THE MEETING

Alone one night neath lantern light, I trudged a weary mile.
Forlorn, I went with shoulders bent (the storms around me howled)
until I met a Silhouette behind a sultry smile –
She gazed with eyes that mesmerize (Her body caped and cowled)
and stayed my way with question fey, ‘Why don’t you while awhile?’

Though timorous (with slow address and gestures pantomimed)
Her voice was gracing echoes chasing waves in evening’s tide.
The churchyard groaned, an ***** moaned, the bells of midnight chimed
while wanton winds awoke and dinned, and mistrals multiplied.
The Persian moon, like stray balloon, arose and blithely climbed.

The Silhouette (a pale brunette) arched eyebrows meant to please,
and down the lanes, on windowpanes, the shadows danced and sighed.
A meadowlark within the dark, somewhere behind the breeze,
ennobled Her with wisps of myrrh while deigning to confide
to nightingales veiled whispered tales of human vanities.

She doffed her cloak before She spoke with sighs of sorrow sung
(like mandolins, as night begins, when mourning day’s demise)
and spun Her tale of grim travail and tears She'd shed when young.
As jagged volts of thunderbolts lit up the dismal skies,
a velvet fog embraced a bog in coils of curling tongues.

Through summer vales and winter gales Her secret thoughts were voiced.
Midst storms so cruel (neath lightning’s jewel that glistered on the ridge)
She reminisced, She touched... we kissed... Her lips were wet and moist...
A lighthouse dimmed, while moonbeams skimmed across a distant bridge
to avenues where residues of shallow shades rejoiced.

                        HER TRAGIC TALE

“Midst sweet perfume of youthful bloom, the lonely spirit braves
and often cries and sometimes dies in quest of her amour.”

While starry-eyed, a ship I spied, a’ sail upon the waves –
the galleon docked, the gannets flocked, the Captain swept ashore
where, debonair with gypsy flair, he led his salty knaves.

In passing by, he caught my eye - I tried to hide a blush,
but ambiance of innocence left fervour’s flames revealed.
His gaze (defined by eyes that shined) beheld my cheek a’ flush.
I bowed my head while caution fled, I felt my fate was sealed
- a bird in spring with fledgling wing - he’d snared a  falling thrush.

He said ‘Hello’ - I answered ‘No’ and yet before he’d gone
said I, ‘I’ll wait at Heaven’s Gate not far beyond the Pale’.
At dusk he came neath moon aflame, and left before the dawn
just humming tunes between the dunes that lined the sandy trail
beside a pond where morning yawned, where swam an ebon swan.

We met again, and once again, and once again, again
entangled in a love called sin, in whirls of make-believe.
While in my arms, with voice that charms, said he ‘I must explain -
the tide awaits in distant straits and I must take my leave’.
Then tempests stormed as passions swarmed through ardor’s hurricane.

‘Forsake your home and we may roam’ he smiled as if to tease
and still naive, said I ‘I’ll leave, in silver buckled shoes’.
He took the helm in search of realms, and quickly quit the quays -
with tearful eyes, I bade goodbyes to fare-thee-well adieus
and sailed above a wave of love across the seven seas.

We swept one morn around Cape Thorne while bound for Bullion Bay.
With naught to reck, I strolled on deck, a baby at my breast,
while flurries blew and seagulls flew within the ocean’s spray.
Our ship soon moored, we went ashore and off to Fortune’s Quest -
with gold doubloons which shone like moons, he gambled through the day.

‘The deuce is wild’ he thinly smiled; another card was drawn -
he’d staked and raised with eyes half glazed, was dealt a dismal three.
With betting tight throughout the night, the final ace long gone,
meant all was lost, at what a cost; alas, the prize was me.
To my dismay he slunk away and left me doomed at dawn.

