Do I lie upon these verdant spears,
And gaze unto the heavens.
‘Neath the boughs of the orchard,
Laden with the receipt of Venus.
Nigh the vernal showers,
Upon the passage of fair weather.
How the skies now welcome the somber ashen,
As departs the oneiric azure.
Though, I be embosomed by this sylvan protector;
Sheltered of the coming liquescent nature;
Permitted to appease my pensive complexion.
Oh the solace of my environs so begets a fecund mind,
Thus, commence I to ponder matters as regards love, and Death, and life.
And whilst mid thought, alas! The rains dawn
Imbuing the earth ‘round, yet hither I remain.

Once Baghdad was conquered,
And al-Musta'sim was imprisoned,
Hulegu Khan, aware of the king's
Great wealth and treasure,
Approached his cell, and bade him eat
Of his sumptuous goods.
The king, most bewildered by this order,
at once looked unto the Khan
and said, with voice stern,
“I shall do no such thing!”. It was then
The Khan proceeded to ask,
“Then why do you horde these gilded coins,
And precious jewels, and stones
Of land afar that you use not
To better the defense of your empire,
Or the welfare of your people,
Or the health of your animals?”
The king was silent, and the Khan's ire thusly grew.
“They then must be to eat
If they are not to be used
To strengthen your realm.”
“Do you store food for later consumption?”
“If so, why store these riches if they are not food?”
The king’s silence had yet to cease,
For he knew not what to say.
The days passed and to inanition
The king succumbed, alone and abreast of his treasure.

Where th' water 's not opposed, th' water flows.
Where understanding 's opaque, frustration grows.
Where ignorance resides, hatred shares its abode.
Where dishonesty respites, malice lies too.

Where th' voice remains unheard, what good are their words?
Where th' voice remains unchallenged, what 's e'er learned?
Where force triumphs o'er fact, 'tis truth that falls first.
Where truth no longer thrives, falsity 's th' victor.

Where fear supplants courage, nigh are th' darkest days.
Where justice wilts and withers, 'tis th' innocent that pay.
Where vengeance wins th' mind and heart, with haste peace decays.
Where peace 's fated to perish, th' stench of war pervades.

Thus, reader, let 't be you who heeds this writ;
Who remedies the world's defects;
Who restores Good where Good 's spent;
Who bears th' light to illume th' darkness;

Who brings change where change 's due.

Then rose I of state dormant.
Bedighted th’ heavens with th' hue of vermillion
As the gilded eye was nascent.

Though, accompanied was I
By remnant oneiric;
Of dreamward plane not wholly departed,
Wherein upon me was bestowéd office of the omniscient,

Tasked to engender th' kosmos’ existence.
Anew awoke I, ‘twixt nebulous skies and earth verdant.
How the folly of mind within me occasioned ideas magnificent.

Thus, betook I to greet this humor pensive
Anon succumbing to accustomed dreariness.
Alas! With weariness absconded and sight restoréd
My surroundings I deduced upon th’ opening of mine eye.

‘Twas th’ darkest of environs, so still and silent
Void magnificent that nought beareth.
How th’ learnéd souls and minds creative

Were but forms nonexistent
With whom I, the Creator, was to endow life.
Yet, ere th' orbs’ and th' suns’ conjuring
Did I ponder my preoccupation

As regards th' prolonging of my future creation.
So thus, ‘twas light I conceived
To oppose th' blackness abounding

Force primordial to sustain th' galactic bodies.
Thereafter came th' divers planets
Each of varied size and surface.
Was I behooved to further th’ formation expansive

Thus, came th’ astros’ and comets’ construction.
Lo! Beauty ethereal begat I, the omnipotent.
Once interminable space replete with nothingness;

Motionless state that predated all physics;
Now, awesome domain governed by law complex.
Though, fecundity had ceased not
I then betook to th’ creation of th’ seas, and th’ flora, and th’ creatures ambulant

And th’ boundary to discern th’ divine of mortality’s constituents.
And upon termination of tasks titanic
Sought I rest

As all beheld the marvels of my work.
I soon was stricken by drowsiness and betook to sleep
Most content with myself, the universe’s artisan.

