King David was a righteous king,
A shepherd loved by God,
And Joab did the ugly work
Without a single nod.  
A principal can stroll the halls,
Grandfatherly and kind.
His number two’s the children’s bane,  
Reviled in student mind.  
The highest of the high can shine,
All warmth and lenity,
Their trusted second is the sting.  
Cursed in synecdoche.  
Every Adama needs a Tigh,
All discipline and screeds,
Since troops can sooner love a chief
Untainted by cruel deeds.

An hour-glass stands up nice and straight
On a flat, polished end,
While bells suspend like carrion
On rods that never bend.  
Grains of sand in a transparent bulb,
Mustered in a smooth cone,  
Slip through a graceful crystal neck
To toll in silky tones.  
But as bells swing and clang, they gulp
From a meridian,  
One sideways to the zenith zone,
And fill themselves again.    
A bell will always know the time,
But still politely wait
For eager hands to yank their cord,
Even when slightly late.  
But a depleted hour-glass sits
Until impatient hands
Can flip it over on its crown
And fill its heads with sand.

The moon is grim and sly, and keeps
Pale secrets from her twin.  
She hides the darkest of her blushes
Behind a slivered grin.
Her greater, fertile, sister earth,
Greater in girth, not age,
Knows a pallid, pock-marked cheek
But not a shaded rage.  
A barren spinster, gray from birth,
Can scarcely bear to see
From callous sister such a show
Of broad fecundity.

Darkness fell like my love's feet
Softly o'er the fields of wheat,
O'er the valley, o'er the bridge,
O'er the mountain, o'er the ridge.

And sitting still o'er a blazing fire,
And my heart blazing with desire,
Dark is the fire, I still confide,
Compared to the eyes of my would-be bride

And blazing like my heart, my mind,
For that your kindred could not find
That I had will where had not kind,
So to our love were deaf and blind.

And rove I will to seek my worth
And rove I'll o'er this whole earth
And though beside you I mayn't lie
We'll share an earth and share a sky.

Perhaps, one day, Fate will prove fair
And let me pledge to you my care.
For now, our love benighted be -
Hope, soon, we shall a sunrise see.

What tempted me to join the queue?
It must be some great treat.  
Only delight could keep these souls
Shuffling on blistered feet.  
I turned a corner hours ago,
Quite perpendicular,
But as I count the corners off
I’ve tallied five so far.  
The walls are clean, but they’re not bright,
Scrubbed to sobriety.
I passed a blotch I’d seen before,
But it might lie to me.  
This line may loop into a square,
And no one’s first or last,
And all who’ve shuffled patiently
Are doomed to lose the past.
Did I ascend to this closed floor
By staircase or by lift?  
Outside must lie some wider world,
Denied a precious gift.    
The walls are bare of openings,
But we need only one.  
Quiet can’t be the sole reward
For everything we’ve done.

yestereve we succame
A lengthy ballad of longing
formerly one of obstinance
flared in a cacophony of passion

Whilst usually twirling in a seemly epitome fashion,
yestereve a caprice thought laid heavy on hearts
as there was no doubt of desire
nor were there objections to her
for even when my affections consumed you
lady desire was just an inexorable

yestereve she picked petals from a Sinensis blossom
there went the pain
any semblance of grudge
along with sanity
reason
and lastly, walls as carefully constructed as that of Pyramus and Thisbe's
such vulnerability unmatched
for your sweet scent lulled me from the arms of reason
for reason, although safe,
is the most intricate and fragile part of the ballad
and the first to fall victim to the cascade

What a fool I must be to have gladly forgotten the kinks of your hands
or the freckles on the back of your neck that form a perfect triad.
The way your upper lip curls when you grin
made my glissade blissful and passionate
Your flustered twirl
the very epitome of aubade

Ignorant of the harsh retombe of reality
Your flustered face En L'air
Every touch a pleasant surprise that formed a grand symphony

A moment of unfiltered emotion
A heavenly ballad
so cruelly of yestereve.

The ocean waves are murmuring,
And some who walk the shore
May pause to hear some wisdom there,
And linger more and more.  

The seas are older than the old,
And jealous of regret.
Their murmurs wash out memory,
And make a soul forget.

Dour duty may seem cruel
To novices, but rasped
To callouses by some hair shirt,
Skin glories in its clasp.  

A rougher kiss is sweetest bliss
To scourged and toughened hides,
Until abraded to a scar
Where stunted dullness bides.

Words can wriggle through the cracks
Where grosser largeness blocks,
And even with no aperture
Huskless speech can seep through locks.

Life’s a very busy thing
And rushes by so fast,
And since inertia rules this world
It cannot help but last.  

Transactions plonk the daylight hours,
And revels blot the dark.
There is a grimy window near
That looks on a glum park.