A buccaneer with ring in ear sneered ‘now, my dear, you’re mine’.
He held my wrists to thwart my fists and then... my honor stained.
On sullied swash, the sky awash with bitter tears of brine,
I broke his clutch with nothing much of me that still remained:
a residue when he was through, left clinging to a vine.

In morning dew, the good folk knew, and spurned me in my plight.
The preacher man pronounced a ban and wouldn’t condescend,
ignored my pleas on bended knees and prayers by candlelight.
While cast aside, my baby died... my world was at an end.
Until this day, I’ve made my way beneath the shades of night.


                        AT HEAVEN’S GATES

To set Her free from destiny was far from my design,
but, though unplanned, I touched Her hand to give Her peace of mind.
She told me then, and then again, that providence Divine
had cast a curse, and even worse: despised by all mankind,
She walked alone, unseen, unknown, Her soul incarnadine.

To break this spell of living hell, of loneliness enshrined,
and end Her days within the haze, a sole redeeming deed
would give reprieve and maybe leave our destinies entwined -
Her final quest be put to rest if only I agreed,
but no surcease nor perfect peace nor hope if I declined.

The shadows, shawled in silence, crawled, the night Her fate was sealed
as vespers tolled across the wold beneath the muted fog.
The heavens cracked and sorrow slacked as chimes of children pealed
while in the hills (where midnight chills) there wailed a daemon dog -
with no delay I lead the way, the path to Potter’s Field.

Her weathered face was lined with Grace, Her eyes shone emerald green.
With me as guide She stepped inside to grieve and mourn Her loss,
and thereupon, though pale and wan, the night took on a sheen.
With weary eyes as Her disguise, She placed a wooden cross
upon a mound (unhallowed ground) and whispered ‘Sibylline...’.

A falling star flared in the far and burst, a bolide flame -
beneath the light, the Final Rite no longer hid undone.
And kneeling there in silent prayer, we seemed to share the shame
but could atone if left alone, forevermore as one.
Before we both could breathe an oath, I asked Her once Her name.

Through lips, pale red, She simply said ‘Some called me Abigail’,
and neath a birch where white doves perch, I took Her for my bride,
beheld Her smile a little while, but all to no avail...
Her cloak and cape, and shrivelled shape lie empty at my side...
for now She waits at Heaven’s Gates, not far beyond the Pale.

Whining dog...we just went outside.
Wading through internet DATs and cogs and bandwidth hogs, outside still raining cats and dogs.
double-click trawling pics and blogs searching for remedies and laws that inhibit logs to saw.
Wide-eyed, face down I sprawl still awake, redefining  my character flaws,
fearing my falling into the trappings of urban sprawl or
investing your mind then hitting the wall.
Lose or draw,
a new artistic affair or creative outlet dares you daily to fall.
"Late" is now "Early"
Dawn's illuminating looming, night to be soon consumed.
Insomnia vacuums,
drama typhoons,
crooning tunes....
It'll be June soon.
Feeling marooned waiting for the opportune...well, I'm still waiting,
Whining dog...we just went outside...Fine!
Rain drains backlogged in the AM black...****** dog. Decide! He takes his time.
Three nights of showers,
cowering under this street corner lighted power tower,
unrequited efforts to stay dry.
Moon still high, clouded bright behind the wetness...
Wait, what if I see "her"?
Should I dare bare my soul, take control, or say simply "Hello?" just to know?
Do I want to know "yes" or "no"?
Grandmother always said "The truth is the most powerful force you'll ever face, trace, disgrace or embrace"
I remember my last pursuance of the truth.
You remember college...
The ubiquitous responsibility of apologies for the skewed knowledge sleuth colleges preclude.
A four, no five year matterless smattering reviewing the hows, whys and whos who of Impressionist imbued hues;
the politics of subdued Katmandu coups,
Homer's muses; many a Siren sank the boats I crewed;
news crews that flew the bird flu news coop and recouped,
skewed suing over Golden Arch morning brew,
tragedies, sonnets, and nothing adieus,
spewed formulas and equations notecard ques,
standing in long line registration cues every time we change Major views,
all fueled by a boozing, smokey ballyhoo of Tullamore Dew, hopped brews, tattoos, crude food, music muses and quoted virtues.
What’s even true and what would you do if you knew, ****** logic class…
And alas, you're through! “Here’s your paper, now choose.”
The ****** inequity of iniquity dams me so I can't break free.
Such an abrupt disruption could erupt great corruption,
the self-destruction is tempting, but doesn't pay rent.
Not today, but maybe soon.
June's coming...dryer and higher noon.

