of wine,

Nor the sound of fear in sleep,
It was a sign to make a snare,
How now ere the sirens weep?
“I have to go back and tell her.”

So she thought. It was the time.
“Expecting myself to cry and break.”
There’s no need, no sour words as lime
Can dissolve your soul and soothe your ache,

And if I – “Already, I am breaking here…”
No; every Phoenix rises from ash to win.
“I’m soon there.” Text me when you’re there.
As I write, a jailbreak is about to begin.

She’s about to make all words said to count,
All the while ‘I love yous’ we engraved,
A final note would suffice before we mount,
A simple thought that you’re now saved.

I have got us a home, not the best, but do,
You showed me the way, now the keys and rent,
And ere the battle is fought she ought to
Fight with both mum and womb she had lent,

Though cords be tight and chains must break,
It be ought in this most vulnerable pose
That her life truly embodies her past forsake.
“I’m moving out. Well I have to, I suppose.”

“Because I love her and I want to be with her.”
Tears as rain not even this Storm can muster,
These hours so long and few aren’t fair:
A storm out there, and a storm sought to cluster.

“I’m out. This month I’m leaving and that’s that.”
She told her. It was all done and she’s affected.
How afraid she was! What a dear heart to pat,
But now she’s broken free she thus reflected:

“In all my life I’ve learnt patience, foresight,
And to give those I love the exposure to flourish;
But here, I have all I ought to give others right,
But in me I have but none to give myself to nourish.

In these times it is yet so easy and so free
To objectify our greatest qualities in world adorn
But to apply all this in me is not so easy,
It’s another story as tearing a poetry is born.”

Ghost ye Lady Part

Mine hour is but laugh to sing,
In cast of my deforme’d nature
Is this happy hour am come to fling,
In the clothes in white; how mature,
Is part of me; all and whole but a pun,
A spectre of lust I seek and now I am,
It is the echo of what I yearn so fun,
The misery of failure is success I am,
All round the woods in these greater days,
Near that familiar junction by the road,
How happier are the lakes so ripple away,
Now seek my ghost and guide mud my load,
All the words I seek myself in cumber free,
And I walk the art of silence in great dismay,
It was the feet that drove me away from ye
Who could never hold mine arse this bay,
A puddle I sight, the pleasure but fauna
A sight in lieu and all puerile ill attempt,
Very, and so bitter are lips my words donna
Can never rip from heart nor give to tempt,
All I kept to consume and this my birth,
Born to weep my bred heart in leapt mourn,
Now all is dark whilst I walk through girth,
As all motion sewn between us is bitter scorn.

Muse of Dodona

I am the Muse who sings not of no other,
I am the difference between light and night:
The art of spelt wind to carve my bark,
An empire of leaves thus adorn my shape,
A whisper through the grass sings me wake,
Steps of travellers dance to my trembling,
Nor it be not music mine ears to breath of yours,
Nor is it shaking lest my lonely state is bore.
I am the smoke; the one that is lifted from naught,
‘Tis the burning of the seen that now is more fraught,
Make no mistake that my smould’ring choke you here,
Make no mistake that it is the end of my heroic end,
Ere the birds shall sing their last and leave me here,
Now the ashes fall from me to ground in utmost pour,
And tears of amber shall lift my roots in motion soar,
At last it becomes me not the endless to bitter end,
When once I ask of ye: why so this I ought to rend?
Then twice more you respond with fine eyes cast away,
To the next; ere the next, here perplexed; all is hexed,
Nor is fixed, the air is thick, my tree a wick,
And knick my space, and kick my face, so all is waste!
Uproot myself, in muse I call, so here I fall,
When more I try, so luck I find, is rare behind,
And soon I cry, ere ground I bind, so fair and kind.
Though he and love these guests I cannot plea,
Nor my slow’st motion, stoic notion I cannot flee,
Here I sing of what love I once had from pot to soil,
Who saw me grow and visited me here to never foil,
To he, I was but just a tree with no love to give,
For I perish with no leaves to offer so he can live
In knowing my presence. Oh, but now no more to seep,
And as he leaves, it is for all but mine to weep.

His Lover Beckons

Ere be man ere wrought is comber may,
Alas, indeed, is but fraught with greed desire,
Though twats in meagre thing can in bliss dire
Need sunder the flesh and blood and eyes fooled;
Is but a need for this couple to become cooled,
Oh, these lovers so cast aside by deception
Can soon become the greatest need for seduction,
She says “No, I cannot let you do this”, alas, alas;
But in all wildness, all reason escaped, morals last;
Now, and now, and now, she is but a weeping angel,
An angel she sought and thus her lost wings fell,
Weeping, deceit; but mirror held them both,
But alas, a mirror, a mirror cast love’s broth.
No suitor ere suited can this man ere be made,
Lest love in clothed silk and ooze be laid.
In the midst of danger came pleasure only,
If it were pain, it can be but fraud cunningly.
There these swingers are treating to vice,
It is but the nude lady in reflection mirror’s stood,
How gay are all who stood in wake of sight so lewd,
Now the vain pleasures are but pains to fuck,
And ere but snares be cast for dice in luck,
And but sought eyes in constipated looks decree:
Now no perfume nor cologne nor minted tooth
Shall free her soul from despair and pleasure,
It is indeed a lustrous life of weekends sure.
No quartet can sing in thrusts so deep as this
Without forbidding themselves to secrecy how bliss.