#lest
to more than I can be...
a sad isolated man,
throes of an agonizing,
stretched by her for painful
revengeful gain,
kissed with pointless avarice, divorce.
children deeming
him alienating, his faulty
insensitive sensitivities,
to easy blame
little do they know of the
piercing lowliness, the looniness of
nights he listened to sad-eyed singers,
and his late-of-mid of night scribbled scripts,
where he
off loaded the agonies of a midlife
disaster, not entirely of his-own
sown making,
but still his to bear and bare alone...
some accidents happens for unintentional,
unintended intentional new seasons appear,
stumbled, tumbled, fumbled his way onto
this H~oly P~lace, where someone might listen
to his explanations, expiations, excoriations
of his all too common tragedy, and said:
this broken human, he's got his reasons,
read his overly long treatises, his entreaties,
to those that prowl, rowing, in this corner
of the silence of the internet, where only the
trolls, the cold, the easier to-be-meaner oft thrive,
and found none of that, but an oasis of sheltering,
embracing comforting, those who actually admitted
his writings could be loved, and perhaps the writer
himself, was
deserving
of a second chance, a verbal embrace. a rereading forgiveness,
a pat
on his natback, a sympathetic sensory intaking,
and perhaps-this debt, eternal, that put the
for and the fore in a new baby born, named -
new forever
came into existence
the very same
e
that begins those conjoined words
***e~ternally grateful
"and now I sleep in peace when the day is done"
but the night time
is still the
write time
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 AM UTC
I
Must say
You're best
At how you beat me
With the very bit of mine imagination
For
A second
You make me
Want to think,I'm the greatest amongst your enemies
Yet
When I
Grasp you in mine arms
And proximate you on me
Shall you quiver yet not so long
And shall gasp to kiss on my lips
Truthfully
Now and then
Shall your sighs puzzle me
And for every bit voiced
Cram how you had want to gulp me
whole inside of you
And even how you can't live without me
Yet
I'm cloack
With remorse
For I feel I make you a bully of my love
And
Each now and then
Will I listen to the words
You say and purge their fairness
To the very syllable
I
Had
Believed you whole
And mine eyes shall flood with tears forever
When I heard you say
He always make you ebb through
The beautiful blues skies and make you want
To catch the golden sunset
When you two make love
I
Had
Even believed
You thoroughly
And had sink into wild waters
Or probably drown into the deepest part
Of the abyss
And rest myself there
For an eternal self-torture
When
I heard you say
His touches make your heart beats faster
Than the rhythms of love played by a ghost
On a magic lyre
But
Then
Every word you uttered
Was a false figurine in your eyes
And
Again
By and by shall I peek the verity
They cloack your soul with
Like what they say
"The window to every soul is the eyes"
But
I may
Had Believe the very words
Your tongue chimed
Yet then
I trust wholly in the verity your eyes spoke
The verity your eyes speak
©Historian E.Lexano
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
**lest the best go to waste
~for the Grande Dame of Port Hardy~**
this breathing fire, a coronating sense of mortality, internally
stronger than ever before, though unaffected, no visible signage,
his invisible labored breathing, the torn fabric of easy gone mentality,
yet so corrupted, his interiors polluted, his crying-out-loud goes
unheard, the sheltering alone in his head, which now is stretched,
way past the point of no return ever, this new strand of side-virus,
of dreary sameness, familiar but reimagined as an atmospheric cancer,
the urgency by which his olive oil words, from pitcher poured, astounds
no subterfuge, he’s made his Great-Escape, to the sheltering island,
his refuge, part redoubt, jagged coastlines a hardening shell, no access
until you declare fealty to the Ferry Captains, who let you board for a princely $2 bucks, if you meet their unstandards, upstanding, healthy?
to the old cottage where we have summered forty year more, The requested Crew assemblage by early dawn (no **** for animals unencumbered by time-stealing watches, animal mutual truce declared, mottled multiplying rabbits, squirrels who know not any fear, orange breasted robins, **** deer, mollusks, rainbow trout, osprey, cat-sized cawing crows, and the watchers, the sea-it-all gulls
even the Canadian geese send a scout, in the poet’s nook we are formed, nervous not for their safety, but worried for mine, a Memorial Day meeting very traditional, atmospheric condition cool-cloudy-overcast, party sunny a bold-faced forecasters lie-trick, for an island bondage-bonding gloom, a glomming gray weight tamps the air down
Friends! My Audience for New Poets! (their honorific, now over-a-decade old): The Gods have tweeted, this year may not have a next, no Jerusalem for your human acquaintances, the luxurious slowdown of island life, infected by a new urgency, explaining the known and the unknowns facing the human interlopers
Where’s Shelter?
a refrain, a greeting, we have sung together, so many times, self-satisfied, fore we knew well, knew anew, we had the answer, here, here, though to life’s cycle we are not immunized, but now your human admirers face agents of death, by invisibility masked, giving us no pause, so we, all, write now, must forward on to:
live/write our best, lest, our partnership be for naught, always between us truce of mutual consent, a natural love of all living things
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 8:51 AM UTC