#sebastian
Bastiana as me, being this lady truly that you see,
Within my solemn being, I am a love-a living dream.
You can not keep me from the light,
I am always a part of life, though not in plain sight.
Have a few or two lily's and put them aside,
I give this to the well and cast the spell-bide my time.
I tried the name Sebastian on for size, no lie,
But found myself in love with Bastiana, I can't deny.
Bastiana as me, I know I'm Alan to some degree,
But when all is frozen in time-don't you know?
My love, Bastiana...why this name...it is the one true me.
Aug 8, 2022
Aug 8, 2022 at 4:41 AM UTC
The moon poured over the
moors
and the night-birds
howled through the wind.
The stars shuddered in their
midnight sky and whispered his
name amongst themselves.
He could do nothing but swallow
his tears in her memory.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 12:57 AM UTC
I surveyed the scene
about me
it was our first camp base
and out tents
were in a field
a guide pointed out
It was raining heavy
and I and this ex-army guy
ran towards our tent
and once there
we clambered inside
and zipped up
They say the rain in Spain
he said
but didn't finish
we could hear the rain
hit the canvas
above our heads
there was little room
in the tent to do much
so we lay on our sleeping bags
our cases unopened
by our sides
I mused on Miriam
and wondered who
she was shacked up with
ex-army spoke about
his time in the army
and his mother's new boyfriend
whom he loathed
and I hoped the rain
would soon stop
so I could get
a beer and burger
with fries from the cafe
in the main building
and find Miriam
but it rained still
and I listened half-heartedly
as Ex-army got on
with his dismal speech
and I wanted Miriam
but she
was far from reach.
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 3:49 AM UTC
arrows find rest in pillows of flesh
and pain casts a symphony of loss
– the song sung sweetly,
his word whispered gently in the bark of a tree.
great things have been taken: i’ve given for thee
three gifts of water, pious sacrament
kisses between two damp palms.
devotion breaks soil and holds resolve
and how it loves, and loves, and loves
– pebbles mirror a blanket of stars,
the impenetrable mass of fiery constants
you chew, swallow, receive with haste.
feet sink heavy in the holy mire
breath lies hiding in the roots of a willow.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 4:32 AM UTC
The world's full of people,
who's beauty reigns outside.
With all the nice gestures,
you won't know what they hide
A prince who once believed,
in happily ever after
is now dying everyday,
for vengeance and ******
Who could have thought,
that behind those looks,
a burning hatred
for traitors cooks
No one ever noticed,
all those emotional scars.
The burden put upon you,
weights more than a thousand cars.
If only they saw.
If only they heard.
The heart of a young boy,
that gradually broke.
If your only strength,
they hadn't taken,
that cereal guy might be,
an angel from heaven.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 10:25 AM UTC
Lucinta slams fist against her breast
Cerberus three-headed dog howls
In unison screams, either side of dream
“Take his body from this place!”
Christians march sewers of Rome
Mauritanian archer recognizes his face
Sebastian’s body is resumed
And buried at the feet
Of Peter and Paul, ground so hallowed
Irene and maidens weep
Her herbs, tincture not swallowed
This time it is for keeps
Diocles murdered twice
This Patron Saint of Athletes
Piercing arrows, which were undone
By Irene’s tender grace, now replaced
With blows of clubs by Emperor
Of a Rome which begins to waste
He saw it coming, plague of plagues
And knew the Christ was Risen
He ****** all from Milan to Gaul
And Christians were so imprisoned
And each convinced another man
Of this immaculate and pristine vision
So on it goes unto this day
Athletes wear insignia on silver medal
And delivery to us a new plague
While good veiled Italian women do peddle
The famous artists nouvelle vague
Will this martyrdom ever not settle?
Sebastian as Sadomasochist
Will you hear devotee’s prayer?
Or must I continue to pierce myself
With points from here to there?
