So much can be read
from those graphite and inky
Furs which sweep
across the Velvet Doors.
Three hundred and sixty
perspectives of light
Enamoured by dying
crystals in the night.
My lover's lips are tender.
Tendered by the reed from
Which he sings a thousand
Waves and transcends to a
Dimension, which my eyes
Cannot roam without
Confusion or awe.
For the ways in which
He captivates the
Crowds of souls
Who ponder the extent
Of human excellence
Is through the mystic
Vessel of shining brass.
When his blue eyes wax,
Like glassy moons
Reflecting on cool waters
I pause. And breathe.
And float. And smile.
And even if I was
Letting heat condense
Making my angst
Obvious to he who
Instigates the malevolent
I am immediately at peace-
Not with myself. But
With the thought of
His love, for his craft.
Each and every
Whisper and growl
Is a hue of his
This poem is dedicated to one of my biggest inspirations, Pat Parker.
Search for me in your deepest woes
Do not be gentle with your shows.
For it is not easy to find a locket in the mist
And harder for the trapeze to twist-
and break with truth.
Naivety pirouettes beyond youth.
Circus nature preys and submits in hurdles
Upsets the fragile body with tight girdles.
Blisters shall form lest you be still
But comfort never satisfies the thrill.
Through the glass
And in the ringlet of
Sunlight He stood in,
There was tranquility.
To be tranquil
At one's own sorrows
Taxes and tenders
The flesh of living.
As notes and chords
Of his honesty,
I somehow felt
Soothed and scared
Behind a closed door.
Emotionally longing for more.
As I sit here
I possess a seat
At a table
Be scared of.
To spend time
Tenors of busy engines
Birdsongs in a grove.
Space feels infinite
Not to the touch
But to the sight
That wanders from green
To blue hues in daylight.
Yet connected to
The very essence of
The modern mind.
And we slowly sink into this marbled universe
Touched and towed by many asteroids.
We are the dust and gas from those nebulas.
We are the blue, green and purple travellers.
Who knows whether we become stars
Or melt into the crawling and smothering mud:
which cleanses life to begin renewal.
The bee was forbidden from kissing flowers.
Out of the hive, she found her free will. Though
her wings fluttered under heavy turbulence.
Amazed, by the liberty that flowers held in petals, all around
She began to work on arousing subjects, in the playground.
Irises, roses, fuschias and sunflowers.
Purple, red, pink and yellow- for endless hours.
Her mouth met many lips, sensing negative charges
She finally understood that natural energy was harmless.
Satiated, by her existential discoveries in The Garden
She returned to the tall trees to receive her pardon.
But along the path home she was surrounded.
The colours melted and mixed into grey and brown.
Unable to control the velocity to self-discovery,
Wary droplets of perfume sprayed in cries.
It was then she found her guise,
Judged by those who told lies,
Reached into her abdomen and prised,
No fail-safe to catch her from the skies.