#1800s
Fie on this dross! My wit is dull’d and spent,
Like rusty blade that bites not at the foe.
Where is that fire from Heav'nly regions sent,
To make the muddy waters clearly flow?
Thou art the sun that gilds my darkest thought,
Yet shroud'st thy face in clouds of sullen grey;
By thy decree is every wonder wrought,
Or by thy scorn, my spirit cast away.
Pluck from my tongue this heavy, silent stone,
And tune my voice to match the morning lark;
I’ll sing a song for thy perfections known,
And strike a light within the biting dark.
For though the world may mock this humble rhyme,
Thy name shall outstep even greedy Time.
[ 2 2 2 ]
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 11:05 AM UTC
O, let the lamp burn low and dim,
And cast a shadow o'er the lie;
If truth be cold and gray and grim,
I’d rather let the phantom fly.
If kindness dwells within his gaze,
Though forged in furnace of deceit,
I’ll wander through these hallowed days
And find the bitter honey sweet.
I crave no torch to light the dark,
To show the cracks within the stone;
I would not see the dying spark,
Or wake to find I bide alone.
For truth is but a cruel blade
That severs soul from hope’s embrace;
I’d rather haunt this masquerade
Than see the ghost behind his face.
Let 'Forever' be the oath we keep,
A vow inscribed in shifting sand;
I’ll lull my restless mind to sleep
And hold the specter of his hand.
For heartbreaks past are wounds that stay,
No balm can mend a spirit torn;
So let the falsehood lead the way
Until the breaking of the morn.
Stay near, my love, and speak the part,
Though every word be hollowed gold;
I’ll lock the doubt within my heart,
To have and, evermore, to hold.
--- [ 2 2 2 ]
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 10:07 PM UTC
It always happens
with the sunset for him;
marital love
at sixes and nines
Memories are now
missing parasols;
canticles of bliss
--emotional screening devices
Chimneys smoke
as a way of laying claim to serendipity;
it's a marriage of conveyance
And their daughters lie in empty fields;
early to the party,
seeking the sun
like a lover
Across his chin
sit scars of the crusade
--the first pain to linger,
the last kiss to haunt
The evocation of his betrothed:
mending her gown
and how she wore the forest
on their wedding day,
but peeled it all off
at his request
that one singular evening
To be naked and shiver;
to be naked and shiver
at the anticipation in his arms
The master of the house
now enters the secret chamber;
and in the throes
of glory-light, he adores
his wife in the carnal means
she likes best
Aug 15, 2024
Aug 15, 2024 at 11:34 PM UTC
~
*She reads the flaxen paper on her wall,
sees its patterns,
touches them.
They project her confusion in cold chamber light.
Stained hands,
convoluted heartbeat,
she creeps into the wall's design.
"Hysteria every time she opens her mouth," said the doctor.
"Rest will cure her."
She is nostrum,
and not permitted
to participate in her own diagnosis.
A man decides how she is allowed to perceive
and speak about the world around her.
Next time you're alone, look quickly at the wallpaper.
Look for the patterns and lines and faces on the wall.
Look, if you can, for her, visible only
out of the corner of your eye...*
~
Sep 16, 2021
Sep 16, 2021 at 8:08 AM UTC
It all happened
Once Upon A Time, like in the fairy tales, but
it went backwards
and backwards
and
backwards,
opposite and upside down
like he was in Alice in Wonderland
and the wicked stepmother was not a stepmother at all;
with no pointed chin or sharp daggers for eyes.
Instead she looked like a princess
with a gentle face and round, brown eyes
like a mother.
She was good at goodness
at being kind
at loving him in front of everybody’s eyes
and making him think
it wasn’t so bad, after all.
But she was also good at
shouting
and yelling
and hitting and smacking,
at giving him the belt
and the switch
and sometimes the slipper.
And in his fairy tale
there was no kind, gentle father.
There was no father.
“Gone,” she’d say of him, “drunk somewhere.
With a *****
Dying, hopefully.
If he was here
he’d **** you.”
