Captured by sleep, I fall into fog.
The bugle sounds, and I am on parade.
I read out my plans for the day.
They do not impress the fearful sergeant major of my conscience.
They prove to be inadequate.
As ever.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
Anger? No, that would be inappropriate.
This is the twenty-first century after all;
these days, such things happen.
And when they do, nobody thinks twice,
except, in this case, me. Sadness? Yes,
but more than that. Thoughts arise unbidden:
my mind displays your key life moments,
each one a pearl in my memory.
"Pretty as a picture", "bright as a button", people say.
I have to say it too: that is how you were, for me.
You were the small and vulnerable one,
who had to be loved, no matter what.
Nausea? Indeed, that is the heart of it.
Frank Sinatra and seduction are passé, I understand.
But did it have to be squalid?
With a man like that, in the shopping mall car park?
Now I must get to know a stranger:
my daughter, the easy lay.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
I never said I loved you.
Though I told you that I really liked your company;
which I did, and do.
Amanda is my sweetheart.
As your oldest and most trusted friend, she's there for you.
Yes she was, and is.
I never mentioned marriage.
Though your bedroom's witnessed many scenes of ***********
Just good fun, I thought.
Just one of many bedrooms.
All those in-and-out exertions in the cotton sheets?
They were commonplace.
I never said I'd cure you
of your hang-ups and your frequent trips to la-la land.
You were too far gone.
Abandon the placebo.
Just take stock of who you are, and who you want to be.
Look for someone else.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
Even a witch has to be trained.
The broomstick needs skill to operate,
so pay attention.
Advanced students can use the high-performance stick.
They urge on the cylindrical thruster;
it accelerates rapidly to the treetops.
But usually, time is available for a gentler ride.
Aim to thread a path through the trees.
Focus your thoughts on the ideal route — the stick will obey.
Quiet concentration and subtlety are requirements.
Listen carefully to the night and the forest;
adjust your controls accordingly.
At the end of the journey, review your progress.
If you steer correctly, contentment will be your pillow.
Otherwise, you should refine your strategy.
Remember: you will be held accountable.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
Welcome, traveller, to the island of despair.
Every morning, my staff will insinuate
into your skull what you already know:
you were born useless, and will forever remain so.
Most of your colleagues find you laughable; the rest, despicable.
You are shamefully inadequate, and fail to qualify
as a human being. **** yes. Sapiens, no.
Do not hope for redemption:
this is the land of infinite regret.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
Between tree line and snow line, the alpine plants survive.
Cold and desiccation are enemies, but there is no surrender.
Clonal propagation is adequate: *** is often dispensed with.
Between fame and indifference, the quiet people settle.
Ice is melted by family life.
Coupling does occur: but surreptitiously.
Between the eccentric and the outrageous, my love lives.
No-one is ever oblivious to her presence.
An immediate outflow of passion is always an option.
Time to go upstairs, dearest one.
Time for a re-enactment of the big bang.
Time to roar.
My! Where did you learn to do that, Cynthia?
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
Words can bite.
Mostly just a nip — easily forgotten.
But sometimes an injection of neurotoxin,
whereby you lose your nerve.
In the night-time woods, small life scurries in the undergrowth,
mostly unseen by human eyes.
But sometimes moonlight is revelatory,
striking a shaft of momentary wonder.
Do not give in, fellow scribbler.
There is something extraordinary to see.
You are in the best position to see it,
and make others wish they had seen it, too.
Re-assess your wound, and its author.
Probably just a ***** best ignored.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
When Princess Lemon went to bed that night
she knew for sure that everything had changed.
She knew the pounding hoofbeats would pursue
the quivering night-time body of her dreams,
would shake her upside-down and inside-out,
would set the tempo of her shuddering sleep.
The horseman spurs the horseflesh to obey
his strict command: "Up now, and clear the hedge!"
Together, man and beast perform as one,
combining will and power; and at speed.
The huntsman and the Princess are a pair.
They dance to Pan as only lovers can
and twine their bodies in the open air.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 9:15 AM UTC
I'd like you all to be happy.
If I could erase your secret apprehensions,
and kiss your lives better,
I would.
It's not that easy.
When my needs conflict with the general good,
and require me to offend,
I do.
I cannot be a prisoner of your expectations.
When my limited stocks of bonhomie are exhausted,
and contempt suggests I scream,
I will.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
The road continues to its vanishing point on the horizon —
where over-ambition falls to earth as delusion
and toil is sublimated into wonder.
Will you travel with me?
Will you relinquish the almost right and the fairly good?
Can you scrape away the detail from the essence?
Navigation may be difficult.
There is a route to perfection, but it is not signposted.
Sometimes tarmac gives way to dirt and mud.
The light is fading, now.
Eventually, sleep will be unavoidable.
Tomorrow, we can steal the lightening.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC