In dreams of shadow and moonlight they dwell,
There was Palinode and Epistrophe whom would sing
Palinode, he was as Hades, as havoc, as hell,
His lyrics were sharp and bitter, a corrosive thing…
Epistrophe was Desdemona, Persephone, Belle.
Her lays would buzz like the honeybee’s wing.
And upon sharp daggers they occasionally fell.
Upon which time the heart full of grief would swell.
In shadows of dreams and glimmering shards bright.
They took to the skies in the dark of the night...
They flew through the murk as is their domain,
And came to an estate with Duchess and Duke.
They prowled by the windows and sang songs arcane,
And tempted the married couple with lyrics to *****
And a great fear came over the humans and they swoon.
In ghastly fright together they fell to their knees,
And fell under the spell of that music, that morbid tune,
It was like cold death dancing towards them, they freeze.
And Palinode and Epistrophe entered therein,
And began to feast on their blood, this is their sin.
Palinode said unto Epistrophe, “Hark the cry of the rooster!”
And she to him replied, “I hear only your heartbeat in your chest.”
“Of what do you speak?” He said. “Is this some morale booster?”
“No!” Cried she, “this is only the truth I have laid to rest.”
The wind outside blew like the brewing of a hurricane.
With regards to the Duke and Duchess now dead,
They left their bodies where they fell, in disdain.
And so to their lair in the half light of dawn they speedily fled.
In dreams of shadow and moonlight they go,
Drinking the blood of the innocent and guilty alike,
The vampires Palinode and Epistrophe know,
That death to everything will always strike.
Her hand came up to his face when they awake in the dusk,
His lips to hers and drink in the mouth, so soft that kiss.
Then sweetly sniffing in his fragrance, his musk...
She thought for another life she would never wish.
If anyone would take him from her, she would lament,
But not for a single human life she had taken would she repent.
He had made her this killing machine a monster within.
And she knew she loved him for that and would leave it be.
And so, in dreams of shadow and moonlight she would grin.
And in shadows of dreams and moonlight they see,
That they are together lost in gruesome eternal demise,
Stalking and killing all night until the dawn brings the sunrise.
But Palinode did sometimes wonder when the feast was done,
What waited in their afterlife if they should meet the glare of the sun.
With blood-stained lips and gruesome corpses laid asunder,
He thought that his destiny was hell forever burning,
And so, he tried to weave a different song for her to fall under,
One that would show all his woe and all his yearning.
He sang out the tune and called upon the magical talent.
And into the melody he imbued feelings of remorse, so gallant.
Epistrophe heard him singing while draining her victim’s last drop.
She looked to him through the death and destruction they’d wrought.
But the magic affected her not, she was no puppet, no doll or prop,
She could not be controlled so easily with song or with thought.
“Why do you plague me with sorrow?” Epistrophe cry.
“I want for more.” Came Palinodes’ answer, strong and bold.
“You want more than I can give?” she weeps, “can you not try?”
He speaks. “I have tried and tried again but now I grow old.”
She responds. “You cannot abandon me when you made me what I am.”
And so that song of remorse died there and then in the blood-soaked scene.
“We,” says she, “are hunters and they are the prey, I don’t give a ****
“to leave this life to me alone is hateful and mean!”
Palinode sighs and finds no release, turning away from her,
“Don’t turn away!” she calls, “look at what we are,”
And so looking about the tavern where they have killed all and none stir,
Palinode sighs again and leans on the bloodied bar.
Epistrophe draws near and goes to comfort her vampire lover,
But as she touches him, she does not feel him as she once knew,
Now he turns to leave and offers these words, “I must go and discover.”
In shock stands Epistrophe she thinks that this cannot be true.
And now in shadows of dreams and moonlight they are separated,
And in dreams of shadow and moonlight Epistrophe has little cares,
She kills heartless still but feels a sour feeling of being unappreciated.
And Palinode travels alone, travels the world going where he dares.
Walking amongst the living in moonlit taciturnity
Trapped in an unnatural life, trapped in eternity.
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 6:16 AM UTC
There are no images to which to view,
Except those that are in the mind,
My clothes are plain they do not matter,
No jewellery decorates my fingers nor face,
And although my hair is dyed I await the time,
When I shall chop it off and start again,
Being someone who loves the soul.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
Quaquaversal confusions setting,
Pondering completion and regretting,
Mistakes and deep hard decisions,
Lines against flesh bleeding excisions.
Putting the past within the past,
And not looking back, making happiness last,
Lasting emotion and renew a sense of meaning,
Learning devotion, wanting the strength from my leaning,
Leaning on God as inspiration,
Paying my penance as co-operation.
Still uncertainty lingers around,
But unrelenting hope is what I have found.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC
Had t5here been a bet5t5er greet5ing,
Dist5ance t5ravelled bet5t5er seat5ing
T5rain t5raverse on lines t5hat5 cut5,
Cut5t5ing t5hrough t5he land const5ruct5.
