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Archaesus Apr 2018
A new home in spring,
I come as cherry trees bloom
Spring, a new season.
Considering my recent move to Japan, a haiku, while not my usual style, seems appropriate.
Archaesus Jan 2018
Please, don’t come to me
On broken limbs asking for a hand
On hobbled feet and fractured legs
When I can barely stand,
Please don’t ask me for help
Don’t ask what I can’t give:
I can’t bear to turn you away
Because my own are just as fractured
And I cannot carry you.

Please, don’t come to me
With blinded eyes, asking to see
With milky lids and darkened sight
Don’t let this be.
Please don’t ask my to paint
A sunset I can’t see myself:
I can’t bear to lie and paint a sky
That isn’t real, that is contrived
It’s not what you deserve.


Please, don’t come to me
Your mind muddled and confused
Your thoughts torn and tattered
Your feelings lost or abused.
Please don’t ask my heart to feel
With you the things I cannot know:
For years ago my heart died
And left a hollow husk, dark
That you wouldn’t want to view.

Please, don’t come to me
Because I want to be your ground
I want to be the one you go to,
Your support when no-one’s around
But I’m afraid to disappoint you
Let you down, hurt you more
I can’t protect or guide you
I can’t give you what you deserve
So, please, don’t make me hurt the one I love.
For the all-too-frequent times I'm less than my friends deserve when they need me most.
Archaesus Jan 2018
I am small.
I am blind.
I am weak.
I am high
Upon this unsteady branch,
Waving, blowing wind beset,
I let out the finest strand
And find another on which to rest.
I am cold.
I am frail.
I am bold,
And I sail
In gust of wind
I set forth a seam
Another end
Another thread, silvered gleam.
Oh, that I were wise.
Were I mighty,
Fast, great, sublime,
I would rightly
Take up place upon this world.
I would weave a bridge, a tower
Or the veil of finest silks unfurled,
But were I more than I am offered.
But I spin.
I bind,
I loose,
I tie
Upon the waving branches,
Trunks and limbs within their leaves,
Or on the roofs and walks of man
From their windows and their eaves:
I spin,
I tie,
I wait,
I see.
I see by the slightest hint
That one has tread upon my home
And this ephemeral web, moon glint,
Shows wherefore this masterpiece is owned
This net,
This snare,
Beget
By effort fair
Behold! I am hunter, slayer, Death is my bite!
Frail in form but cunning, cruel
Those who before stood stop in their might
Now now within my ethereal tomb!
I weave!
I bind!
I reave!
I tie!
Behold, what patience brought low!
Behold, my toiled gains!
Look, see what my angsted toils show!
For the Spider is my name.
Archaesus Jan 2018
In the shady, shallow clefts,
A ray of light doth glow,
A tender, vibrant shoot springs forth,
'Midst rocks as cold as snow.
Though winds howl the banshee's moan,
Though bitter cold doth tear;
In shadowed, forlorn cavern's mouth,
A sapling surely 'tis found there.
Though leaves and branches break in fear,
When stormy gales release their hate,
That tenacious shoot doth hold its place,
'Till storm and snow and winds abate.
Amidst the dusty cavern floor,
Though it be a shallow hold,
At last a sturdy bough springs forth,
Weathered, beaten, torn, yet bold.
And at this affront to dignity,
The winds tear forth in awesome might,
But with a mast thus strong, roots so deep,
'Tis now naught but the sapling's fight.
Though leaf and branch may flee in fright,
And scathing winds still howl in rage,
Though ice doth press amidst the storm,
There stands that tree, by strength of age.
Archaesus Jan 2018
There stands the traveler's long lost grave,
a lonesome mark on an endless wake,
towering idly in the sands of time,
as the masses of the ages pass on by...

Did he leave his home as a soft young man,
with a ring of promise upon his hand?
Did his family mourn when he left their hold,
or was he forced on by a hand so cold?

Was it riches, glory, fame or peace,
or just a lust to wander land and sea;
did he seek a prize beyond all the world,
was his hope realized in sails unfurled?

As the winds may moan, and the rain may pound,
the trees may break and shatter on the ground.
Firmer than steel, strong as the rock,
the traveler steadily trods...


Did he find his rest in a garden's grove?
Or was his grave in a wake-torn cove?
Perhaps he treads the land this day,
Perhaps he's settled to a life so gay.

Whence did he come, where did he go?
What was his name, will we ever know?
Firm as the tide, lost in time,
the legend of the traveller will always stride.

Break his bones, break his back,
Reel in the sails 'till the wind may slack.
Steady as she runs, keep from the shore,
East and west, south and north.

as the winds may moan, and the rain may pound,
the trees may break and shatter on the ground.
Firmer than steel, strong as the rock,
the traveler steadily trods...

till the cliffs rise high, the tide runs low,
down to the depths the lad will go.
Caught by fate between his eyes,
Lost forever in the tide of time.
Archaesus Dec 2017
Winding, windy, wintery drive,
The flurries through my headlights
And woefully wondrous gusts
Begin to dot the world in white:
Glowing, gusting gale
The winter storm approaches.
Hearth and home, I head straight in,
The cold keeps getting colder,
Blowing, biting, baleful bursts
I return to my warm fold:
Softly, slowly, surely
The winter storm is here.
Here at home the heat is on,
The cats are fed,
The falling, fluffy flurry
Gives way to gentle beds:
Growing, snowy drifts
The Texas snow sets in.
Mushy, melting mournful,
The sun rises on white expanse,
Dripping, dropping droopy branches
The sun extends her own warm hands:
Pure, fading, here then gone,
Leaving muck and brown and memories
But precious in the time it’s here
This unexpected Christmas flurry.

— The End —