Woke I from an abstract dream of childhood
As I watched her fall asleep.
There is no pain like a silent lullaby
And God works in mysterious ways.
A Familiar SpaceThe casement peered eerily at the decrepit churchyard, grimacing at the reinstatement of the bell-ringer’s apprentice. Two droplets shadowed each other along the ethereal landscape, only to conspire by the corner of the peeling muntin, and then go their own ways inconspicuously. Another subtle sunset had been set in motion, but the cornsilk curtains did not think much of this rather tasteless sport, and chose to censor it on grounds of sadism. In Dobnarov’s room, the tables were never bare and the armchair had seen better days in the office of an emeritus professor - Professor Levy Barnes - no less, the impervious face of spatial erudition on both sides of the Atlantic. His books lay around like the ruins of a pagan temple: much worshipped in the old days, but with humbled walls that had tasted the bitter defeat of completion. Dobnarov never hesitated in putting his things in place; there was a place for all things in his room once he began to contemplate how impoverished h
The Compassionate Adulterer to His LoveCome live with me and let us prove
What pleasured springs eruct with love,
In thorn and furze, the bracken dew
Can wait an age; it waits on you.
But ours is terse, its timely birth,
Whelped by the sorrows of the Earth
That girdled skin round workday bones
To slight our kinship with flagstones,
Can broach the deserts of decline
And palliate this sin of mine:
Oh let the nymphs and dryads be
What touches thee, tastes poetry.
So let us lie, the sheets are strewn
In purple riot, the heart of June
Seeps softly in sumac and myrrh
Embedded with a scent of her.
If she sleeps, knowing all, she sails
Adrift a sea of stars; the tales
That serenade the thirst unseen
Are ghosts of garbles—never been.
And though our twine is verboten,
And dawn will cite this fear of men,
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
The Old WaysThe old are always protecting themselves
in the way they speak, shouldering words
as they soldiered on through pink and pittances,
buffeted by diminution. They dice their words,
dealing only as little as it takes to enamel flavour,
retiring the rest into Tupperware paraphernalia, repairing
to the bedroom, inaudibly behind a hardcover, which bides its while
where the wind blows, bartered by borrowed air.
Always the unheeded precautions: the seasonal stew
may babble with solicitude, never gusto
while the julienned aubergines justify every austerity measure
- each a testament to the Great War -
the quiet war of animation and attrition
as winter finds a comfortless corner to die.
Each a Diogenes to his own cause, saving scraps
of dignity in misplaced parables and promises of bequeathal:
the old play the precarious sport of procrastination.
Enumerating the fears of the same dogeared journey,
the prognosis of the situation is hardly original:
'When I was your age' - begins the fated period d
Connecting the DotsI've dealt in death with you. We knew the bill,
and going Dutch seemed okay. Colouring in the spaces
perhaps resolved the stasis of these outlines,
but now this painted portrait subtly repines
for life, for what small art is born of drowning faces.
Submerged beneath your throes I held a beacon,
ambling between your toes I worshipped Eve,
so saturnine, whose lips of time could not preclude
this fruit of mine. Alone at last, the senses brood
on rectitude, while nameless lovers leave.
Would you care for a lie? An explanation?
You must have your own, mine are gormless -
it was not passion, merely impassioned:
irrationally cherished, rightly rationed.
When did our days perceive this lacking
rousing spore on spore, spire and steeple?
Evoking the strange and sublime to embrace
the earliest preserver of people.
We’ve dueled with death and dice. But who can blame
the shamefully bored of rolling one too many times?
I knew the rules as they were spoken
and you let them be, bare, unbroken.
Death of a YearWe stand on the footstools of yesterday’s promises,
peering into the blue harmony of a timeless aubade:
the new year separates us from the old;
their rustic charms and world wise baubles
are fading, falling, kissing white December’s brow -
the magic is in wane, the Wicca in the wine
offers little relief in way of innocence;
instead the remembrance alleviates the holidays:
what a time it was, what a place it was –
what paradise it was - that spectre of Insouciance.
Last night’s basting, Jacobi’s painting, the real thing -
sooner or later everyone becomes a thing:
objects remind us of piecemeal courtships,
passion in a pendrive portends the minimalism of the soul
once feather driven by the heart dregs of Tasso – Toulmin
explains the six elements fundamental to each argument
with little claim to why we’re arguing and
even lesser qualification of why conflict needs a structure.
Structure, edifice, complex, fabric, battery cages
The Cycle of PassionNever knowing eyes never did haunt us
’Tis our own ditty which fails to daunt us;
The amorous rose or the lovebird’s lustre
Leaves but two shades for a season’s fluster,
Yet the poet’s pen is perchance guided
With rabid romance, nature unprovided -
For summer songs are bare conversation
Betwixt life and long winter’s predation:
Pale thirst for passion or higher power
Quenches its quaff in the quiet hour,
The soul’s tragedy is in demanding
Liberty lost from body remanding
Creation’s cold woes and callous joys, cannot grace
Vanity’s visage or the selfsame face,
In vain, we swallow the daily smother
To love ourselves, we love another.
I am a writer.And I don't even care
if the world hears my story.
All I want to do
is put my ink to paper
and stain the white with all the things
you said to me
and watch the paper blacken
until you can't see the lines,
because I am a writer.
And I always carry my pen
so I can stain the world with my stories
the way you stained me.
I'll see you in the pages.
wands up your face had many names,
each one a ring in the tree of your life;
a paragon in the arts, a kind voice in the wind
you were the lighthouse in the fog,
the booming presence from above,
the firework display in Germany,
and the wizard who struck Muggle gold
in the hearts of millions;
the laughter in your halls will cease
to be mo
Love Is BlindWhy do you still want him after everything that he did..
You offered him your heart, body and soul,
and he damaged your soul and threw your heart like it was nothing,
he took the body and after he was done he threw it away it, too.
So, why do you still dream of him..why want someone like him..?
I Ship UsI can not measure our love
in words, but in how tight
we hug when we finally
see each other again. There
is starshine in your smile
and I could swear that you
are Aurora, wreathed in
beauty, but with less sleeping
and more ass-kicking.
You are kind and selfless,
a true paragon of love
and a goddess of all things
good. where most have blood,
you have eternal love.
all the light in the world
is simply not enough
to express the light
your friendship and
love bring to me.
Passion and excitement
exude from everything
that you do and you pour
your heart into; everything you
make, everything you touch.
When we first met, there wasn't
a doubt in my mind that I
had found one of my soulmates,
someone who could laugh
over puns and obsess over
pokemon, someone who wouldn't
judge me on anything I'd done.
A kind soul that is there
for all to see. One that has
been scarred and one I
wish to protect. Everything
you do becomes better
simply by your being there.
You are the reason I believe
in friends b
Midnight SkiesWild blue in your eerie eyes
is flickering like midnight skies,
it makes me mad, it makes me ache
for something more than a random heartache.
And your heart is timid like a small, untamed fox
buried deep in the ground in a black onyx box.
I want it bad, I want it now,
like a chaotic emerald necklace, someday, somehow.
You're everything and more, a misty shadow and a morning glow,
a furious fire and an icy snow,
a kingdom of gold and a crumbling throne.
GayI am gay.
I'm not a disease, I'm not a problem
I'm not an affliction
I don't need treatment.
I don't need help
I'm not sick
I'm not confused
I'm not a sin.
I am gay.
I'm your daughter
Your co worker
A complete stranger
I am gay.
I need love, just like you
I need smiles
I need support
I need a hug
I need a friend
I need a family
I need acceptance
I need understanding
I need you
I am gay.
I know what love is
I know what pain is
I know what hate is
I know what life is
I am gay.
And I need you to love me
The same way you loved me before you knew
I am gay.
And I have experienced hate
From more people than just you
I am gay.
And I wont change.
I wont give up.
I wont back down.
I wont pretend.
I wont lie.
I wont deny.
I wont hide.
I wont hurt.
I am gay.
And that's okay.
Through The FlameThrough The Flame:
Can you feel it in the winds?
The chilling cries of blood-lust that sing through the air...
May your people weep at the destruction that is to come;
While you mortals cower behind your wards of flesh and steel!
How does it feel I wonder,
This question I ask
To those who have spent their entire existence
Amassing power over their fellows...
Know now that your paltry gestures;
Your pseudo-might is but dust,
Cast into the violent wind of a whirling typhoon!
Now, tremble within your hovels of concrete and steel,
For I am rage incarnate and I have come to ensure,
That your world will burn...
Isabella Gets Kinda Salty About FeminismTeach me how to be soft.
Like Monet paintings.
All pastel and water color
So easily washed away.
But so breath takingly pretty.
Teach me how to be quiet. (Ha!)
Like the breeze whistling through the trees.
Delicate and belonging to Spring.
Turn my hurricane winds into something you can handle.
Teach me how to be beautiful.
A paper cut out doll from your magazines, so easily ripped in to two.
But don't I look so nice in this dress?
Make my hair like silk
Instead of a mess of tangled curls.
Take your burning hot flat irons and turn every fiery red head knot into golden blonde.
Style it until I look like a Hollywood princess.
Sick and utterly gorgeous.
Am I perfect to you now?
You took my storms and made me into a colorless July sky.
But you tell me 'Smile honey'
Cameras go 'Snap snap snap'
And I can hear my heart beat in them.
You've taught me this since I was born.
But I know better now.
My pretty is unique
Like wild flowers and thunderstorms.
Vibrant and loud.
And I will not be tamed,