*

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.

Places

01/12/2019 / / No Comments

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

23/11/2019 / / No Comments

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

18/11/2019 / / No Comments

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.

Phantom’s Word

16/11/2019 / / No Comments

Whence times gone there shoulders two masks lifted by a single head. I am what ye call the phantom of its shadow, who knew no morals nor delicate treats than that I offer. Mine iron is my word; my fate is your sentence. Here, I recite mine own poem that eloquently written describes my views on the state of me:

Lurks, breathes, tricks beguile!
Lo, keys from lungs spree!
Dare a face, God is not.
Whose mud now? Mould him free,
A mind? Think not for bile

In whose grief is music here,
In whose brief state is apart,
Stupor my shadow lest ye stand,
Breathe such heights as those parting
Only for light give entry near,

As power wrung strings on spool,
Who knew better than face himself?
Then step through, reveal him:
Defect the phantom ye call yourself,
Till all I bid is sold for fool.

I call the ghosts of sunken ship,
My name creased in shame,
From this cup an ally & enemy sip,
His hate of me is fame,
Now accepts that whom he lips!

Oh, silly bile; this defect of mind that I call the shores from yond the meagre hopes that goaded dread in unsung thought till us phantoms brew. We’re neither enemy nor ally, we are who you are. In shade. In dark, we disappear. In light, we appear. That they seek the light is thus to seek us, and we shall arrest them there and by night shall free them there. So passes they unto us a forthold of figures, the dreams and the thoughts they never implement. So pass unto us a single tear that wipe words from ink as to value from meaning. So then, if never of us shall appear, then light shall never appear. If so, my dark intent shall be nullified by such; in whose absence of light there is no ally nor enemy but a single shroud of dark that envelopes all the above till one himself, or herself, shall bring to open.

These are the fainted shadows in text, and we raise a mould up in the sky to imprint these words in the world, and so take them as they will so that no shadow weighs heavier than the light; nor peace is found, till peace is sought. Nor trees are grown till the seed is wrought. Let us be that seed and so produce in time the order of that which stands, whether poison or not in produce is given. Then in jest the light is but joke for fools to acquire; then when it is seen this much we shall see. In void of everything else, it only becomes unseen.

*

09/11/2019 / / No Comments

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.

*

03/11/2019 / / No Comments

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.

Er/ *ata

26/10/2019 / / No Comments

Devour me with your kisses, my dry lips have touched no stone for erosion – ill-gotten fate. My heart is fire. My tree of leaves hugs the Earth.

Even fish swim toward the light epicentre; the journey of rays tells the tale of echoes whose ripples play a note so smooth it flows.

Aha! A comedian. Suited. Booted. A tale of politics riddled by jeering and the heaving of words flanked by an artifice of applause. She makes them laugh. She can never make herself laugh. Sad.

A joker’s flaw…

Now Faust is walking through the a hot patch. Somehow he ended up in an entangled web of fates that in great exclaim minuses his inner proclaim. “I am the beast that howls the moon. I am the man that never was!” Thus he said, and then his demons appear: first Mephistopheles. Here, a remarkably handsome man approaches, tatted and graced well, indeed. “I think I’m done for a day but will you come?”

…As though it were for naught.

“Nay; I already have!”

Above Uranus, say, there’s in fact a part whereof we think little of but know it’s there, but see little of. The rings, and the sounds! Whistle my name, so that I can never hear it again! Who made it? Who sang my radio till no frequency arise?

Faust. Fish. Fate. Appear.

These are the Universes that I have created. Here, I examine all that is, and analyse all that shall be. But I do no good nor bad in intervening. Like a drop in once is ‘nough, their excess leads a flood. Degreeing all measure that all creations shun, but is simply too lax in wit and sharp in thought. Then they come up with images of heaven and hell, and say we ought to be like this, like that, like so, here; there; no; yes. But I never gave such answers, nor did I ever raise such questions. My creased being is that of non-being, and I failed in bringing non-being to the state of my being. Even the softest mink can still cry to shed its fur.

Such errata is at hand any day, but I fear my will is got; I am but a mirror. I am the product of everything else. Whose science am I is yet to prove. Whose religion I am is yet I am.

The scoundrel weeps, ’tis you Faust. I have seen all you do, and trust now you know better. That girl wasn’t worth your effort; nor was a tower of babel virtualised in pendulum with the spheres you bear. The clucking stops eventually.

I do find that little I say is but marred in oil and barbed in plastic. You, too, are victim of world mused in the artefacts of glory of one I tasked. Though no fault your own, you did well to seek the light; ‘las, it was but net that got you.

Fate. Why so sombre? You only walk yet what you cannot sing. Nor dance, nor deliver in pamphlets and propaganda except envisioned in the conscious of those who believe in you. I swore an oath to distance in Fate, but now we no longer talk. I can never predict you for I am unaccountable to you, as you would conversely agree.

Let be. We walk and somehow find our way again. Most things just are as much an aberration, but we deliver no tongue nor ear to qualify them; and then, we discipline ourselves.

Seeking you

26/10/2019 / / No Comments

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.

When Descends

12/10/2019 / / No Comments

Now descends is Atlas whom Zeus appointed,
“Now shall You I curse this world to bear,
Whom no greater pains but lasting fates
Shall crease thy criminal birth in folds
Of two. One for each hand; I give and grow.
Did I not give you the hands to make work?
Did I then not smite the hand that holds?
Or when Hera whispered in mine ear your cry,
But this will not serve, all must hear it;
Thy hold of my world is now my hold over you.”
So Atlas stood, descending from above on high,
Descending lower, and lower till all is come:
Is this the world I ought to bear, it is come.
Of this mighty weight, the rivers and trees. Come.
The mountains and oceans I bear. It is come.
Do I not add so much weight, if twice my sorrow? Come.
When I shall stand, nor leave my legs to crouch. Come.
And all the trees bristle with fleeting wind to come,
And noon is shone by a single light mine eyes are blind,
Nor grieve a single tear that rises the oceans more,
Nor rain can dispel the mute of space from dark mine face,
Here less I stood, and soon my legs stoned in shock,
Think less of what then, who cannot befriend nor mate,
Who could never see his face again, but stare by side below.
I am the slave that weighs the world by the zero-sum;
So Hail the Zeus that casts such a misery upon me,
Do I not hold a world that could never hold me?
So ends the sad tale of great Atlas, here and there;
Here and there he crouched with full weight and mused:
The Spheres of Mars and Saturn, so vanquish peril,
So cast away, and look yond the Sun that orbits,
To the North we see his tears vaporised to clouds above,
To the South his dark and shady figure comes aged and cold,
So come what may, whether be or not, ere set nor dawn spread,
The charms once leaked, so his shadow forms the space,
Till, flesh on flesh, blood on blood, eyes and heart depart,
The breathing yet lifeless figure dusts into the nether dark,
His flesh: the moons; his tears: the stars,
Till one day wonder a people sired this realm so dark,
Then ponder why and how such things were made,
Though never witness its Maker till Judgement,
Nor remember the origins of rain, cloud, wind;
Nor breathe another air mixed in pain,
So poor Atlas fades in mem’ry.,
And all flows and fires away.