few things can calm me - the wrawl in the rain
chasse on the glasses, soirée on the pane
atoms of home - blood & bone - body's wane (and they're)
falling in ribbons of pewter so plain

fog laying softly, the wafting unterse
soundlessly haunting the grounds by its curse
ripples on crystalline mirrors disperse (in the)
capable hands of the watersong verse

nubes - replace the azure with the grey
bouncing the pavement with vestige of play
spirit in footfall, the speckled ballet (for the)
ruse to confuse sprightly night with the day

few things can calm me - the wrawl in the rain
please, weeping clouds, keep the crazy ones sane!
and as you slow down, i'll pray you regain (all your)
previous sorrow so we'll feel the same

From Amiens upon the Somme
Across the land into the Salient
Our brave men toed the ebbing line

Through wire and mines
Through mud and blood
Through many men and horses shred
Under sun and moon
Through wet and flake
Little rest they won as they fought
The testing yards and inching miles

The scent of death clear in their heads
Their nostrils burning from hell resent
Cauterised wounds some munition singed a deathly end for some
Their eyes by night a blazing fired earth of blues Oranges yellows Reds

Their ears ringing whistles and drums
A sense of booming dread as all around the melee continued
Death by death, Man by man, Son by son
Precious sons many in numbers they did succumb
To the battle cry of walk not run

Blood curdling in their gas filled lungs
Fungi in their rotting boots
Sweat and tears in itchy suits
Muscles aching tendons taught
Nerves for some as they were next
To mount and face the hidden land
Where fate would deal its dreaded blow
On to meet the dreadful wall of death

Choice was none, no turning back
They stood as force though force would guide, those of fear and wisdom's stand,
Over, or rest where shot by those by order for descent


© Robert Kingston 17.10.14

There is poetry in blood- in the veins
that licked up my spine and down
a silhouetted profile in last night's lusting whisper
and this mourning's coffee.

There is something in the way
she holds the knife-cutting
onions for tacos and
laughing for the guests, pulling

down her sleeves, adjusting
her hair in the
reflection of the sink. She looks
just fine
this way, using
these silver deposits to search
for something- perhaps
lost down the disposal
or obscured by drops
of blood from where she nicked
herself.

And she watches the blood seep and
her lines blur with
these words and
the page- or is it
her face?

It blushes.

I befriend the antonyms of the light
Now the face of the night won't let me go
No matter what I do, even with all my might
So have no choice but to dance with the flow

I am a man who ate the forbidden apples
Indeed the wisdom of the dark was among the highest
Definitely a door to the unknown, until I am longing for riffles
Because I can take the lies of reality no more, such lunacies

Life was supposed to be a thankful journey
A sweet dance from hello's to farewell
Lucky are those who've found serenity
Who hasn't heard the music of hell

I've been too far, my clock is ticking in a cycle of forever
I need a reformat not just a simple reboot
Do not save any good files, that's not so clever
All parts of me was already been infected even to the root

I befriend the antonyms of the light
Now the face of the night won't let me go
No matter what I do, even with all my might
So have no choice but to dance with the flow...


Written: March 4, 2015 @11:00am

Mysterious Aries