A measure of a cert5ain t5y6pe.
A measure of a purple st5ripe.
Baggy6 t5[-shirt5 loosened t5ie t5at5t5y6 t5orn.
Drag a comb t5hrough t5hat5 hair,
Dist5ant5 vacant5 wishingly6 purposeful st5are.
Say6 no t5o t5hat5 correct5 my6self.
Place t5hat5 cheap cologne on t5he shelf.
Once t5here was a t5all high hill,
T5hat5 once t5he knight5s carouse t5heir fill.
Will climb t5hat5 hill and climbing higher.
Like t5o t5he st5eeple of t5he church t5he spire.
Point5ed on high t5o a st5ar t5hat5 shine.
And shed It5’s light5 on t5he aspect5 of t5hine.
T%o t5umble down once climbed t5o t5he t5op,
And once t5he falling fell t5hen st5op.
Cont5inue deeper, cont5inue t5o smart5,
And deeply6 seat5ed creat5ed dist5ance depart5
And place t5he horse before t5he cart5,
T5hen know t5he meaning of word in art5.
T5he meadows light5 fills on t5he glade
And t5ravel ablout5 t5he dancing shade,
And as t5hese t5wo places glean,
T5here will be more and more t5o be seen.
T5hrough gradient5s of a penumbra,
And wit5h a cert5ain t5icking number,
When t5hings in shadow cower
And t5hings in light5 begin t5o flower
T5hen smiles on faces, dance and graces
Of t5his and t5hat5 and quicker popper flat5.
Chug chug chug of engine st5eam,
T5he rain of t5hese t5hings are bet5t5er off
T%han a conduct5or wit5h a splut5t5ery6 cough.
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 5:32 PM UTC
The sparkling resplendence of tarnished rumination, the thoughts of her cutting like blades bloodied and boiling with ether,
Like glittering gallows where we hang up the trills of lost trauma, banging on gongs and on pots and on pans, crashing through the headspace with decadent and sumptuous thrilling complication,
His hands a scribbling scribe that wallows and wails in the pale of the night, while following the foe of non-sleep fain all fright and find the delight,
His description and usage remaining elusive of how lovely her feature, how delicate her sentience a well-crafted creature, his prose turned to poem and poem to epic and epic to clinging epiphytes of language, not lulling and forever becoming more than that which he saw there upon the gravel and crunching sounding floor,
For the floor of his mind is like trudging over hot coals allowing the pain of the flame to devour the pain of not knowing what comes next, trying for timeless metaphors that appear naked and **** without garment or raiment and such is the payment of prose,
Quivering quills of peacocks long forgot now scrawled on the parchment, the ink of jet black is spilt and flows over the page and lost all the words like the shore on the sand erasing returning the gift of creation back to its rightful owner,
Now pondering the omen and hating himself for his tragic mistake his story lost forever for he will never remake or rebuild that amazing love letter, whipped to the gutter,
Before his tongue stutter his chest starts to flutter, now pick up that instrument of poetry and grow without wilting and disseminate what you create,
For to get so far and fail and try again then you are an artist, rewriting what was heard, even though it is blurred with the fading memory, and that is the identity of art.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
Incomprehensible murmur,
With the paragraph of rhythm,
This is spoken with precision,
This is tokens of decision.
Clearer comes the thinking,
All this clarity is linking,
In the choice that’s somewhat pivotal,
We are heading to the principle.
The principle is singular,
The third eye slowly opens,
Causing massive bursts of intuition,
Slowly, deeply comes fruition.
Dissolving all digression,
Of the subject which is changing,
Of the ego growing weaker,
And the capturing of spirit.
Nonsensical arrangements,
And the quality of concepts,
As they spring forth from the chasms,
And the truth is born from spasms.
Decoration of the poems,
That are bounding in the ether,
Revelation of the notions,
Now disguise them as prediction.
Listen to this, listen to this,
Ask this question, ask this question,
What picturesque is slowly shaping,
With the inhale exhalation?
Here is the gift of presentation,
Of allegorical equation,
It is fabled, it is legend,
It is myth in mead fermented.
In a drunken state of passion,
Drunk on prolix word-elixir,
Here we are now, here we are now,
In this fine-tuned endless moment.
Now keeping with this concept,
Shall we look a little deeper?
Looking at the present moment,
Philosophical emotion.
With everything in motion,
It’s a constant transformation,
Now here’s the complication,
When everything’s vibration.
The solid dense hard matter,
Is creating an illusion,
Make your mind like flowing water,
And you’ll see pass the confusion.
I feel it in my chest now,
And I feel it in my heart,
Pure as light this information,
Coming from all creation.
Now if this seems a little muddled,
And the data’s far from clear,
I have just one suggestion,
Which is halt your calculations.
Let us take the scenic route now,
It takes a little longer,
Due to dancing in the stanzas,
More suggestive, less corrupted.
It is less about the concept,
And more about feeling,
Like a lost one timid grieving,
And the purposeful believing.
I hope you get my meaning,
And the meaning full of lessons,
If you’re looking with your logic,
They will all remain elusive.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Here is the object, the object of my heart,
With a description, let us start,
A subtle depiction, let the vague depart.
Travelling through my mind I am a seer.
I’m in love with an idea,
This idea is an untouchable spectre,
And with my intuitive detector,
I detect its origin, it’s in my soul,
But now with the desire coming in,
Coming in in bounds and flicks and one mighty roll,
I remember what the silence stole,
The silence of this concept,
And I reflect, on the reason why no answer is coming,
I must stave off this crumbling,
Crumbling of my heart, must keep it beating and drumming.
Oh why is it so unforthcoming?
Because I can’t imagine the words of another,
It would only be another word from my mind.
And I find, and I discover,
This idea is love with intricacy,
Such a delectable delicacy.
I feel it in its immediacy,
Concretely. But initially, lacking intimacy.
Where do I turn to find such a thing?
A connection beyond the cogitations,
With passionate love to bring,
A reflection of my desideration’s.
Consecrations of the heartbeats,
Longing is strong and hope never retreats.
You can do no wrong with love in your being,
That is what the world needs
For us to sow seeds,
But that’s not what I’m seeing,
I gander but do not witness,
The sprouts of love and peace,
Let’s plant them in the stillness,
And feel the release,
The seed that will grow,
Soon they will show,
And grow in emotive ways,
It never decays,
Come on now let’s increase,
All of our compassion and empathy,
We are not each other enemy.
A sudden caprice,
I feel it now and it is correct,
It’s helping me to connect.
And we need that so much more than you think,
For when we’re all gone and others remain,
The world will drink,
Our blood and our sweat and our pain.
It’s time to regain,
Our courage, let us stand tall,
And let forgiveness enthrall.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
One. The highest truth is determined through a combination of logical and intuitive scrutiny.
Two. The highest beauty is the discernment of the truth and its relationship with falsity.
Three. The highest love is felt with an inexorable beauty and is the path to liberty.
Four. The highest liberty is gained through utilising the truth for the benefit of all and is sustained through peace.
Five. The highest peace is achieved through application of liberty and wisdom.
Six. The highest wisdom is a process of deliberating future actions based on principles.
Seven. The highest principle is respect.
Eight. The highest respect is achievement of altruism.
Nine. The highest altruism is the acceptance of the knowledge of the unity of all things.
Ten. The highest unity is the unfolding eternity within everything.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
I struggle to remain indefatigable,
I ravage my mind my for hours on end,
My yearning is insatiable,
Flexuous with the concepts to send.
Laboriously sewn, tentatively spoken,
Nonchalantly cast off devastation because it’s broken.
I will never seek acceptance again,
Emancipated from the shackles of denial,
As long as I live I will regain,
And refrain from a judgemental trial.
Perspicaciously drawn, ultimately deduced,
To the gallows with all of my sins, tightly noosed.
They want blood and pain and agony,
All of which I have to give,
I’d rather than expressions of tragedy,
Show what it means to live.
And ponder the spiritual diadems,
Glistening, repetitive, fractals and gems.
My supplications ever so earnest,
Are outweighed by my insubordination.
It’s myself, my own intentions I must harness,
And live beyond my failings and degradation.
Ecstasy is my fruitful, forgiving friend,
Fear my enemy, unrelenting to the end.
Erumpent rampant vociferation,
Endeavouring to end all thoughts iniquitous,
And reclaim my rumination,
Dare I say nefarious?
Well if it is so, than I shall make it not be,
For I have lost all and now I must live for me.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
The themes and figurines,
Of poetry and of art,
Play upon the dreams,
And by candle light depart,
Initiating hanging strings,
That leave traces in the dark,
Alleviating callous memes,
It’s meaningless completely stark.
The toys and trinket of the epoch,
Now rusted and despair,
Give way to the migrating flock,
With brutal traps that tightly ensnare.
The baubles and the jewellery,
Decorating trees and trunks,
Falderal expressions that pointlessly debunks.
For there’s ecstasy in the lunacy,
That haphazardly dips and dunks.
A trifle merely gesture,
As words become the furniture.
The fragrance in its potency,
More potent than the last,
Has lost some of it majesty,
When spending time thinking of the past.
The abstract and surreal,
Will open up the doors,
And what was once concealed,
Now delicately implores.
So there it is, driving matters forth,
And from and too,
The compass points to north,
But which direction does one go,
When imaginings move and grow?
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC