Posthumously Famous.

That is definitely the name
Of my book.
If not that, a title for this poem.
No, the first line.
It’s untitled.
I won’t restrict myself.
I won’t be led astray.

Poets are just looking for an outlet.
Poets are in anguish.
Poets are on fire.

Let us burn.
Let us burn in agony.
Do not peek your head over,
Dear reader.
You have an obligation.
Work, kids, bills.
Don’t think of us.
We are burning in agony, in fire,
And we do not wither away.
We cannot escape that easily.

It hurts to end a book,
It hurts to end our story.
To know it was just a glimpse,
Soon nothing short of an eternal memory
Embedded, anything but faded

It hurts to leave you by,
To detach myself from you
Knowing my departure’s to be now or never,
For any other encounter shall be a timeless pain.
Knowing already, with you unaware,
Your journey’s destiny,
What came to be, comes and what will come,
Perish or last.

Like a mother, or a father, or a heavenly angel,
I see you grow, I see you change
And dance and play with the dangerous and unknown fate.
Then I can’t help but notice as melancholy,
So great that sorrowful,
Starts simmering in my chest
When I finally come to my senses to, in fact, realise
That with every new difference, every new feeling, thought and day
You drift further and further away
Like the dearest ship you loved with all your might,
With me, surprisingly, sailing away,
With the sense of excitement and fear too,
Together into the Unknown

When we arrive at our last harbour,
Despite our battle with merciless time,
At the last droplets of the quill’s ink staining those rusty pages,
I acknowledge the inevitable finale.
Though my mind stands tall, my heart crumbles
Not wishing to leave,
To untie the bond with the one,
Who loved the same world of dreams,
Audacity and passion,
The one and only who knew and believed in my vision,
Ideals as I
And never returned to the chains on his knees

With sobs racking my body and fiery protests in my stomach
I give you my last kiss, bidding goodbye,
As if death was making us part.
It’s been my greatest honour and pleasure to accompany your every step.
To look back with aching heart on your glorious days,
To see every dark corner of your puzzling past...

To experience this mystery being life as truly one entity.

I mourn over this moment,
Aware of the cruel ticking of the clock that came to an end
And returning no more to us,
As every other return shall leave a bitter taste in the mouth,
Overwhelming with my conscience of your final chapter on every step:
With you already gone
Lingering in the memories of the pages,
Invincible to time yet aware of it no more,
Unaware of any other moment than “now” and “here”

It hurts to close a book.

It hurts to end a story.

Of us ceasing to be,
Of us ceasing to speak.
As no other tale shall replace soon what we bore,
I bid my “Farwell”,
Leaving another piece of my being in you
For an eternity.

With these final breaths I pay my tribute to you,
For what you were, gave, did,
Took, created and left.
To James Fry, a barefoot sailor of the seven seas.
The consort of the oceans and the seas.
The audacious, brave and challenging kid.
The man who was courageous enough to live,
On his own terms, never bent to any mortal,
Never bound to the earth nor dull reality.

Wish you favourable winds in the sails of The Morning Star.
May you end your days with the same greatness you lived and were destined for.

I’m a page of the book of life
Once pure and lure and white as white
Oh! Now tinged with too many inks
Still many are waiting to scribble a few.
With puny hands some wrote me soft
Some are harsh they tear my heart
Supple hands draw labyrinth lines
My prosaic precincts some plundered and pierced.
Now the book is with a naughty child
He tears the pages as he please
One by one or bunches of many
My weary long page will last in his jest.

Arm trembling no longer holding up.
Spasms.
Pain.
Feverish commotion moved unsatedly. Longing already before their departure from the knowledge of it to come.
Anguish in sorrow of sobbing
and self-quenching.
Two hearts’ Life has been made, disgustingly ripped away
and then at all costs retrieved
through the cold,
shame
and flame of ashes.
A chain memory
gaining its voice,
shaping into separate mind
and place.
I’m in torenness.
‘ve been through a lifetime and act,
never allowed to come back again
to the same (whirl of trepidations
and convulsions).
I tamed yet another fox
and have to deal with the tears
of the ends.
Tear away someone else’s presence
from me
and so shall be no difference.
I’m in hurt as in loss.
Losing a precious to me
foreign presence
will feel even greater
or have I just lost one,
with a piece of myself
alongside?
The binding isn’t locking away
one’s memory for a story,
it is giving them a person
called “Story”
and stealing their porcelain pieces
with its charm and frazzleness.
That’s why I account Literature
into sacralities
of my astrality
and perfect chosen arts of being.
Their non-verbal is
my most cherished music there is
as in Phronemophilia
or feelings,
a form of incalescence and confession made between a pair of words,
plucking the perfect chord
of comprehension
and Heart’s painfully sweet thrillance
and, between the verses,
speaking the ideal maternal language
not yet known to Mind.
As a Book contains all millions
of little aspects of moments,
words,
flesh,
tiny traits,
demeanour,
beginnings
and endings
and middles,
as it throws a wave after wave
of conundrums
of alchemy of emotions,
of all the unnameable things
of acting/being/breathing/affecting…
it is a Person.
One of many supposedly
not ones in Me.
​Sorry, plushie dearies,
it will be the faux-Victorian tale
of volumes and affection
tucked close to my chest
tonight,
you rest next,
aside me.
Спокоиней ночи,
всё кто живет во мне и не.

SORE BARE FEET WITH YELLOW TAIL        
From the 2nd diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.          
          
Its been almost two weeks now, since our unforgettable funny night of the colourful fruit falling down on us. So, I decided to take Smoochy for a walk through our village and then up and over the town's nearby grassy green hills.          
           
When all of a sudden, I noticed a strange, gigantic and really colourful object in the near distance. I picked up Smoochy and put him in my top left-hand side pocket. I then took off my thongs and raced like the wind, towards this strange, gigantic and really colourful thing.          
           
As we got closer, I realised what I had come across. It was a gigantic and colourful, hot air balloon. Maybe, it had crashed on top of our town's grassy green hills, that very morning. I yelled out, ‘Hello is anyone in there’? But, not a squeak or holler of noise, came out of that gigantic and really colourful hot air balloon.          
           
I was curious to have a closer look inside, so I took Smoochy out of my top left-hand side pocket and put him nearby. I climbed up into the hot air balloon with bare feet and all, to see what it was like, inside my incredible find.          
           
Whilst looking straight up towards the blue sky, I saw the hot air balloons large engine, that once it was switched on, would make a huge fire. A fire which you could imagine, would make you ever so warm. All of sudden, a gush of wind took hold of the gigantic hot air balloon and it started to take off.          
           
I yelled out to Smoochy to help me, but quickly realised, he was only a grouse, new, pet mouse and would not understand me. The balloon started to bounce down the hill and was nearing the edge. Smoochy had jumped onto the end of a dangling rope and was hanging on by the skin of his teeth, while I was hanging on, for my dear young life.          
           
I screamed out to Smoochy, ‘Start climbing up the rope and don’t be scared’. Finally, Smoochy made it into the balloons basket and popped straight into my top, left-hand side pocket where he felt safe, once again. So, maybe Smoochy does understand me after all. The hot air balloon was getting higher and higher and further away from my home, heading towards the famous Bearfeet Ridge mountain tops.          
           
Ouch Ouch Ouch, I yelled out to Smoochy for help, again, again and again. Because, when I was running in bare feet, towards the strange, gigantic and really colourful object, I stepped on some prickles and it didn't at all, feel like funny feet tickles. I carefully pulled them out, one by one; all those pointy, painful prickles that were making my bare feet sore.          
           
I had an idea to get us off this fast moving hot air balloon. I pulled out my very super, sporty, single-shot, stylish slingshot from my back pocket and put one of those pointy, painful prickles into place on the slingshot that had been stuck in my feet.          
           
Bang, my first shot made a hole in the balloon and it started to drop down slowly over the treetops. But then, with an almighty, Thump, it stopped with a jolt and came to a complete and sudden halt.          
           
The dangling rope Smoochy had used to climb in with me, had tangled around a tree branch. It had miraculously landed, the hot air balloon right on top, although, on a very steep angle. I stood up and wiped the sweat off my brow and thought, ‘Wow, what a fun ride'.          
           
I climbed over the edge and onto a large limb and started to climb down carefully, branch by branch. Then, I heard very loud moans and growls coming from way down below. As I looked down, I felt excited and very lucky, but at the same time, I felt very nervous deep down inside.          
           
Smoochy, had peaked his head out and started to tremble, for what we were seeing had to be, that 'mysterious and rarely seen, yellow tailed, bear family'. Which a few older towns' people, have claimed to have seen.          
           
But the bears were looking, oh so very hungry, patient and keen. Then from afar, I heard people yelling out, 'Don’t move Stewy, stay where you are, for we’re almost there'.          
           
It was my Dad Archie and Sergeant Bill Stilrite from our local police station. Luckily, Dad had seen Smoochy and I, with his trusty homemade, fancy, far out, funny binoculars through the small, round shaped, backdoor window of his unusually built and outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed.          
           
He couldn't believe it, when I jumped into the balloon and it started to move. So, he had raced to his car and yelled out to my Mum Flo, ‘Call the local police now, on 000 and don't be slow’. Then my Dad started following us by car, from well down below.          
           
The police Sergeant Bill Stilrite along with my Dad, had both managed to follow us, in their very fast cars, right up until we came to a complete and sudden halt. The screaming of my Dad and Sergeant Bill Stilrite, had scared off the mysterious and rarely seen yellow tailed, bear family, making them all bolt.          
           
Now, safely back home and with an amazing, gigantic and really colourful hot air balloon tale to tell. I just don't know if my family and folks, will ever really believe that Smoochy and I saw the mysterious and rarely seen, yellow tailed, bear family, oh well.          
           
At least Smoochy was there and knows our adventures were fun and for real. Hopefully one day, I will write some books, about my childhood fun adventures and then, just maybe, try to sell them, for a buck or two.

A COLOURFUL FRUIT BLAST        
From the 1st diary entry of Stewy Lemmon's childhood adventures.            
            
Hi, my name is Stewy Lemmon and I’m your normal, everyday, friendly, country boy, who lives about 2 hours away from the big city lights. My family’s home is nestled amongst the trees on a hill in a little country village called, 'Shimmerleedimmerlee'.

It's located just a little north west from the famous town of Bearfeet Ridge. Famous of course, because of the mysterious and rarely seen yellow tailed bear family, that is said to inhabit the nearby treed mountain range. The town's people have even given the rarely seen bear family sightings, a nickname called, 'Bearfeet Yellow Tales'.            
              
My family is made up of one much younger brother, named Lemmy; two much older, identical, twin sisters named, Emma and Jemma, and my proud parents, Archie and Flo.            
              
On Christmas day this year, I received a pet mouse as one of my presents. I quickly named him Smoochy, after he suddenly jumped up and kissed me on the cheek, then fell into my top left-hand side pocket. From that moment on, I knew that Smoochy and I, would have such fun times and great adventures together.            
              
This Christmas afternoon was especially hot, so my Mum Flo cut up some healthy and yummy assorted fruit for the family, as a snack and placed it on the table, which was placed in between, the two large trees in the backyard.

I especially love bananas, apples, oranges, grapes and lots of watermelon mixed together in my bowl. I named this creation 'A colourful fruit-blast'. It’s so much fun to eat, although, my little brother Lemmy only likes bananas in his bowl, with a dash of sweet honey.            
              
My two much older identical twin sisters named, Emma and Jemma, love to eat only green celery sticks and plain yogurt on hot days. Smoochy also ate some of my delicious, colourful fruit-blast and even drank a little of my icy, strawberry flavoured, thick shake, through his very own, home-made straw.

My Dad Archie, is very handy at making things out of wood, metal and even plastic and loves to paint unusual designs on whatever he makes. Dad does all of his, building and painting in his unusually built and outrageously painted backyard, outback shed.            
              
So, after he had some of Mum's afternoon fruit snack, Dad built a mouse house, for my grouse, new pet, mouse called, Smoochy. Dad even hand painted it with such colourful flair, from using his artistic nous. But, when I placed Smoochy, into his newly painted, mouse house, the paint wasn't dry enough, and he got yellow paint all over his, oh-so-cute tail.  
  
After my Dad Archie, had finished the grouse, new pet, mouse house, he thought, what could he make for me, as a New Year’s Eve surprise present. He quickly thought of a great idea and headed off to his, unusually built and outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed.            
              
Dad was busy for days, coming and going from his backyard shed and snoring so loudly, while taking short naps on our backyard hammock.            
      
Also, Dad kept taking pieces of Mum's colourful fruit snack, but only very small amounts at a time, from her ever so clean kitchen. Then, sneaking it all back into his, very hard to say shed. You know, the one in the backyard.  
  
My Dad had finally finished building my surprise present, just in time for New Year’s Eve. Then, because we were hosting a party at our house, at about 11.50 pm, my entire family, neighbours, friends, Smoochy and I were all waiting outside, in the backyard for the clock to strike 12.00 midnight.
  
With only 10 minutes to go my Dad, rushed off to his, you know where. Yes that's right, his unusually built and outrageously painted, outback, backyard shed and brought out my surprise. You will never guess what it was, for it was radically recycled, rather refined, remarkably robust and really red. Have you guessed correctly? Anyone? No? Okay, I will tell you what it was. It was my very own really red, reusable, retro rocket.            
              
When I saw the rocket that my dad had built for me, I was over the moon with happiness and I had a smile on my dial, that felt like it was almost as long as about a mile.            
    
All of a sudden, all of my family members, neighbours, friends and I started screaming out 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1. We all shouted out together, at the top of our voices HAPPY NEW YEAR. Then my Dad helped me light my, really red, reusable, retro rocket surprise and we both stood back, to see it take off and fly into the sky. My Dad told me, it was especially built to create, a fireworks display in the night sky and then return back to us. All so we could reuse it again, for next year.
  
All of a sudden, it took off so high into the night sky, I thought my new, radically recycled, rather refined, remarkably robust, really red, reusable, retro rocket surprise, was going to the moon and may never come back down to earth.            
              
But then we heard a loud bang, the top of my rocket separated from the main body of the rocket and exploded into bright colours all over the night sky.            
              
After a while though, my entire family, our neighbours and our friends, felt things dropping onto their clean party attire. People had red blobs on their backs; yellow splats on their shirts and even some on their skirts; small orange flecks on their faces and a few people had small black bits, dropping into their top, left-hand side pockets.            
    
"It's my colourful fruit snack, coming down from the night sky", yelled Mum. So she went searching through the crowd for my Dad. When she found him, he was chuckling with laughter.

He told us all, ‘That he had packed the radically recycled, rather refined, remarkably robust, really red, reusable, retro rocket, full of Stewy's favorite fruit. Also, because fruity, firework explosives would really make the sky, so much more colourful to the eye, and ever so tasty in our mouths’.
              
My Dad wanted to make as many colours as he could for the fireworks display. He used some of Mum's colourful fruit, which included, apples, bananas, watermelons, grapes and oranges.            
              
Even Smoochy was getting hit by the furiously flying, fast falling, fantastically funny, fabulous family fruit by Flo, through the small gaps, in his newly built, freshly painted, grouse, pet mouse, house. It was the best surprise I have ever seen, come out of that unusually built and outrageously painted, backyard, outback shed.            
              
Oh, what a fun and tasty New Year's Eve party we all had, on that, oh, so wonderful and colourful fruit blast of a night, in my little country village of 'Shimmerleedimmerlee'.