O, Candle!
Warm me so
Tinge the palm with soot
Feel the flame
Embrace ye whole
Flee not – to flirting brook.

Make my gelid
Heart whistle
Like kettle overrun
Stir not
With the Finger
You may end up losing some.

Be careful
Not to under
Mine or worse – estimate
The Joy
In Suffering
Is one most intimate.

Let the pain
Consume ye
And be met with greater bliss
For there’s no greater
Pleasure than
To burn as warm as this.

Time has a fickle memory
Such oft it o’erlaps
Deja vu, of the lyric —
That Time itself — entraps.

Devours the page — engorged
‘Til you are paper-forged
Drowned — heady, in pretty epithet,
Losing Time you can’t afford.

You can’t unbind the shackles
For Time has lost the key –
Better to live a fleeting bliss
Than a prolonged misery.

Another smokes
Another one rolled
Another cries
Another one consoled
Another stands where
Another one was lain
Another’s bliss becomes
Another one’s pain

But if pain is just a part of it
Why is it all that remains?
Could it be Another
Is all it takes
To make One whole again?

I don’t like people at my feet
So, I could never be an emperor, or a king
Though I believe myself capable
Of just about anything
But loving – that’s a tricky one.
How does one go beyond –
I wonder – to be overcome
With wonderment of another
Find salt – beneath a fingernail –
Of the Earth’s splendour
Licking them clean, one by one,
Until there are none left to surrender
To me, it is beautiful but immodest
To bear one’s soul so unabashedly
So bare-naked, weak and honest
That you throw off one’s shoes
Trade them for an embrace and warm breath
Old vestments, at the foot of the bed
And at mine, just you.

The Clock has gone to bed
So have the Bell and Chime
And such has ceased all hours to pass
Beyond the boundary of Time.

The Twilight holds you — tender
To cheek you turned to foe
And so now becomes forever,
The Ox becomes a Doe.

O, Heart as gentle as the nascent Fawn
Who gets lost on familiar paths:
"If only to reminisce" — it jests
"Or chance upon greener grass."

Is a boulder wedged
Betwixt thy chest
Bearing weight
Of moving – beyond

Dost thou push against
The peak of unrest
An unmoving
Sought to abscond

Accursed encumberment –
Zeus, come urgent!
Trade distant
For the fond

That feeling lost
To pebble tossed,
Skipped
Across shallow pond

Do you even care for
Did you ever – more –
Stop to think
Or consider at all

What precipitates –
The flood – the rain –
Is the same which
Prompted the roll

For I have no brake
So, to break – my fate –
Is what remains
To break my fall

Now all I hope for
Is coming – war –
To bleed me
Dry and dull

Passion – passed
Regiment – collapsed
Atop sword
Of your own recruit

And yet I stand
Hand in hand
With fallen
Soldiers – resolute

For I am leg-bound,
Surface-drowned,
By pit
Of fruitless pursuit

A victim still
To down-turned hill
And resolution
Most astute

The storm is done
But not the burden
That drums –
A thunderous applause

A wound that heals
Still yet conceals
Heart held
Together by gauze

Bless me – rid
Thine Sisyphus –
Of that stone-still
Chore you bore

Why must I carry
What once was merry
Now bruised,
Shattered and sore?

O, Prescient Ewe
That knows where to stand
Avoids ambivalent hand

That bore this world
Of life’s command
To bear its high demand

O, Precocious Hen
Knows when not to lay
A life down in the hay

A babe unborn,
Uncracked, unraised
Unknown to her dismay

O, Prodigal Mare
Beware not to sprain
Or you will bear the strain

Though not for long
You’ll be for this plain
Where retired mounts are lain

O, Impassioned Pig
Whose fattening
Welcomes a fatter thing

Wash away
The amber glaze
Chase not the dangling

O, Prescient Ewe
Return to me
What is it you see?

Be sure it is
What’s to come
Not what you wish it be.

What if I were to conjure a storm
And be met with a fleeting rain?
What if I let a small sob escape
And spilt forth a rogue hurricane?
What if I precipitated a thunder
And heard word of a sweet refrain?
What if Cumuli resolved with Nimbus
To be lighter once again?

I am a bundle of thread
I am a thorn
I am unspooling
I am shorn
I am a needle
I am the haystack
I am off-beaten
I am the path
I am a carriage
I am a horse
I am the outcome
I am the cause
I am the future
I am the past
I am the now
I am what lasts
I am a soldier
I am a fool
I am the Weapon
I am a Tool
I am rusted
I am unhinging
I am broken but
I am glinting
I am fractured
I am golden
I am beauty
In eyes beholden.

~Shatter me, Humpty! Into Faberge~
Paint — the cracks, laden:
Urushi, gold leaf, lame.

~Drape me, King! In novel robes~
Hide thine – from naked eye
Of unsightly misanthropes.

~Devour me, Men! Unbecoming~
Break thy yolk and stir it, runny –
Scramble over my gutting!

You spend more time cradling your shell, lately
Coveting not the flesh of just any man
But the warmth of his skin - only
Tempering your own - rosy
Dulling the mind - *****
And curing the heart’s lonely:

~Ahh… Hare!
Suppose this must be what it means to burn —
Slowly.~

Mistook your niceness, for kindness
Couldn’t draw a line between the two
For my pencil had become too blunt
And my paper - too thick - to tear through
My eraser too pliable and worn
Kneaded down to a waning pulp
I tried shaping into a kind of moon
But instead made a waxing fault
That grows wider between the sternum
Carves me down the middle - twofold
Fleshy mounds of ****** grief
Unable to bridge back the whole
Pictures now lie placid, dormant
Stacked neatly, one atop the last
Withering - light-fast - fading
From memory, it’ll pass.

An arrangement set
A red pin, dropped
A kettle simmering
A tea, half-drunk
An afternoon
A transient fleeting
An exchange of breath
A running stream
A tremolo, twinkling
A couple of twinks
An amalgam of flesh
A bundle of kindling
An exhalation
A series of gasps
A needle on a string
A basting stitch
An idle thumbtack
A log for one to cling
An obligation
A set of things
A need for one to bring
A resemblance alike
An Angel in heat
A modern-day Nephilim.

I am a Wasp in the glass
Though I long to be the Bee
Buzzing low above the grass
Courting Flower to bear seed
Bash my skull toward the light
To form a crack before me
Yearning to touch — despite
Being O, so prickly
Will I learn to pollinate
The Garden — beckons me, sweet
Look for a petiole, to *******
Make intoxicant — Honey!
May you savour me from afar —
I hear distance puts you at ease —
See me shooting past — a Star
To make a wish upon thee
I fear what holds me back
A cunning clarity unseen
For even foresight I lack
Though the crystal is plenty clean
No speck of dust, or food, or warmth
Only wings. Waxen; fatigued
I beg to be held. To be swarmed
Just not like this, trapped beaneath
Now I can only soar, so tall
Before smoke beckons me, to sleep
I fear the stumble before the fall
Deceptive Summers that precede
I dream of a hive, abundant
Brimming with ***** and bodies
Of those alike and less repugnant
The kind you love to set free.

Another
Fills the cup
~To sorrow smother!~

Another
Flies the coop
~To sully another!~

If thee were to drink
Would this malady cease?
And if thee were to leave
~Would you return to me,
Please?~

O, how fantastic it would be
To carry time in my pocket
So I could make it right
Whenever I wanted
I could stretch it long
Or cut it short
I could skip the hurt
Enjoy the pause
Would I forget it all
If I could revisit
Would I close my eyes
If I can’t blink and miss it
Would I wish it end soon
Or never again
I think about it often
Every now and then.

I envy you
The me I’m not
The me I’ll never be

I envy him
Whoever he
May become to thee

I envy them
A faceless bunch
Who call on thee to leave

I envy not
The hurt that lies
Now, not so far beneath

I envy you
The most of all
Maligned Jealousy

So, envy me
And maybe then
It may turn to levity

I envy it
What was not lived
Resides in passing dream

I promise not
To envy you
If only, you'd envy me.

How long will this stinging take
To wholly set in and metabolise
Search amongst muddy waters
Pursue a clearer compromise
I reach for you - Sulphur -
Find myself the gilded Fool
Iron makes a likely weapon;
Pyrite a lousy tool.

Yet you appear so indifferent
Or perhaps alike, otherwise
I wouldn’t hold my breath
Believe in worthwhile sacrifice
You may find me in the bush
Aflame before the Prophet
Plunge your poker in - spread thin -
My heart if you wish to stop it

Strike a match, test my metal
Will our souls still catalyse
Was his prediction correct
What the Alchemist surmised
Or has our time ran out
Have we reached our constant yet
How dastardly - equilibrium -
Were we pernicious when we met?

Is there any merit in looking
Back on methods - revised
Is there any hope now that
The chill has metastasised?
I would contact the Smith
If he could solder back - connection -
But our glow has dwindled now,
Without it there’s no resurrection.

Though I’m overcome - ravenous -
Your appetite dissatisfies
My belly runs on empty
Without you, comes my demise
Nears a cold stove
And the Chef, grown tired.
Farewell, my loving Sulphur.

Yours Truly,
a fading Fire…

O, how long shall this anguish last
I thought it o’erturned?
But then I felt it – turn again
The Wheel that yearns, and yearns
That tugs the Heart; moves the cart
Toward slight and lucky mound
That slights the fortunate – Off course
With trite misfortune abound.

What are the chances? I count
My eggs, and chance a guess
Make sense of those already hatched
But what to make of the rest?
Does the fledgling Hen – No Hatchling abreast –
Mourn amongst the coop
Or does it lay all anguish to rest
In the nest its Chicks would stoop?

We all have a lot on our plate
But few to share it with
I’m yet to encounter a taker
With a single **** to give

Swallow, masticate
Do not be famished – quick
Spill out, the hand that fed –
The one you never should have bit.

What happens now you aren’t here to tend the tree in your room —
Will your light still germinate, will you lay your seed to bloom?
Am I to become keeper, gardener of your belonging —
To turn your memory into a greenhouse, spilling, overbrimming?
Am I to delude myself into believing, that your leaving was too soon?
Will you come to me at twilight or can you only be seen at noon —
Dappled gently amongst the grove, a frayed bouquet of sunbeam —
Will you ride the tops of our river to the source of my stream?
Am I relegated to meet you — asleep — in daydream —
Or can I spot you on the backs of spoons — at an angle — which you gleam?
Is that shine no longer special, has the metal lost its lustre —
I beg you, tell me — how much more force of will must I muster?
If I close the curtain now, would you call it premature —
Or would you be okay with me just not quite closing the door?