R.Craig David- copyright 2008
Redux Edition April 1st, 2013
Inspired by rain, blame shame, the game and a cute girl just 3 doors down that still remains a stranger in my old college town.

Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine--thy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else, how distinct they say,
"Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!"
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.

       Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
Oh welcome guest, though unexpected, here!
Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long,
I will obey, not willingly alone,
But gladly, as the precept were her own;
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief--
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream, that thou art she.

       My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss--
Ah that maternal smile! it answers--Yes.
I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nurs'ry window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
But was it such?--It was.--Where thou art gone
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting sound shall pass my lips no more!
Thy maidens griev'd themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of a quick return.
What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,
And, disappointed still, was still deceiv'd;
By disappointment every day beguil'd,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learn'd at last submission to my lot;
But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot.

       Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more,
Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor;
And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt,
'Tis now become a history little known,
That once we call'd the past'ral house our own.
Short-liv'd possession! but the record fair
That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm that has effac'd
A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionary plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd;
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and brakes
That humour interpos'd too often makes;
All this still legible in mem'ry's page,
And still to be so, to my latest age,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Such honours to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorn'd in heav'n, though little notic'd here.

       Could time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours,
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flow'rs,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I *****'d them into paper with a pin,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head and smile)
Could those few pleasant hours again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart--the dear delight
Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might.--
But no--what here we call our life is such,
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much,
That . I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

       Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd)
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle,
Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore
"Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,"
And thy lov'd consort on the dang'rous tide
Of life, long since, has anchor'd at thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'd--
Me howling winds drive devious, tempest toss'd,
Sails ript, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course.
But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From ***** enthron'd, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise--
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now, farewell--time, unrevok'd, has run
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine:
And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic shew of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft--
Thyself remov'd, thy power to sooth me left.

early morning
and the same sun rises over distant lands
and close-by skyscrapers
searing rusting infrastructure
with its harsh orange glow
spreading westward,
stretching over asphalt pathways
that connect, divide, structure, and destroy
alighting wearied faces of automobile drivers
careening through their morning commutes,
consuming caffeine like *******
while they deftly maneuver their 2,000 pounds of steel behind,
along, aside, and ahead of their neighbors
this,
is New Jersey,
where all roads lead to Newark
and there is nothing left but roads

approaching the colossus,
the cars cram and crawl into curb-side cases
narrowly avoiding calamitous collisions and condescending traffic cops
doors, fly open
and a mad flurry of arms and legs,
boxes and backpacks
come whirl-winding out onto the entryway
rushed goodbyes and abrupt adieus
color the palette of the doorway
dripping inside,
bleeding into the harshness of late businessmen
and screaming families.
Shoes Off.
Laptops Out.
and pray dearly that the TSA
doesn't shove their fingers inside of you
today.
arms up, legs spread
exposed to the imperceptible energy of American exceptionalism
the magnetic arm swings,
impregnating its subjects with the Joy of Fear
and the awe of empire
swings again,
and releases the hapless passenger from its total control
Through.
Checked.
Complete.
Pass Go, collect $200.
and into the international installation itself.
Enjoy your flight.

Old love letters paper the walls of my study.
Faded and peeling,
a few fall into the shadows
while most remain,
stubborn, insistent,
unyielding and unapologetic.

