Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Formerly of my shadow self
I rent and curl, stretch and groan.
Joints popping, knees creaking,
it hurts to move but not to remain
bound and tied, rope marks biting
of tender flesh, blood tracked snow.

Candles worn to stumps, but last night
their flickers filmed my release,
and your triumph.

If I am to show myself to anyone at all
it will be you.
If I am to be swallowed whole
and torn from faithful moorings,
of sameness and comfort,
I will be torn by you.

Cut me again, or forever **** me!
I shall not change. I am unable.
One deft flick and so to bloom
spreading blossom fills the room.

A second stroke, blushing spreads
wheresoever the paddle treads.

Three applied, rose unfurled
blood arised from petals curled.

Four to even, in warmth I teach
religion with the crop I preach.
Many years ago from now
a gentleman I knew
his predilections were precise
and, to me, quite new.

He was intent on teaching
deliberate and firm
and from his experience
I began to learn.

So here arose my interest
it's him I have to thank
for taking me in hand so well
and giving me The Spank.

He wasn't ever lazy
never dealt out on a whim
he made me work to earn each stroke
I was obsessed with him.

I put in many hours
hatching careful plans
of how to win the best attentions
from this authoritative man.

I'd knock a stack of books
off the corner of his desk
and he'd lean back in his chair and say
"come here and lift your dress".

And I'd comply so gladly
already feeling hot
my bottom was presented
and his hand knew just the spot.

Sometimes he'd give me just the one
on a precipice I'd stay
longing for the three or four
I'd get later that day.

I remember him with fondness
he taught me many useful things
but most of all I thank him
for every little sting.
Come, meet me on the beach
where the sharp, tangy breeze
whips up my hair and ardour.

Put your arms around me
as the salt spray clings to us,
and seasons us for one another.

Let's sit upon the pebbles
in the middle of winter,
alone, save for the crying of a gull.

Whisper your sweet breath
into my head, and place your hands
upon my heart once more.

Grip, just as tight as you used to,
when all we had was under moonlight
and our secrets wove us into dreams.

That beach, and everything on it,
is yours and mine.
I would give you every pebble.

Collect them up until my pockets split,
and I could carry no more.
I carry you, still.

I have loved you outside of time,
for every tide that ever turned,
and today is no different.

Thank nature itself, for our beach.
It shall remain, like my solace,
forever unhindered and pure.

No-one ever goes there, I'm sure.
We could meet again,
the pebbles wouldn't tell.

I go there, under moonlight,
glowing and unveiled.
To see you waiting for me.
I moved out of my real self
so many years ago
now a tiny ghost am I
floating to and fro.
Among the suits of armour
and thickly painted oils
of the family portraits
and other, plundered spoils.

My father was a noble thief
with a good eye for the gems
my mother wore the finest clothes
diamonds sewn into the hems.
Hidden in dad's shiny boots
a hundred signet rings
each one bore a mark that told
they'd once belonged to kings.

To bolts of silk he took a fancy
way out on the waves
his galleon went rainbow hued
wind billowing the sails.
He showed the King and Queen of France
around in London Town
and liberated them of furs
three horses and a crown.

He stuffed his urns and ginger jars
with gold and silver coins
and from a love illicit
I sprang from his *****.
Mother had to keep me secret
the shame dad couldn't bear
I was, half-bred, of purple blood
with a name I could not wear.

A brace of dark-eyed gypsies
my dear mama and I
although she was the greatest beauty
which was how she caught dad's eye.
The Sisters of Good Grace
entrusted her unto his wardship
and soon, without their guidance
she forgot the taste of hardship.

With fluttering, coquettish looks
not a thought for dad’s pale wife
my mother guaranteed her place
in a wealthy, well-kept life.
She was a great distraction
in the game of ******-and-grab
the mark would set his eyes on her
dad would steal all that he had.

So we lived a grand old life
in our secret gilded cage
until all dad's enemies
got together in their rage.
The princes, kings and dukes
all the rich men he'd robbed blind
decided it was payback time
with a warrant duly signed.

My father's noble head
was ordered on a platter
his life of joyful thievery
they were about to shatter.
He boarded up the castle
and vowed to make a stand
he sent away the workers
and laid waste unto his land.

‘They will not take me lightly’
he promised me that day
‘but, my love, go with your mother
for here you cannot stay’.
‘I've done a deal of safety
with the priest at Chateu Neuf’
I didn't like and didn't trust
this man of foul and ample girth.

If God was in his substance
he was well and truly hidden
but mama knew she had no choice
and did as she was bidden.
Father John was at the chateau
when we arrived, quite late
like a raven in his black robes
on the ramparts, stood in wait.

‘Well, my dear,’ he said to mama
standing far too close
‘I believe your erstwhile lover
is about to get a dose
of right and proper retribution
for every sorry deed
but the wronged ones are all men of God
and came to me for what they need’.

‘Forgiveness for their vengeance
and that is mine to give
a holy waiver for his blood
on the promise you shall live.
Now you and your ******* child
are under lock and key
and I'm a man of varied pleasures
and will do just as I please’.

‘Never’! screamed my mother
she was quick and swift and strong
gathered me into her arms
and in a flash was gone.
But escape was barred at every turn
by doors locked fast and tight
and we could hear the guards behind
so to the roof we took our flight.

And, when Father John caught up
we were backed against the wall
mama hitched her skirts up high
and prepared to take our fall.
‘I'll not be a prisoner
never shackled, no, not I
left on earth without my love
I would rather die’.

‘My child will not be left behind
the other half that makes my heart’
then she stepped out into air
toes pointed like a dart.
And Father John, he bellowed
as a beast stuck in the side
‘Without my prize, now I must have
a thief's fresh and ****** hide’.

We fell down through the ages
a pair of rolling doves
and hitting ground was painless
the rocks our pillow, red as love.
Then came a waking moment
we trod a path of light
fear nor pain considered
mama saw us through the night.

And so by dawn we came upon
the place had been our home
all destroyed, razed to the ground
smoke rose, as white as bone.
Through the mist we saw him striding
just as tall and bold
we three stood, reunited
our story all but told.

We had passed into a realm
that we can never leave
some say they've seen us here and there
though very few believe.
Now among the ancient trees I run
and dance from hall to hall
locked in my forever land
because I took The Fall.
Earth:
I dig my hands into the earth
from whence I came to be
aromas of fresh tilling
warmed by sun: the earth and me.

And if when gone, my silly bones
enrich this dirt some more
then I have reached my destiny
and will not have been so poor.

Air:
Imagination soundless
save for gentle blowing breeze
all thought made unrequired
by whispers in the trees.

I open up my throat
breathing deeply of free air
close my eyes, enraptured
of a day without a care.

Fire
They say the devil heats his hearth
with the fire of human sin
but I don't think that can be true
'cos I keep mine locked within.

It cleanses me by burning bright
and renews me every day
the white-hot fire of my wrongs
burns my sins away.

Water
Crystal clear and glittering
in sunshine wave and tide
the waters of my oceans
in whose depths my heart shall hide.

For feeling silky torrents
wash my fears away
take me to the ocean
far from blue I cannot stay.
A pair of hands, smooth as glass
Still now and for always,
burnished and gnarled
skin shiny over ever-bent knuckles.

Held in stark relief on the sheet
that smells faintly of spring,
in this winter room,
my Grandfather's hands stopped moving.

No more to whittle or turn,
the lathes seep their oil
into the sweet, still air
in my Grandfather's shed.

Smoothed wood handles,
worn by love and perfect sense,
songs and whistles linger
sawdust shapes drawn by little fingers.
Next page