O thee, dew vernal!
Nascent is thy form at dawn,
My aqueous muse.

I recall the whispers of a dying voice;
The forthcoming shadow of who she once was;
The soft laments from a withered, wearied frame,
Enervated by the concoction of bottles and morphine---
Alternating between states of repose and reality, often electing the former.
Tears were eschewed by those around her,
Seeking not to meditate on the inevitable,
But to celebrate a life of felicity and accomplishment.
The hours ceased not in their transit.
Spring dawned and left;
Summer arrived and departed;
The showers came and abated;
The flowers bloomed and decayed.

I recall the silence that morning.
The silence that rendered mute the laughter;
The silence that brought the dolorous realization;
The silence that spoke of her departure.

I am but one ash of many,
Remnant of a by-gone fire
Quelled by wind.
I am but of body liquescent,
Mid the showers that brings the mighty tempest.
I am but a leaf of divers,
Anon to fall from agéd branch
As Autumn arrives, and the erst warmth retires.
I am but of common nature,
Who has not the beauty nor uniquity
Of Summer’s flowers,
Nor bids the eye inquisitive
Of the wanderer.
Lo! By dint of Winter’s dawn
Alas, I am to wither.
Supplanted by life anew
And forgotten thereafter.

Threefold is a man's foolishness
When he denies true love's existence.

Whence cometh my mediocrity?
Shameful is my life.
In verse I so long
To pen my thoughts
On love, nature,
On life’s fragility.
Yet from my heart and mind
Exudeth naught.
Voiceless, museless
Dare I deem myself a poet?
If I am not to write
Then wherefore do I exist?
Just as the captain without bark
Is but a soul bedeviled and lost,
So too is the author without voice
Ne’er to be an author at all.
Though, oft I wonder
Perhaps, senescent are my woes,
And there is many a song
Have I yet to compose.
Only in due course
This will I e’er know.
O till that time is upon me
Ne’er will I cease to ponder
Whence cometh my mediocrity?
Only in due course
This will I e’er know.

I thought I would pen a hymn for you,
But now I don't know if I want to.
You used to say that you love me too.
Now we just scream until we’re –
Blue in the face, I hear you
Cursin’ my name under your breath.
And every time that we drink
We say something that we regret.
And I don't know, I don't know
How to get past this.

I can't count all of the lies,
All the times you said goodbye.
To only come back with teary eyes
Say you got no one else in your life.
And I always let you back inside
To mend our woes for a short time.
Then come the fights, the words, the cries
The sayin' "this won't happen twice".
This is what we know, it’s all we know
Will we get past this?

Oh when the morn comes will you be gone?
Tell me now and this’ll all be done.
Then after you, no I won't run
You can fall into another’s –
Arms, yeah find the one who treats you right
Who stays up with you, talks all night.
Who tells you they'll never leave your side
Who feels your joy, your pain, your strife.
Who really knows you, who really knows
And you'll get past this.

I hope you know I don't hate you
I never have, I never will.
Been with you come the rain or wind.
It's something that I do –
Miss, I know you're leavin’ soon
Before the eventide comes ‘round.
Here's farewell to creviced love
I might not see you when dawns the morrow.
But I don't know, yeah I don't know

Oh when the morn comes will you be gone?
Tell me now and this'll all be done.
Then after you, no I won't run
You can fall into another’s –
Arms, yeah find the one who treats you right
Who stays up with you, talks all night.
Who tells you they'll never leave your side
Who feels your joy, your pain, your strife.
Who really knows you, who really knows
And we'll get past this.

the rains, the cold air
have not relented,
the winds, the earth,
have assured
the foison’s death—
o primavera,
do you now
lay dormant—
the skies,
bedecked
with solemn tones,
have yet to
leese this
ghastly
grey
complexion
i know this poor
weather is going
to hold

i don my
apparel—
gloves
cap
coat—
impermeable
warm—
safeguarded by
my calid aegis,
i decide
to part
from my
quarters,
the old
sturdy
door
is opened
at once

as i
venture
outdoors
to greet
the
crestfallen
clime
i am
received
by
the
presence
of gaia’s
distempers—

o primavera,
do you now
lay dormant—

i close
the door
behind me

and set
off to
where
i am due

I hearken the air,
This splendid air
That issues of thy lute.