Oh, how the ink has begun to bleed!
To tattoo the dull, white paint in glimpses
between the letters,
as if I can hear their words
humming in a melody of minor chords.

I've stopped checking the mailbox,
full and lonely,
we are enemies.

Bookshelves surround me as well,
keepers of cluttered wisdom,
tomes of goodbyes, adieus,
and one or two apologies.

The stale air holds a minor chord--
the fermata of my early twenties
extends in a one significant pause:

You tell me,
We are not our history.
And then light the single match
illuminating
certain, brown eyes
and too much ruined papers.

Flames singe and curl the wallpaper
The fire sings over the sounds of my past.

We are alive in the crucible,
flames caressing my memories
now only in the fireplace
you have found in the corner.

Silent warmth and bare walls,
We sit down to write a new book,
bound in autumn leaves and cold rain,
and in a new handwriting,
You begin:
*We are alive in the crucible.

the sky is the colour of ceres porcelain
or an oil painting of a windy isle,
the hot sun softens,
the days easier, the clouds
are white like patches on
blue jeans, the cooler air
conjuring the blues of the
skies, mystical and haunting,
the stream’s summer greys
singing of rusty pools and
white linen, as babbling water
falls from the mountains
and rushes to breathe.
summer becomes tender,
opens her heart to the
beauty of the sky, lingers
with flashy sunlight, and
touches of brilliance to
those water-colour skies
and sends us adieus
and sweet memories
of children’s laughter
and happy, warm days.

tore myself in two
put on a show for you
the taste of your lips
i hunger for one more kiss
a table for two
only one thing left to do,
you.
we're just a bunch of nobodies
partnership of two wannabes
just a great hyperbole
pathetic in actuality
we’re going no where
we’re bound to tear
i love the recklessness of it all
and fall when you call me your baby doll
id gladly throw myself off a cliff for you
perhaps its time to bid my adieus
but wheres the fun in saying my goodbyes
when i could stay, and let you multiply my butterflies
take from me until i can no longer give
until i forget how to live
forget how to live independently
but i need not worry, you promised me an eternity
and so i trust you with my everything
and you will forever be my king
of this soul, of this body
you’re my new hobby
and perhaps it is unhealthy,
but you’re the only one who loves me correctly
and i could care less
so ill stress, obsess, caress
until there is nothing left of us
just a ceramic jar of ash and dust
and our fates and fingers are intertwined
and you’re confined, all and only mine.

Bolted digits, rootbound to acrid heavens,

ostrichly I swallow sand, begging the heaviness

to parch my flaming veins and ceaselessly flowing sorrows.



Sparrow’s fleeting raison d'être, sipping eyes of iceberg hue,

quenching mine own of verdant leaf; long-awaited view

to fill my soul’s windows’ empty absinthe pools.



No somber adieus, simply one smile of lightning.

His passing thunder will resound beneath my ribs

from the arrows of his glacial spheres

forevermore.

How I long to hear your voice one more time, How I long to hug you and know it’s all fine…

How I long to see your smiling face,
How I long to feel your loving embrace

Hope you’re doing fine
Hope you’re the star that always shines

Hope to see you soon
Hope to enjoy one more monsoon

Thank you for your unconditional love,
Thank you for making us feel like we were more than enough.

Thank you for everything you have done,
Thank you for being the best dad to this undeserving son.

O’ History, my grand squire, who dresses thyself in robes,
And conjures the euphoric melodies in intoxicating trance,
Rings again when infiltrating my sanity in piercing probes,
Meets beloved, I and you, by virtue of pure happenstance.

Glorious beauty alas dares happens once more than nay,
Hunts the diapered foe, O’ abominated Cupid by chance,  
Shall ash as Phoenixes alike our debris hearts rise today,
In wholesome offerings to but love-struck happenstance.

Stutter words, but no meaning to those which hold none,
Perhaps the fated stellar alignments arth we to romance,
Let us all embrace the enchanting night when all is done,
And give the bidding rose thornes to adore happenstance.

By shocking telltales in undesired casts from love to date,
In adieus, may Autumn leaves amongst the skies dance,
As what could indeed be blossomed by the grace of fate,
But instead hands the gifted pleasures of happenstance.

Come gather around the crucible now.
Let darkness take its timely bow,
And guise us all into focus.

None gather the severity here
Of the test at hand standing shear.
The devil possesses us now.

Shan’t we dig our grave at time?
Pass this or death knell shall chime
Of the knowledge of life.

Stare into the cauldron of your eyes.
Doth see what thy devil devise,
Stirring within the souls of us?

Let the cauldron bubble away,
And reveal a sign of trouble this day
In preparation for the leap of faith.

You see your reflection? Yes, it’s true.
If not wise you’ll wish more adieus
And never bother unbroken ice.

Gaze the cloud of smoke above
Distort the air into figure of
Into our sorrowful adieu.

A mirror around, focus now
You see the stand as you how
Performing upon ritual now.

We string and slide away we go
They ice over and this they know
To expand us to eternity.

If he yet advance not forth to strike
Then the devil may apply his *****
Upon the relation between.

Est thy his work or worker stray?
Thy either way shut out light’s ray
And freeze us all apart.

Thy must or need advance the ice
And destroy it while the risky price
Of fragility looms in doom.

So gather around the crucible now
Around let the darkness timely bow
And hold none yet the amulet.

Gouge thy eyes open of all thee light
And fold into posture and amulet might
Let the dire cold overwhelm.

The briskness forces way into
And turns all ye to Pluto’s blue
Without the amulet, thy lay dead.

Dive upon thy ice into ye soul alive
And do witness what devil devise
To break and make you ownage.

Release unto thy purple stone.
Unto the newer bluer known
And apply yourself true.

Xaimon felt, Dvoryin foresaw,
It tries to dissolve boundary law
And cast us into ice.

Pythaezuyen cried in horror
And echoed prophecy down the door
Along time’s fabric string:

“Our dearest child slain to die
And destruction rise from tears thee cry;
Thy all shall grant impunity.”

This demon echoed no remorse
For ye now control thy course
Of this text we take

Find the Mystic Circle breaking
The very foundation upon the shaking
Wear the amulet and hear me.

           - Cryptous Straevaras

What it'd be
to be the same cup of tea
and poured so thoroughly
for all the world to see

What it'd be
to be sought and enjoyed
rather than looked
through tainted and destroyed
colored glasses,
decidedly annoyed
people fix me irritated glances
I'm not a crowd pleaser
and alone viewed as bitter
I'm sorry I'm not your cup of tea
if you see a quiter
then a bitter quiter has to be me

What it'd be
to not even be me
maybe instead
from a mint brewery
then my demeanor
would appear brighter,
cleaner
but not to you
achu achu
appearances never
faze to blue
until that brew adieus

What it'd be
for my recipe
to have been escriben
so graciously
near my name
Instead drank ostensibly
spit contemptuously
and given tired out pleasantries
failed to taste great piquancy
no red, yellow, or blue cup's
compatible dripping amenity

And oh what it'd be
for you to see
that with the alliance with a honey bee
everyone's cup of tea

Winter can be fun too,
For me and you.
Goodbye  to heat waves,
And iced chilled drinks you crave.
Adieus to flies bugs and bees,
Hay fever, poison ivy and also allergies.
Appetites increase,
Cooking and baking never cease,
Not to forget mending and sewing,
And over a cup of hot tea gossiping.
Fire-places aglow,
Whilst landscape is carpeted with snow,
Children enjoy indoor games in the basement below.
Sled riding, ice skating,
tobagonning, and making snowman can be fun,
With the promise of a glowing sun.
In the mornings dad's car can be stubborn,
But a little wooing and engine warm up it can be won.
Winter too is happy time,
More time for poetry, with rhythm and rhyme.

Starting at the ceiling
Trying to grasp each feeling
My mind is retiring
At last from a day too tiring.

But the dreams return;
The remains of those memories still burn.
The sounds that I once loved are biding adieus.

I wish I could wake up
In a display case

No wood but my
Limbs
Nothing wet but my
Paint
Flawless
Smooth Razor-******

No searching
For caverns
To plunder
No caves to protect
From thieves
Gone asunder

I wish my canvas was blank
Androgynous beauty
A creation of
Choice

But I think I used to have a voice

Characters danced in my esophagus
And played my cords
Like a
Cello

They shouted on a
Page
And longed for the
Stage

But struggled against
My front
Teeth

After years of neglect,
Too cruel to forget
And too torturous again
To repeat

They forwent their "adieus"
But muttered "**** yous"
As they went to turn tricks
Down the street

I close my eyes hoping for dark but I only see grey;
some remnants of night's adieus,
distant sounds of day's footsteps
too early for the mighty sun,
too late for lovely moon
so the sky lingers reluctantly above me,
doubting ever doubting the arrival of light

But what is left of grey but its greyness
stretching infinitely over a vast void;
ever fading but only to younger grey
ever darkening never to a hue but grey.
no birth, no death, just a labyrinth  
caged somewhere in between the mess.

They say I can make whatever I want
of the universe because it's mine
but I hardly see the point in taking the trouble.
Still, if I could mould the stars into shapes
I'd make them to Jasmines
for what are they but shy kids that lay out their wings
in the devouring nights only to curl away
with the arrival of day.

I once saw a cluster of sparks singing in a nightly alley
they held their hands and danced about a blushing flame

what more horrible but the echoes of demons
laughing in depths of dark streets as they
celebrate their evils and bury their fangs
on the cooked bodies they stole by the setting sun
Ribs like bars of a prison holding the excited heart in place
collarbones so sharp they could rip open the flesh,
skin hard as leather, eyes placid filled with smoke
their shrill laughter that gnaws your sleep away,
ebbing and flowing side by side with the dark

I once saw a bunch of Jasmines walk behind a lively sun
Carried upon their withered backs the sacks of cement and bricks
On journey to building a house they'd never call home.

What more lovely than the sound of petals breaking,
dew dripping down their tips only to be snatched away by sun
what more beautiful than the sight of cracked lips,
concave cheeks, tentative hands and scared feet
the desperation of the tongue that takes you to puddles
the moment they hear the cracking of chains
a hunger so strong it makes the teeth shudder
hollowness of nights that pulls you closer to one more thievery
just one chunk of meat to quieten the stomach

Grey choking in white, grey chuckling in dark
grey chains, grey in the chains; grey sky, grey in the sky;
grey eyes, grey in the eyes; grey ballads, grey in the ballads.

That's what happens when you hang your jasmines to dry
under a sun that merely starves for ounces of hope

But what of hope?

They said the universe is mine but if I could squeeze
the life out of the sun, what would I achieve but
the flowers that incinerated decades ago--
the ashes of broken bones, vapours of clotted blood;
the nothingness of smiles, and the dryness of tears;
some sprinkle of love or hate, some gallons of lust;
carcasses of souls, some flesh engraved with wounds

what would I get but the corpses of light that the sun ****** out
the universe they claim belongs to me;
I hear my people screaming out, I see sun sending out its love,
the universe they claim belongs to me turning to cinders.

They say there's day after night but some only see grey
They shiver at sounds of demons joking,
then smirk at screams of stars blazing
but some only stand by the impassive sky watching grey
they fight battles upon battles with evil
then rest by the hanging bodies of the good
but some only stay by the left out winds, staring at grey
They scrape away the dark, paint it white
then cover it up with layers and layers of coal
but some merely sit by the songbirds listening to grey

But what is grey but the reminder of all the petals we ever plucked
and all we ever will in hopes the next that bloom are full of colour
What is grey but a mess of bodies of demons and the heroes
carpeting the deserted battle field that once fluttered with the winds

I open my eyes and the day is finally out
but you can hardly say.