End thine madness thyself
And show this world your care
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
the life I lived was like a fairytale
than you came around with your mysterious charms
and decided to make a mess out of things
that weren't even there to begin with
you came in my life and everything changed
colorfull flowers turned into ashes
stars didn't shine like they used to
and suddenly my world revolved around you
I couldn't think about anything else but you
I couldn't dream about anything else but you
I couldn't even breathe
your white blonde hair and black eyes
you always had this kind of speaking that impressed me
he was elegant, he was smart, he was bold, a leader
and all these little things made me fall for him even more
you were evil and everyone could see it
this boy was the king of not showing emotions
he was kinda heartless sometimes, but I didn't mind
he always made feel loved, special
like nobody else excisted for him, it was only me
but sometimes even I didnt know how to handle his demons
everytime the darkness took him over I was afraid of him
and I could see in his eyes that he enjoyed me being scared
he liked having this control over people, it was wrong
this boy was the best yet worst thing that ever happend to me
I found comfort in the way he saw things different
everyday I needed him a little bit more
he was like my personal drug and he knew it
without him he knew I wouldn't survive
he made me need him
and everytime I looked at him I saw a demon
but this kid was so so beautiful, it made me blind
and I still don't know if I should walk away or not
the childeren of lucifer,
the most beautiful of all God's angels
we are so much lovelier when we fall.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 7:03 AM UTC
Well after the conductor yelled,
“All aboard,” and well after all
of the tickets were punched;
a group of people,
who didn’t know one another
were all headed north.
Little hands turned through pages
while larger ones were cupping
at the window, trying to get
a better view of the night sky.
A farmers pasture flashed by,
but went unnoticed in the dark.
A few seats down slouched a frail
grey haired lady, with her hands
clasped around a small bouquet
of daises. And across the aisle,
towered a man who’s hands
could hold a dozen eggs.
Alone in the corner was a red
dressed woman; doing her best
to not spill her coffee. She watched
the children next to her fall
into an innocent sleep.
And ripples echoed in her fingers.
She thought about how strange it is
that everyone on a train
can be going the same direction
but have different destinations.
And then she thought about
how tired the conductor had looked.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
After Henry Taylor
On a peaceful night just as the stars had
risen and the chilled dew was beginning
to form on the grass, a set of steel tracks
resting atop an ordinary hill
began to hum with warm vibrations as
a steam-powered engine came towards them,
pulling along an assortment of goods,
it came fast and came loud, breaking all of
the solitude by the hill, but perhaps
it was going too fast or maybe the
tracks were a little wet or it may be
that the train simply wanted to jump, but
just as it reached the turn atop the hill,
it leaned off its path and like a rubber
band; the rest followed, throwing to the air
everything held inside, tumbling down
the hill, splashing through the water droplets
until finally coming to a rest
at the bottom, where splintered lumber and
distorted steel had torn up earth to show
a mound of fresh dirt, riddled with gravel
and twigs, the hill became quiet once more,
just as the train whispered its final gasp
and the dew began to form on its wheels.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
I remember asking my dad,
“How many stars are in the sky,”
and he said something like,
“Way too many to count.”
But I’ve counted.
And after recounting
and recounting
and scribbling in my notebook
under my fathers flashlight
I can tell you that there is
indeed a number.
And to this day I prefer
reading the stars over anything.
They’re the oldest book ever written.
Space: the oldest canvas to be sewn
and the cosmos the paint of Picasso.
Each spec is its own character
each pair a set of eyes
where I can lose myself in their gaze.
A celestial connect the dots
where I collect the pictures
and pick out my favorite spots.
But when my son
is old enough to ask,
“How many stars are in the sky?”
I’ll just hand him a notebook
and tell him to read what he sees.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
I've written you a letter and I'll send it soon.
It's two pages, twice folded and slipped
into an off-white envelope
where I've licked the back flap
and pressed it down firmly.
Your location is scribbled on the front,
centered almost perfectly
and my address sits top left
just in case your house is no longer there
and the postman decides to return to sender.
However, the corners are beginning to fray
and a small coffee stain
curves around one side,
looping over the place
where a stamp should be.
Your name is starting to fade
and I'm not sure if the 6 in your address
is a 6 at all. So maybe the postman
will just lose it in a sea of forgotten paper
and one day you’ll swim over to it.
I would like you to read the letter I've written,
but the idea behind a message in a bottle
only works if you toss the **** thing overboard.
And the only time I ever told you I loved you
is collecting dust inside my desk.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
She calmly unlocks the front door
as the wind flings the screen
through wild tantrums. She droops down
into her dusted rocker, pushing
with her lavender heels to start the sway.
Her sole taps softly,
as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer
and the porch plays in discord
through dancing lace.
Interwoven hands lie atop her lap
in a sea of navy with floral ships
at its surface. Silver strands
fall from her clouded bun
and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders.
With jaded eyes she looks at the corner
to a poor table, where a cold candle
peaks among a grassy field of melted wax
riddled with burnt fuses.
And near the candle, a dusted white hat
remains anchored to the wooden surface.
She can still smell the stale cigar smoke
lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,”
she thinks as her daze slowly sets in.
The world seems quiet
as she fills her eyes with sleep
and the chair continues its march.
Her hands unlock from their grasp
and the screen door gently knocks.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC