enchantment waits above the castle towers,
the midnight gleam unholy, she is lost
to darkling clouds and battlements of frost,
and enigmatic night shows all her powers.
bewitched by ages white as lily flowers,
the ivy creeps upon the broken walls,
a kingdom for the prince, high ceilinged halls,
fall, fall to dust and long the starry hours.
great knights in armour, restless for a fight
on thundering horses storm into the night,
with swords unsheathed towards their deathly foe,
and love is lost with nowhere left to go,
the mighty fall, their army silver bright,
beneath a slumbered moon the south winds blow.

the poetry meanders like
a pleasant stream
singing of autumn leaves,
    
breath as tranquil as a star in
the blue night,

our margins gather space
wait for the poetry to emerge
like trembling smoke,

our love rushing to wake
to gather songs of an
october sea.

october sings to the grey hills
where the cloud fades and drifts
into the summits
like white turrets of a purple sea
captured in the moonlight,

the moon’s chandeliers glitter
with candles.

the house is better for an open fire
plumping silk cushions
on a ragged sofa,
(they are best worn out with love)

midnight wears an evening gown.

the rain sinks into the
white walls and the
beech hedge,
has its own pitter patter
like bare feet running
through a wood,

the sky's hair is high upon her head.

Dear Sun,
 You whipped my brow
 With your lashes of heat
 You made my mood sour
 Your shadow burnt my feet
 So now you owe me
 Good, I'm glad we both agree

 After wearing me out today
 I ask in good faith
 As you go your way
 In your steady gait
 Take this message for me
 To my friend beyond the sea

 Tell him to come back to me
 I miss him so much already
 My smiles have become very few
 And I'm always sad, always blue
 All I have left of him are
 memories
 That keep me in constant
 reveries

 Be kind Sun, be kind to him
 Give him only warmth, don't
 burn his skin
 Don't forget to tell him all I said
 And tomorrow when I get up
 from bed
 I await his reply from you
 And I hope it's favourable too.

You might not like to see my fat jiggle, or my **** wiggle, but this body has carried me farther than your giggle ever will.

It might not thrill you, but I’m a no-frills woman who takes what she has and makes with it her own – and lets not pretend, I have more than you know beneath these clothes. There might be rows and rows of dimples and wrinkles and obvious freckles (that to some might be cute) but under these puffy cheekbones is a skeleton I call home, and it’s not yours (thank GOD), but it’s worthy of knowing.

It’s your loss if you choose beauty over brains and heart and THIS thinking mind. I might have a long way to start to be someone you’d find yourself watching through blinds, but I’m a **** sight better than someone without the courage to stand wherever she lands – and if that’s behind, then that’s where you’ll find me. That’s where I’ll sweep my floor and make my bed, and, with pity, watch YOU instead to discover that not everything ‘pretty’ is worth uncovering, or owning, or smothering with pride, because, for those with eyes WIDE open, there’s nothing worse than a soul smashed and dried with a hole that leaks powdered ego, nor the upper-class battering eyelashes of a pointless romantic who would rather own lavish belongings than dance in her heart with far less than what she ever dreamed to start with… and woe to all if she ever had to depart this earth without her heels and her silicone ******* and her lipo-suctioned stomach and thighs beneath that little black dress.

Woe is me for laughing at such perfection, unimpressed.

The truth of where I am in my life, and what I have, and how I give it all when I can to others is what keeps MY story so grand and worth more sand than all the beaches combined, although, in this body, all that matters is INSIDE, and not sun baking, or swimming, or shopping, or dining, or making up lies to refine me. I am THIS, just what you see, and if you don’t see me matter-of-factly then I won’t miss you, exactly.

Oh, and what I also won’t miss will be wishing I’m something more than I am which is smaller than my clothing size – but still ‘too large’ in your eyes… but that’s YOUR lie because you’re controlled through the media and told like a child what you should want and should need – and, furthermore, you are blinded by greed, and blinded by fright, and blinded through – God forbid – actually SEEING.

I ponder what company you will be to yourself in your house or your mansion with nobody else (all alone)… Maybe not now, but just wait for a while and you’ll age, and you’ll moan, and you’ll wish you were home with your path and your decisions and your personal mission… and I’ll envision (through my second sight: a premonition) a TRUE vision of you enslaved to your fantastical and ‘brave’ dream of nothing but perfection; of washing your life of mistakes like erasing infection… but it’ll all be fake… And, sure, it’ll be your cake and you can eat it too, but don’t go waving it in MY face. I don’t want any of yours, no matter how hungry I feel, and regardless how poor.

You are a disgrace. I don’t need a cake to celebrate my present state or my coming fate. Nor would I offer you a bit from my own plate. The less of you I see the more I satisfy me, and my larger-than-life conscious mind will be FULL for eons more time, which is far, FAR longer than you’ll ever, in your ‘right mind’, be privy, or one day, ‘destined’ to find.

Now that’s a party in my opinion – perfect, infinite, and exquisitely divine.

sea of mystery
and dark desire,
harbour of peaceful blue,

mirrors like apple peel
twisting their reflections
into a song of me and you,

the leaves fall down,
everything falls down,
little alleyways of our love,

i promised you desire
and it was my weeping eyes,
my torn hair,
my dance in a poet's grove.

The make.
World should so;
Do? sense I pictures;
Today that.
Why doesn't paint

passing the torch of love
from one heart to another
touching each
in very different ways
witnessing the shrinking
of the flame
before each passing
having it reignited
by a new hand
dimming when the new
becomes old
and always
searching endlessly
   for the eternal fuel.

Pain , sorrow , flame , and passion said her rainbow in my ears ; like an echo from the past with no love for living here ; so I tried to light a candle for her golden woman's tears . But like the cool of a blown out candle for the thunder in my mind I watched a young girl try forever just to burn a million times , and we were leaving in the summer with no sympathy for wines ; it was violence , stones ,and hatred , love for pain was left behind .
              She never stopped to think for her patterns seamed complete as her golden sun came rising and her colors met with mine , and from a simple warriors passion what shall we leave behind in a world where color is not but need , and death the woman's wine .
             He couldn't stop to play or light the shadows of her mind , and like the golden light of misery she spiraled through his time , and who is to say there is more to her as she burned slowly in her dying , and fell into the gravity of her northern lights so blind , and listened to the howling wolves as she weaved for better times .
             Thoughtless killing , thoughtful tool , I love you said her tune ; and yet as summer turned to fall the leaves upon her loom sang of spring's new hope again in a land of westering sun , "For in dying I will rise again to greet tomorrow's rain with no thought of bringing back your killing , no screaming from your pain ."
             The ice it slowly covered me as I sank into her womb , and the myriad stars of children's dreams echoed softly from her rock ; like the endless ripples of her final chords and the broken glass of dreams , and said to me a man is never truly what he seems , but only just his moment , and how I build tomorrow's dreams .
               I stood upon tomorrow's shores a witness to her schemes , and watched my mother burning , saw my father's broken dreams ; to chew upon coca leaves and watch as mother weaned .  I must learn to grow old again for she died from all our pains , and yet continued weaving as her winter brought the rains ; for children must learn to live in the golden honey of her pain , with time her only company , and her rhythm father's game .
              Like a child on the edge of night I stopped to sing my song of a thousand lonely burials and I must carry on , and yet I too must learn to live on the fragments of wind's sails , or try to build a better ship as her dawn comes on so pale , and the cold light of our father's eyes an icy wind in hell .

the trees like
iron masts
ships of steel,
the leaves,
whirring and circling,
scattering the shadows of
the dark lanes
with their golden inks.

•

You are a really good fisherman,



And I am just but a foolish fish,




                                                       ­                      Preposterously bitten your hook,
                                                    With your bait of feigned love attached to it,
  



                                   Piercing it all the way to my heart,


                  Leaving me wounded with all of those prevaricates I've fell for,


But I don't know why,

                            I still love the feeling,

                                         That you've been jumping in gladness,

                                             That you've finally caught me,



Even though I was hardly breathing,

               'Cause you've taken  me away from the place,

                                  That makes me breathe and gives me joy.


                                 It somehow gives me relief,

                 Seeing the auspicious sun,

Brightly gleaming into my beautiful scales,

Not knowing it was just a start of a baleful Gehenna!




                    I should've known all along that it's just an entice!




                              But I am still blessed,


           'Cause I have manage to escape,

                                While damaging and harming myself in the process,


From the jailhouse that you've locked me in.




                                                      ­From then on,


              You've learned a lesson,


  

And use NET instead.



                       © Earl Jane
                         ♥ E.J.C.S.