When birds on nearby
Big olive trees
A mellifluous music make,
Cognizant time for daybreak
I often used to get awake.
They always chirp
To say
“ Get up what is your plan
For today?”

Tragically, after
People recklessly
Felled down trees
Concrete jungles
To advance
I have missed for
The alarming bell
A chance.

A vicious cycle of drought
Makes the harvest naught.
Food insecurity
Has become
Some countries’ identity.
Rivers,which used to gallop,
Ebbing out, that trend
Has stopped.

Unlike in the past,
Walking without umbrella
No sane person can
For h/she will be
Victimized by the sun.

Nature, which
We used to bully,
Has become
Unruly !

Alas , unless one puts on
A glass
The reflection from a nearby
Tower’s environment -
not-friendly window
Could cast on one’s iris
A shadow.

In the past
Summer was summer
While winter winter
But now has taken their places
Gray matter.

The air was salubrious
But now it has said” Adieus!”////

moonlight pranced
upon immaculate sheets.

toasting hallelujahs
to unprecedented adieus.

miraculous orchestra
paraded between
enveloped keepsakes.

scents of yesterday
dissolved under my cavity.

ambitious pungency,
held me hostage,

mourning unreachable memoirs,

      ~within a pathetic presence
                    pleading desperately over

                                    crowded cemeteries.

We are to burn in hell
My love,
It has been our time,
far to long
for ones like us.

We tried my dear,
I've prayed to the gods of the dark,
My mother bode us well,
But we had been left alone
Once again.

The ocean can drown us whole,
And sting our hearts dry.
But I will never part from you my dear.

I've planned our goodbyes and adieus
From this life.

And I swear by the salt in the sea,
And the blood coursing through my body,
I will love you,
Wholly and fully
Forevermore.

We watch our beings, now,
Bring it between you palms
Watch it crumble down into nothingness
And feel the air dissipate.

So, lets light ourselves on fire, shall we?

~Fin.

The world’s gotta get a grip on its moral values
Get rid of those coral values
They seem full of life, but they’re really dead
All just hard rock, get them outta your head

There are stuff you shouldn’t do
A respect, dignity to hold for mankind
Act your age, acknowledge your years
Only then can the underage learn,
                            along with their peers

Give them something, them to say ‘cheers!’
Tell them how, don’t be the cause for their tears
There’s a charter, a law you’ve got to adhere to
No, no, nothing you made up on your own

There’s the Creator, He’s not a Hater
Unless you decide, to reside with a debater
Going against His wishes, His will
Look, I’m not lying, I can see the
                                 pills in your bill

You’re having to pay for your demise
Your moral values, know no berg-ice
That’s how messed up, you’ve made your life
Turn back now, you’re already facing a strife

Realize, He gave you heart and mind,
So that you step away from evil’s advice,
But you don’t seem to hear,
You’re deaf now, can’t hear your
                                   own hearts’ fear

Your soul doesn’t like it, well it wouldn’t, would it?
If you handed it over to the non-Maker
So listen, perk up your ears,
Take out the earwax, shed your tears

You’ve got to right the wrong you’ve done
Change the world to something more fun
But truly so, not just play and games
So shallow and hollow,
Change it to a fresh new heart

Discipline your style,
And other mistakes you’ve made

The world right now,
Is a bitter dark place
Faith, Loyalty and Honesty’s got no place
They’ve been pushed aside you see, to make room for these -
Hatred, Betrayal and Jealousy
at the lead

Find the remains of those true trusted values,
Search up your drawers,
Dust off your adieus

Replant those seeds, in the hearts of your breeds,
Give them something, other than knobbly knees

The world needs your seeds,
They’ll die off with you, so please
When you hand over the reins
Don’t give us too many pains

Leave us a trace of goodness,
Even a single old cell,
Don’t worry we know how to work,
The Genetic counsel

We’d regrow the old good,
A complete and full clone,
We’ll take away the hood
No mystic old bone

You see now, He gave us the whole manual,
He let us do, whatever we could,
He even gave us the emergency button,
So in the end we’ll realize

That in the end, we must tell no lies
And in the hands of Him, all lies

When you head up the ***** of the Kirkstone Pass,
so-called for the rock, a glacier's erratic,
that's shaped like a chapel and stands at the head
of the steeply-raked pass

There's a place where the valley far down below you
splits either side of the hill, called 'The Tongue'
Way below is a farm at the tip of 'The Tongue'
from this height, so tiny, it looks like a toy

Be careful!  Don't go to the edge of the roadway
or your fall will be sharp and you might not survive
Drive on, up the twisting ascent of the mountain
until, near the summit, you spot Kirkstone Inn

It's built at the junction of the pass and 'The Struggle'-
the latter a test of a new driver's skill-
its car park a stop for walkers and drivers,
its promise of welcome a tangible call

What a wonderful feeling of warmth as you enter
You're inside, enjoying a favorite brew
Check up on the map, now decide where you're going,
then say your adieus and be back on the road

For the shards underneath my kitchen stove.
i run my fingers through moments thawed
clawing, catching, grasping—
drip, drip, dripping mercury gold
a rupture veiled with wisdom sought
like a Band-Aid on my pinky toe,
a mere stain ‘cross the tablecloth
when every gasp ***** holes anew
deep in bosoms pulsing violet blues

For the wrinkles i failed smoothing through.
paracosmic ashes from bridges burnt
decaying below my point of view, overdue
adieus stashed ‘tween your books and
pertinacious passion seeping through
my pillowcase i tucked in place
souvenirs of potential
framed laced pinkies sitting down
with my strewed syllables marooned and brown
a lynx vanishing with clementine eyes

Until the chalice of chrysalis manifests.
come ‘morrow is an acquainted rue
when all but my love subdued

Requiem



The roaring blaze in Harvin's hearth
Illumines a scene of healing mirth.
All 'round the hall all tankards filled
To toast and praise a comrade killed.
Fallen in battle defending the land,
Fallen in battle, by Fate's hoary hand.
Oakdahl the strong who's mighty arms
Have served the clan in life's alarms,
Who's loyal strength is only surpassed
By his ***** adieus with a willing lass,
Now he stands amid the throng
And begins the night, with Logan's song.
"All listen, all listen, heed my word,
I sing the praises of Logan the good.
A kinder man will ne'er be found,
Love's noble deeds were his spirit's crown.
He took as his own, Gerrig's son
When our land by the fever was o'er run.
The widow's house he ne'er forgot and
Daily brought meat to the stewing ***.
In winter's depths together we stood
Chopping and hauling the village wood.
His battle scarred face our enemies feared
Yet freely our children pulled at his beard
Knowing that in his warrior's frame
Soft was his soul, by love's true flame.
He fell in battle 'gainst Hogar's band
The ones who sought our prosperous land.
Death he found by the archer's shot
Which pierced the flesh of that living heart.
So shout and cheer for a mighty man
Who shed his blood to save the clan!"
Loud were the voices raised in the hall
As they shouted their homage, one and all.

When i leave
My mortal coil
I would love to think
That mourners, do not toil
But instead, are awash with colour
With flowers in their hair
Created at home
Or from an art group flair
No cut flowers
If can do
Let natures beauty
Remain alive, and true
I would prefer my burial
To be green
But realise that this
Would be a costly dream
Although i have no religious views
Folk could express, their own adieus
My greatest wish
Is to leave love
For all of you
And this love
Will remain as true
And as hot
As a Vindaloo
As i drift off
Into an ethereal mist
And dance with the fairies
Drinking mead
And getting ******

by Jemia