How thy gossamer touch
Betokens thy love
Hast thou for this
Beauteous tune.

Come weal or woe,
Selene or Sol,
These notes are
My physic—
Ay, ‘tis true.

Thusly, cease not,
And continue to pluck
The strings of thy
Delicate lute.

beauty is the night----
the solace majestic that warrants
the weary eye----
the muse ethereal to whom is beholden
the creative mind.----
yonder the elden oak
'twixt darkness and moonlight;
the wolves whose cries resound
beneath the ebon skies;
the fauna savage that prowls
with prey in sight.
anon, a gentle rain dawneth
and giveth life unto the earth.
anew, the aqueous offerings!
o how nightly wonders
are but the eidolon of beauty,
the paragon of grandeur.
‘tis oft i roam
the terrain so dark and calm
of jovial mien, allur’d
by the starry plane above.
and think most profoundly
on the coming morrow
when departs dian
upon the arrival of apollo.
thereat awakening the many a soul
of their repose,
and the day’s concomitant joys and woes.
bathing the land in a burnished glow.
tho’ in study will be i
‘mid texts of prose and rhyme.
and with wont eye
mark the passage of time,
till cometh once more
the beauteous night.

it's the new knives
that can open
the old wounds
the easiest

How shall I to thee confess my love?
Gift thee divers roses and doves?
Regale thee ‘til cometh dawn?
Enchant thee with amorous song?
Thou art my physic
That heals the wounds of Cupid’s absence;
That remedies the soul anguished
Sans joy and passion.
E’en in fate withered
Thy beauty shall remain unblemished.
Yet doth the beauteous rose e’en perish.
Its petals ere burning red,
Ravagéd by eternal earth.
So too wilt thou be spoiled by Death.
So too will the agéd hands of Chronos
Pluck the tresses of thy head, ere burning red,
Just as the leaves of the flower.
Though in *****, e’erlasting thou liv’st,
Untouched by time’s misfortunes.
Nor present nor future
Shall o’ertake thy features
As within mine heart, thou art fore’er.
Now cease I, for at hindmost of writ we come,
And again, as regards my question, I bid thy tongue
O bearer of my fancy, how shall I to thee confess my love?
May ‘t start with th’ three above.

When comes the day I lie in rigid state,
O’ercome by earth abounding, touched by the hands of fate.
When consume the worms the shell of my being,
May our times of mirth and woe ne’er part of thee.
Such is the course of life, oh the child in time
Shall bid farewell to youthful *****, and betake to elder age.
So too in due course shall cease to flow
The currents o’er the cragged stone, and decay the nature ‘round;
Yea, thee one day shall Time's ills entertain,
And thy sweet youth o'ertake.
Yet till that lamentable hour,
When all be hoary and expired,
Thy tresses of auburn and eyes of azure
Will solace me thro’ th’ tempests of Summer,
And th’ fury of Winter, the vernal blossoms,
And the autumnal showers.
Art thou my Beatrice, my queen, my belovéd.

Spent not are the voices of the by-gone poets.
Interred not by earth profound.
Transgressed not by time’s incessant passage.
The verse ere marked by the plume of the pensive;
The ludic; the bereavéd,
All sustenance for the spirit creative.
Muses of the writers of modern age.
O art unassailable, tongue primordial, light of radiance eternal,
Bulwark ‘fore the chaos of a decadent world.
So transcends the poet’s writ the maxims of the kosmos;
Our ephemeral existence molded by stricture.
That which comes of the pen—
Embodiment of the amiable, and the embittered;
The opaque, and the transparent;
The leaden, and the gossamer;
The facile, and the onerous.
Oh Maestro del Verso, with thy ink and thy pinion
Art thou edifier of universes, of languages, of conscience;
Porter of tidings; bearer of wisdom and welter;
The stones that impede the tumultuous seas;
The safeguard mid the tempest coming.
Thy hands, they bid the wan and wax of Luna and Sol;
Thy mind, the river’s very ebbs and flows;
Thy song, the harvests’ bountiful growth.
Thy *****, the rains' arrival and repose.

Yea, poet, go on!
Progenitor of worlds,
Master of thy creation.

When in ken of amorous forthcoming,
And witness bears the heart
To love’s fair presence, doth life
Seem to grow of woes surcease,
And restoréd is joy whither
Joy was once spent.

But if subject to the throes of misfortune,
And love remains afar and elusive,
How the breadth of ire, of scorn, of envy
Befall the erstwhile ardent *****.

So oft I think on future’s givings,
So oft I ponder these undying questions—
Will I come to embrace my king or queen?
Or suffer e’ermore by Cupid’s absence?

The answers, I suppose, Time will bring,
And perhaps, I will find happiness forgotten.
Though, for now here I sit and hark the dove sing
And these verses write that my mood betoken.

alike are
love and
the rose

if
neglected,
farewell
to
both

O Selene, th’ dawn of thee, so begets th’ writ of woe.
As day retreats, for repose ‘t seeks, so comes thy ancient glow.
Of burnishéd gold, and shimmering tones, and evokes a fecund mood.
Thus, to thy beauty a song, celestial one, goddess who weeps for erstwhile love.

Anew Selene, call I to thee, she who dwells above.
E’en mortals ‘neath, too share thy grief, strangers not to anguished *****.
So too we plead may love not cease ev'n as parts Earthly form.
Ere finality proceeds, ‘fore life’s fugacity, do I take to verse solemn.

Aye, dolefully I sing, mid the reign of e’en.
How the nightly hour doth conjure lament.
And though th’ heavens are replete with th’ color of ebony.
Embosomed am I by august luminescence.

O Mother of seas, Muse of th’ Greeks.
Predilect of th’ Romantics.
Anon Apollo shall greet th’ skies with light abounding.
Yet, will I await the return of thy presence.

it's the small victories
that can mean
the most

I

O solemnity
In ***** lay.
Mid the night
Dark, tame
Do I find myself.
Aloft, the waxing crescent,
The astros abounding,
The sundry spatial bodies
Strangers to comprehension–
The millenary muses!

II

In my room
I am received
By penumbra and solace;
By heavy eyes and heart;
By remembrances
Of erstwhile love;
By silence pervading.

III

I, so dreamward,
‘Twixt reality and repose,
Anon descend
Unto a state
Of muscular impediment–
Plane of nought
Comparable to Death!

IV

O dawn of morn
I now wake
To the dawn of morn.
Sweet slumber so absconded.
Anew to live
Another day
Of spirit solemn
And lame.
Wherefore not eternal slumber?

As I betake to part of my cherished hearth,
And traverse the wintry swathes----
That cloak the earth, the erstwhile warmth;
Yea, the frost hath come again.----

Hail I early morn, the light of dawn,
The skies sanguine-stained.
Tho' the path is long I continue on,
For yon do you await.

Your locks and skin of beauteous ebon,
Your eyes of Gallic beige,
So solace the *****, wearied and lonesome,
'Mid these invernal days.

Will I bear the brunt of winter's clutch
To share with you a lover's gaze,
O worry not, my queenly love,
For anon will I be there.

O Dreams interred of erstwhile youth
Befallen by th' ills of time's passage.
I, ere a soul of bountiful mirth,
Am now but confined to a crestfallen existence.
And tho' memories remain of ****** Earth
Once I deemed my environs.
Gone now 's the unspoiled nature
And th' merriment of juvenile innocence.
Yet, with each dawn's ascent,
Whether the heavens are marked by ashen or azure,
What remains of felicity 's not spent.
So long as I have thee, my sweet beloved,
Til life's ineluctable end.