Sometimes he
wished,
hoped
his father would come back and
live up to his promise
and ****
and ****
and ****
and ****
and ****
until there was nobody left to ****
because they were all dead and destroyed
and dead
and destroyed
and their clothes mopped up their own blood
and when he was sobered enough to realise what he’d done
he’d stand over them,
mournfully,
and weep
over his drunken mistakes
over just who he had
murdered
with his own knife, who he had cut
cut
cut
jagged shapes into their flesh,
torn pieces of them away
like he had drunk away pieces of himself;
an eye for an eye;
an equal pound of their fair flesh,
cut off and taken,
stolen,
like a jewel in the night.
But no father came,
and he stayed dissatisfied and alive
and his mother came
and belted him
whenever she pleased.
He grew up dissatisfied,
lived dissatisfied,
and anger grew in his bloodied heart,
furious,
bleeding with the pain of it
growing to despise his father’s ******
even more than he despised his father
and his mother
and himself.
He learnt all their names:
Nichols
and Chapman
and Stride and Eddowes
and Kelly.
And he stalked the streets,
searching
searching
searching
searching
searching,
for they had lain with his father
and had wronged him
by leaving him
alone with his mother
and the belt
and the switches,
and if they wronged him,
should he not revenge?
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC
...ARGH! Hence the title...
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXV)
Spent, ere the fragile chance to what? avail,
Look how blue skies warm in dawn's welcome, whence
Don't roll a single word for aught intents
Across my tongue, jist see, and wonder, pale
As howling oer grey heavns' sheer lack, nor scale
Lo, any bit of this or that cuz sense
Drowned late on Monday night where visions dense
With oh, Victorian airs stole off wee bail.
Yes, when I've but a minute to bestir
My pencil for ah, which detail passed through?
I'm swooning sans a voice yet over her--
That girl whom lit'rature FORGOT, cuz ooh!
She was his mistress; won the world as twere
Because of that keen secret: I've naught cue.
12Mar19a
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 10:19 PM UTC
His old mare cantered into to town
The covered wagon followed
A boy's first trip to town alone
He took it in, and swallowed
Penny candy dreams last night
And sarsparilla floats
The ladies' parasol fineries
The men in pinstriped coats
Perhaps a whiskey, what the hell
Today he was a man!
But first the livery stable for Brownie
For oats and a water can.
The .30-30 saddle gun would come with him, of course.
He also grabbed the belted Colt from the pommel of his horse.
The warped board sidewalks led past stores
His worn boots clopped along
He strapped on the .36 Navy Colt revolver
And fastened down the thong
He clopped down to the first saloon
Laid his rifle on the bar
A sporting girl sat next to him
With the unlikely name of "Star"
"A milk for the lady.
Myself as well,
Barkeep, if you please!"
A cowhand howled out raucous laughter,
Flipping up Ms. Star's dress, to well above her knees
"That little pup, he wants some milk
So Star, give him yer ****
I'll bend him over, spank his ***
And then give YOU a treat!"
The young man's vision doubled, trebled,
The shame clear on his face
As tears welled up in big blue eyes
A witness in every soul in the place
"Aw, the little ***** is bawling! WAH!"
The cowhand bellowed out
And all false mirth left his expression
And he gave the boy a clout
The boy just sat and sobbed and watched
As Ms. Star joined in the joke
But cowhand was already 3 bottles in,
In a flash, her nose was broke
Cowhand reached across the boy
To grab that sweet, sleeved rifle
The boy grabbed cowhand's wrist just then
And twisted it just a trifle
A yelp and howl from cowhand's mouth,
"YOU BROKE MY ****** WRIST!
NOW you're ****** you little sprat"
He took a swing, and missed.
Red faced, clumsy, humiliated
He drew leather on the boy
Dead to rights, he had the kid,
He realized, with grim joy
An explosion, a thump, on warped pine floor
Blue smoke curling in the air
Utter, vapid, vacuum silence
Patrons cemented to their chair
The tears were gone from those blue eyes
Blue steel as his gaze fixed
A hole had grown in cowhand's head
The size was .36
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC