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Let those who will of friendship sing,
And to its guerdon grateful be,
But I a lyric garland bring
To crown thee, O, mine enemy!

Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe
For that my lifelong journey through
Thine honest hate has done for me
What love perchance had failed to do.

I had not scaled such weary heights
But that I held thy scorn in fear,
And never keenest lure might match
The subtle goading of thy sneer.

Thine anger struck from me a fire
That purged all dull content away,
Our mortal strife to me has been
Unflagging spur from day to day.

And thus, while all the world may laud
The gifts of love and loyalty,
I lay my meed of gratitude
Before thy feet, mine enemy!
 Aug 2013 Bob Horton
Jemimah
Dear Mr. Ocean -
I believe you waved at me?
        I know this is my second letter
Please find within some thoughts
              from me to you
        from white to blue

then return in kind, won't you kindly:

... We may wish for you to always be
       a soft sea
                because soft, see
        means gently, quietly, carefully
remember -
                gentlemen wave politely
    so just lull this cradled ark
           gently
                      please,
    Sir, if you wish to take this further
or invite me to horizons
                  to dance

          in the near future
                              perhaps
            (one sunset sky?)
 from crests to deep
               from sand to breeze

  
        my soft Sea - be gentlemanly...

Good tidings,
and all blessings,
current and all that come to be
return to me kindly, won't you please,
        Dearest Mr. Ocean -
You may
        Write to me.
Oh - how I love the duality of words...
Buoy do I enjoy it - haha :)
 Aug 2013 Bob Horton
Jemimah
Justice
 Aug 2013 Bob Horton
Jemimah
Endlessly the Lady stares
Blinded by facts
Ever looking, never seeing
Always gazing, never understanding
Emotions can be proof
The truth is not always shown by evidence
Witness can be lost or made
Harsh neglect of cold "justice"
Is never really just at all
By Seth M.
30.07.2013

This poem was composed by my brother, Seth - an aspiring poet.
Feel free to comment :)
17th June 2013, 20:09*

And now the sun seems as a sunflower of living flame
caught in a sky of limpid azure coolness;
flocks of white gulls sky-dance above shimmering horizons of forever
and the sea reflects it faithfully, in ripples of sparkling fire.

And now the sun sets like a pearl in a veil of moonbeams,
cloud-spun swathes of gossamer form her mantle;
Streaks of dove-grey cirrus glide slowly over skylines of umber
as sky fades to sea in a seamless turquoise haze.
Introduction


Burning pages
Blood-red sky
Rage of angels
Days gone by
The Chosen one, with eyes of searing flames
Is opening the book of Living Names....


I


The turning pages tell of lives gone by,
Furled by the one whose eyes are blinding flames;
Hot ashes flutter to the blood-red sky,
Like burning souls of undeserving names.

Where justice fails in life, death compensates:
Rare Mercy brings the angel who redeems,
While cruelty brings down avenging fates,
Even if conscience sleeps throughout our dreams.

The one with eyes of flame sees everything,
His Book of Living Names is always fair;
Yet every page frail as a fledgeling's wing -
Tread carefully if your name is not there.

There are but two volumes: one leads to light,
The other leads to Hell, without respite.



II


He sat in shadows, working through the night;
A scribe writing in words of ****** red,
While brass lanterns imparted sickly light,
As nightmare voices raged inside his head.

And all the names of those forever doomed,
Of future deaths and those of ancient past,
Were on the page, committed and entombed
In holy blood, scarlet and colour-fast.

All those whom God shall cast into the flames,
Unworthy of Heaven's forgiving grace
Are ever here, in this Book of Dead Names -
Named, numbered souls, each one bereft of face.

Thus, all enjoying notoriety
Shall be vanquished in anonymity.



III


Place copper coins over these weary eyes,
Gather my gold around me in the tomb,
Pray overlook transgression, all my lies,
Cradle me unto death, as from the womb.

Bury my silver at my lifeless feet,
Burn sandalwood, utter my name in prayer,
Drench me with nard and hyssop, bittersweet,
Remember me with lilies in my hair.

Pray write me in the Book of Living Names,
God turn thy face from my iniquity;
Spare me the flail, the pit of raging flames,
But let the quiet waters carry me.

Float me upon the Styx when I am gone;
Erase me from the Necronomicon.



NOTES:

This was inspired by some of the startling imagery in The Book of Revelation from the Bible.
 Jul 2013 Bob Horton
Camila
Who am I?
I'm a dreamer. I'm hopeful. I'm a bag of bones interconected with emotions, through my veins runs as much excitement as blood.

I am messy hair, small eyes and steady hands and my hair is as wild as me, and my small eyes catch all the  beauty hidden in the corners, and my steady hands become an earthquake when I'm about to be kissed.

I'm in my twenties. I'm a teenager in matters of love and I'm a grandma when taking care of my friends. I'm a beast when it comes to fighting and I'm the weakest when it comes to crying. I feel too much and show too little.

I'm a daughter, a sister and a friend. I'm worried. I'm anxious. I'm happy. I'm a rave as much as I'm a book and coffee. I talk until my voice fades but my mouth is a tomb for secrets.

I'm a writer and a reader. I'm a dancing machine and a shower singer.

I'm raising an eyebrow when I don't believe you. I'm a random kiss on the shoulder when I love you. I'm cafuné when I care for you.

I'm optimistic. I'm cautious. I'm becoming what I always wanted to be. I'm strongheaded and lighthearted. I'm in constant wait for the world to show me this is not it and fairytale endings exist.
A liquid dissentient obscures Twilight's musk;
Silver diversions suffer the morrow's tusk.
Slippery are the spaces betwixt a changeling hour,
Melted in the growing laces of Yesterday's dower.
Fermented revisions mutate the present helix,
Inventing conditions to birth an ashy phoenix:
Thus betrothed retired Day,
And consumes the night alway.
It is never enough to share a fence.

Each day I spend my time taking down its boards
one by one
until only our frames are still standing.

Yet we will still collide at the gate
and let our eyes speak our minds.

Until that border is gone
we will remain seated
like stepping stones.

Separate and lonely
and only as close as we allow ourselves to be.

Listen.

When I tear down that wall
your breath can ease deeply again.

Our skin may not touch often
yet my aura has gleaned a dose of your glow
and is deliciously infected
and will kindly keep it for you.

Until the sweat of my palm and the still of my brow
work through the fragments of coyness and blushing
and the razor shards of heartbreak and despondence
your love will be safe with me.
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