A boy born into royalty
Destined to rule over a great kingdom
But sent away by one with ill will for the kingdom
To be killed in a shipwreck
And leave a kingdom without their prince

But a lion pushed the boy in the wreckage to shore
Where a man stood wakeful at night
And took the boy in, giving him life
The man abused the boy in many ways
And the future ruler would leave to rule his kingdom

The boy had always wanted to go North
As if there were something good to the North
Something drawing him to the mountains and rivers
As he had northern blood flowing through his veins
So 'Onward and upward, to Narnia and the North!'

The boy fled his home on the back of a talking horse
Escaping the abusive nature of his supposed-father
To the north where he was meant to be, they fled
From the south the life he was fleeing from
His destined kingdom lying in this northern land to which he travelled

On horseback he rides in a forest
Before hearing the sounds of another horse
And then seeing the sights of another rider
Terrified the horse pulls forward
Then a wild animal gives its mighty roar

Hearing the roar of a mighty lion
The riders and horses go on running from this terror
Until they are united, together in their travels
Then the lion disappears into the mist of the forest
And the travelers, a boy and a girl, and two horses now travel to the north together

The boy stranded in the desert
Away from all things he had known
Without his horse or traveling companions
Without any water to quench his thirst
And he spends the night alone in the dark desert

There on the desert ground, terrified he laid
For behind him stood tombs of the kings of old
And to his forefront laid the desert
He imagined ghosts and ghouls that might come from the tombs
And terrified he laid, there on the desert ground

Then a kitten came to his side
The cat came und nuzzled behind the sleeping boy
It kept him warm through the cold desert night
The boy felt safe with the kitten by his side
As if no one or no thing could possibly harm him

As he slept, he heard the sound of jackals howling in the desert
The boy became fearful once he noticed the absence of the cat
Yet it was at this time that he heard the mighty roar of a lion
And the lions roar made him even more fearful than he was before
But then the howling of the jackals ceased and he was safe

He awoke again later in the night to the cat by his side
The cat comforted him in his loneliness
And kept him warm in the desert night
When it needed to, the cat became a lion and defended the boy
For the lion always wanted what was best for that boy

Then the four travelers ventured north across the desert
Racing against time, and against enemy armies
To get to the kingdom in the north on time to warn the king
But like any desert travelers, they quickly tired
And they required one final push

A lion's roar cams out of the silence of nature
And very quickly the horses sped up to leave the lion's reach
But to no avail as the lion gashed at one of the riders
The terror of the horses propelled them forward
And they made it in time to save the kingdom

The boy was reunited with his father, the king
And he himself became a king when it came high time
The boy married the girl, and became king and queen of the country in the north
For the Lion and the Kitten led them to the north, and to their salvation
Even when they did not know the Lion at all

The Lion is Jesus Christ, God Himself in the flesh
He came to save the boy, and his horse
And his wife and her horse
He came as a fierce lion to redirect
And as a kitten to comfort
He came as a lion to defend
And as a kitten to protect
Jesus Christ came to men
He came as a helpless fetus and infant
And as a small child
He came as a man to teach
And as a man to die
Jesus is fierce when needed
And gracious when needed
For He loves His children
And will not let His children stray far from Him
For much good is to come for the Children of God

Babylon slim
-ness of
evenslicing
eyes are chisels

scarlet Goes
with her
whitehot
face,gashed

by hair’s blue cold

jolts of
lovecrazed abrupt

flesh split “Pretty
Baby”
to
numb rhythm before christ

With these words Hector passed through the gates, and his brother
Alexandrus with him, both eager for the fray. As when heaven sends a
breeze to sailors who have long looked for one in vain, and have
laboured at their oars till they are faint with toil, even so
welcome was the sight of these two heroes to the Trojans.
  Thereon Alexandrus killed Menesthius the son of Areithous; he
lived in Ame, and was son of Areithous the Mace-man, and of
Phylomedusa. Hector threw a spear at Eioneus and struck him dead
with a wound in the neck under the bronze rim of his helmet.
Glaucus, moreover, son of Hippolochus, captain of the Lycians, in hard
hand-to-hand fight smote Iphinous son of Dexius on the shoulder, as he
was springing on to his chariot behind his fleet mares; so he fell
to earth from the car, and there was no life left in him.
  When, therefore, Minerva saw these men making havoc of the
Argives, she darted down to Ilius from the summits of Olympus, and
Apollo, who was looking on from Pergamus, went out to meet her; for he
wanted the Trojans to be victorious. The pair met by the oak tree, and
King Apollo son of Jove was first to speak. “What would you have
said he, “daughter of great Jove, that your proud spirit has sent
you hither from Olympus? Have you no pity upon the Trojans, and
would you incline the scales of victory in favour of the Danaans?
Let me persuade you—for it will be better thus—stay the combat for
to-day, but let them renew the fight hereafter till they compass the
doom of Ilius, since you goddesses have made up your minds to
destroy the city.”
  And Minerva answered, “So be it, Far-Darter; it was in this mind
that I came down from Olympus to the Trojans and Achaeans. Tell me,
then, how do you propose to end this present fighting?”
  Apollo, son of Jove, replied, “Let us incite great Hector to
challenge some one of the Danaans in single combat; on this the
Achaeans will be shamed into finding a man who will fight him.”
  Minerva assented, and Helenus son of Priam divined the counsel of
the gods; he therefore went up to Hector and said, “Hector son of
Priam, peer of gods in counsel, I am your brother, let me then
persuade you. Bid the other Trojans and Achaeans all of them take
their seats, and challenge the best man among the Achaeans to meet you
in single combat. I have heard the voice of the ever-living gods,
and the hour of your doom is not yet come.”
  Hector was glad when he heard this saying, and went in among the
Trojans, grasping his spear by the middle to hold them back, and
they all sat down. Agamemnon also bade the Achaeans be seated. But
Minerva and Apollo, in the likeness of vultures, perched on father
Jove’s high oak tree, proud of their men; and the ranks sat close
ranged together, bristling with shield and helmet and spear. As when
the rising west wind furs the face of the sea and the waters grow dark
beneath it, so sat the companies of Trojans and Achaeans upon the
plain. And Hector spoke thus:-
  “Hear me, Trojans and Achaeans, that I may speak even as I am
minded; Jove on his high throne has brought our oaths and covenants to
nothing, and foreshadows ill for both of us, till you either take
the towers of Troy, or are yourselves vanquished at your ships. The
princes of the Achaeans are here present in the midst of you; let him,
then, that will fight me stand forward as your champion against
Hector. Thus I say, and may Jove be witness between us. If your
champion slay me, let him strip me of my armour and take it to your
ships, but let him send my body home that the Trojans and their
wives may give me my dues of fire when I am dead. In like manner, if
Apollo vouchsafe me glory and I slay your champion, I will strip him
of his armour and take it to the city of Ilius, where I will hang it
in the temple of Apollo, but I will give up his body, that the
Achaeans may bury him at their ships, and the build him a mound by the
wide waters of the Hellespont. Then will one say hereafter as he sails
his ship over the sea, ‘This is the monument of one who died long
since a champion who was slain by mighty Hector.’ Thus will one say,
and my fame shall not be lost.”
  Thus did he speak, but they all held their peace, ashamed to decline
the challenge, yet fearing to accept it, till at last Menelaus rose
and rebuked them, for he was angry. “Alas,” he cried, “vain braggarts,
women forsooth not men, double-dyed indeed will be the stain upon us
if no man of the Danaans will now face Hector. May you be turned every
man of you into earth and water as you sit spiritless and inglorious
in your places. I will myself go out against this man, but the
upshot of the fight will be from on high in the hands of the
immortal gods.”
  With these words he put on his armour; and then, O Menelaus, your
life would have come to an end at the hands of hands of Hector, for he
was far better the man, had not the princes of the Achaeans sprung
upon you and checked you. King Agamemnon caught him by the right
hand and said, “Menelaus, you are mad; a truce to this folly. Be
patient in spite of passion, do not think of fighting a man so much
stronger than yourself as Hector son of Priam, who is feared by many
another as well as you. Even Achilles, who is far more doughty than
you are, shrank from meeting him in battle. Sit down your own
people, and the Achaeans will send some other champion to fight
Hector; fearless and fond of battle though he be, I ween his knees
will bend gladly under him if he comes out alive from the
hurly-burly of this fight.”
  With these words of reasonable counsel he persuaded his brother,
whereon his squires gladly stripped the armour from off his shoulders.
Then Nestor rose and spoke, “Of a truth,” said he, “the Achaean land
is fallen upon evil times. The old knight Peleus, counsellor and
orator among the Myrmidons, loved when I was in his house to
question me concerning the race and lineage of all the Argives. How
would it not grieve him could he hear of them as now quailing before
Hector? Many a time would he lift his hands in prayer that his soul
might leave his body and go down within the house of Hades. Would,
by father Jove, Minerva, and Apollo, that I were still young and
strong as when the Pylians and Arcadians were gathered in fight by the
rapid river Celadon under the walls of Pheia, and round about the
waters of the river Iardanus. The godlike hero Ereuthalion stood
forward as their champion, with the armour of King Areithous upon
his shoulders—Areithous whom men and women had surnamed ‘the
Mace-man,’ because he fought neither with bow nor spear, but broke the
battalions of the foe with his iron mace. Lycurgus killed him, not
in fair fight, but by entrapping him in a narrow way where his mace
served him in no stead; for Lycurgus was too quick for him and speared
him through the middle, so he fell to earth on his back. Lycurgus then
spoiled him of the armour which Mars had given him, and bore it in
battle thenceforward; but when he grew old and stayed at home, he gave
it to his faithful squire Ereuthalion, who in this same armour
challenged the foremost men among us. The others quaked and quailed,
but my high spirit bade me fight him though none other would
venture; I was the youngest man of them all; but when I fought him
Minerva vouchsafed me victory. He was the biggest and strongest man
that ever I killed, and covered much ground as he lay sprawling upon
the earth. Would that I were still young and strong as I then was, for
the son of Priam would then soon find one who would face him. But you,
foremost among the whole host though you be, have none of you any
stomach for fighting Hector.”
  Thus did the old man rebuke them, and forthwith nine men started
to their feet. Foremost of all uprose King Agamemnon, and after him
brave Diomed the son of Tydeus. Next were the two Ajaxes, men
clothed in valour as with a garment, and then Idomeneus, and
Meriones his brother in arms. After these Eurypylus son of Euaemon,
Thoas the son of Andraemon, and Ulysses also rose. Then Nestor
knight of Gerene again spoke, saying: “Cast lots among you to see
who shall be chosen. If he come alive out of this fight he will have
done good service alike to his own soul and to the Achaeans.”
  Thus he spoke, and when each of them had marked his lot, and had
thrown it into the helmet of Agamemnon son of Atreus, the people
lifted their hands in prayer, and thus would one of them say as he
looked into the vault of heaven, “Father Jove, grant that the lot fall
on Ajax, or on the son of Tydeus, or upon the king of rich Mycene
himself.”
  As they were speaking, Nestor knight of Gerene shook the helmet, and
from it there fell the very lot which they wanted—the lot of Ajax.
The herald bore it about and showed it to all the chieftains of the
Achaeans, going from left to right; but they none of of them owned it.
When, however, in due course he reached the man who had written upon
it and had put it into the helmet, brave Ajax held out his hand, and
the herald gave him the lot. When Ajax saw him mark he knew it and was
glad; he threw it to the ground and said, “My friends, the lot is
mine, and I rejoice, for I shall vanquish Hector. I will put on my
armour; meanwhile, pray to King Jove in silence among yourselves
that the Trojans may not hear you—or aloud if you will, for we fear
no man. None shall overcome me, neither by force nor cunning, for I
was born and bred in Salamis, and can hold my own in all things.”
  With this they fell praying to King Jove the son of Saturn, and thus
would one of them say as he looked into the vault of heaven, “Father
Jove that rulest from Ida, most glorious in power, vouchsafe victory
to Ajax, and let him win great glory: but if you wish well to Hector
also and would protect him, grant to each of them equal fame and
prowess.
  Thus they prayed, and Ajax armed himself in his suit of gleaming
bronze. When he was in full array he sprang forward as monstrous
Mars when he takes part among men whom Jove has set fighting with
one another—even so did huge Ajax, bulwark of the Achaeans, spring
forward with a grim smile on his face as he brandished his long
spear and strode onward. The Argives were elated as they beheld him,
but the Trojans trembled in every limb, and the heart even of Hector
beat quickly, but he could not now retreat and withdraw into the ranks
behind him, for he had been the challenger. Ajax came up bearing his
shield in front of him like a wall—a shield of bronze with seven
folds of oxhide—the work of Tychius, who lived in Hyle and was by far
the best worker in leather. He had made it with the hides of seven
full-fed bulls, and over these he had set an eighth layer of bronze.
Holding this shield before him, Ajax son of Telamon came close up to
Hector, and menaced him saying, “Hector, you shall now learn, man to
man, what kind of champions the Danaans have among them even besides
lion-hearted Achilles cleaver of the ranks of men. He now abides at
the ships in anger with Agamemnon shepherd of his people, but there
are many of us who are well able to face you; therefore begin the
fight.”
  And Hector answered, “Noble Ajax, son of Telamon, captain of the
host, treat me not as though I were some puny boy or woman that cannot
fight. I have been long used to the blood and butcheries of battle.
I am quick to turn my leathern shield either to right or left, for
this I deem the main thing in battle. I can charge among the
chariots and horsemen, and in hand to hand fighting can delight the
heart of Mars; howbeit I would not take such a man as you are off
his guard—but I will smite you openly if I can.”
  He poised his spear as he spoke, and hurled it from him. It struck
the sevenfold shield in its outermost layer—the eighth, which was
of bronze—and went through six of the layers but in the seventh
hide it stayed. Then Ajax threw in his turn, and struck the round
shield of the son of Priam. The terrible spear went through his
gleaming shield, and pressed onward through his cuirass of cunning
workmanship; it pierced the shirt against his side, but he swerved and
thus saved his life. They then each of them drew out the spear from
his shield, and fell on one another like savage lions or wild boars of
great strength and endurance: the son of Priam struck the middle of
Ajax’s shield, but the bronze did not break, and the point of his dart
was turned. Ajax then sprang forward and pierced the shield of Hector;
the spear went through it and staggered him as he was springing
forward to attack; it gashed his neck and the blood came pouring
from the wound, but even so Hector did not cease fighting; he gave
ground, and with his brawny hand seized a stone, rugged and huge, that
was lying upon the plain; with this he struck the shield of Ajax on
the boss that was in its middle, so that the bronze rang again. But
Ajax in turn caught up a far larger stone, swung it aloft, and
hurled it with prodigious force. This millstone of a rock broke
Hector’s shield inwards and threw him down on his back with the shield
crushing him under it, but Apollo raised him at once. Thereon they
would have hacked at one another in close combat with their swords,
had not heralds, messengers of gods and men, come forward, one from
the Trojans and the other from the Achaeans—Talthybius and Idaeus
both of them honourable men; these parted them with their staves,
and the good herald Idaeus said, “My sons, fight no longer, you are
both of you valiant, and both are dear to Jove; we know this; but
night is now falling, and the behests of night may not be well
gainsaid.”
  Ajax son of Telamon answered, “Idaeus, bid Hector say so, for it was
he that challenged our princes. Let him speak first and I will
accept his saying.”
  Then Hector said, “Ajax, heaven has vouchsafed you stature and
strength, and judgement; and in wielding the spear you excel all
others of the Achaeans. Let us for this day cease fighting;
hereafter we will fight anew till heaven decide between us, and give
victory to one or to the other; night is now falling, and the
behests of night may not be well gainsaid. Gladden, then, the hearts
of the Achaeans at your ships, and more especially those of your own
followers and clansmen, while I, in the great city of King Priam,
bring comfort to the Trojans and their women, who vie with one another
in their prayers on my behalf. Let us, moreover, exchange presents
that it may be said among the Achaeans and Trojans, ‘They fought
with might and main, but were reconciled and parted in friendship.’
  On this he gave Ajax a silver-studded sword with its sheath and
leathern baldric, and in return Ajax gave him a girdle dyed with
purple. Thus they parted, the one going to the host of the Achaeans,
and the other to that of the Trojans, who rejoiced when they saw their
hero come to them safe and unharmed from the strong hands of mighty
Ajax. They led him, therefore, to the city as one that had been
saved beyond their hopes. On the other side the Achaeans brought
Ajax elated with victory to Agamemnon.
  When they reached the quarters of the son of Atreus, Agamemnon
sacrificed for them a five-year-old bull in honour of Jove the son
of Saturn. They flayed the carcass, made it ready, and divided it into
joints; these they cut carefully up into smaller pieces, putting
them on the spits, roasting them sufficiently, and then drawing them
off. When they had done all this and had prepared the feast, they
ate it, and every man had his full and equal share, so that all were
satisfied, and King Agamemnon gave Ajax some slices cut lengthways
down the ****, as a mark of special honour. As soon as they had had
enough to cat and drink, old Nestor whose counsel was ever truest
began to speak; with all sincerity and goodwill, therefore, he
addressed them thus:-
  “Son of Atreus, and other chieftains, inasmuch as many of the
Achaeans are now dead, whose blood Mars has shed by the banks of the
Scamander, and their souls have gone down to the house of Hades, it
will be well when morning comes that we should cease fighting; we will
then wheel our dead together with oxen and mules and burn them not far
from t

120715 #4:30PM

Just a thought,
To where everything’s ******,
Eyes in leer – flameless –
You are Beauty.

Open eyes, open skies
Open realm, open lies.
White as snow, I was
You’re the apple in spells.
As I lived, I have died too.

With rustic munitions,
You gashed my heart out.
With your circles in hoax,
You murdered me.

A sunless morning,
A moonless night,
An air so humid,
An unsalted oceans.
For in time so impeccable,
Befuddling in misdemeanors,
You’re the Beauty who’s a Beast.

Just in time,
**Forgiveness is an erudite.

There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams;
What seems is not always as it seems.

I looked out of my window in the sweet new morning,
And there I saw three barges of manifold adorning
Went sailing toward the East:
The first had sails like fire,
The next like glittering wire,
But sackcloth were the sails of the least;
And all the crews made music, and two had spread a feast.

The first choir breathed in flutes,
And fingered soft guitars;
The second won from lutes
Harmonious chords and jars,
With drums for stormy bars:
But the third was all of harpers and scarlet trumpeters;
Notes of triumph, then
An alarm again,
As for onset, as for victory, rallies, stirs,
Peace at last and glory to the vanquishers.

The first barge showed for figurehead a Love with wings;
The second showed for figurehead a Worm with stings;
The third, a Lily tangled to a Rose which clings.
The first bore for freight gold and spice and down;
The second bore a sword, a sceptre, and a crown;
The third, a heap of earth gone to dust and brown.
Winged Love meseemed like Folly in the face;
Stinged Worm meseemed loathly in his place;
Lily and Rose were flowers of grace.

Merry went the revel of the fire-sailed crew,
Singing, feasting, dancing to and fro:
Pleasures ever changing, ever graceful, ever new;
Sighs, but scarce of woe;
All the sighing
Wooed such sweet replying;
All the sighing, sweet and low,
Used to come and go
For more pleasure, merely so.
Yet at intervals some one grew tired
Of everything desired,
And sank, I knew not whither, in sorry plight,
Out of sight.

The second crew seemed ever
Wider-visioned, graver,
More distinct of purpose, more sustained of will;
With heads ***** and proud,
And voices sometimes loud;
With endless tacking, counter-tacking,
All things grasping, all things lacking,
It would seem;
Ever shifting helm, or sail, or shroud,
Drifting on as in a dream.
Hoarding to their utmost bent,
Feasting to their fill,
Yet gnawed by discontent,
Envy, hatred, malice, on their road they went.
Their freight was not a treasure,
Their music not a pleasure;
The sword flashed, cleaving through their bands,
Sceptre and crown changed hands.

The third crew as they went
Seemed mostly different;
They toiled in rowing, for to them the wind was contrary,
As all the world might see.
They labored at the oar,
While on their heads they bore
The fiery stress of sunshine more and more.
They labored at the oar hand-sore,
Till rain went splashing,
And spray went dashing,
Down on them, and up on them, more and more.
Their sails were patched and rent,
Their masts were bent,
In peril of their lives they worked and went.
For them no feast was spread,
No soft luxurious bed
Scented and white,
No crown or sceptre hung in sight;
In weariness and painfulness,
In thirst and sore distress,
They rowed and steered from left to right
With all their might.
Their trumpeters and harpers round about
Incessantly played out,
And sometimes they made answer with a shout;
But oftener they groaned or wept,
And seldom paused to eat, and seldom slept.
I wept for pity watching them, but more
I wept heart-sore
Once and again to see
Some weary man plunge overboard, and swim
To Love or Worm ship floating buoyantly:
And there all welcomed him.

The ships steered each apart and seemed to scorn each other,
Yet all the crews were interchangeable;
Now one man, now another,
--Like bloodless spectres some, some flushed by health,--
Changed openly, or changed by stealth,
Scaling a slippery side, and scaled it well.
The most left Love ship, hauling wealth
Up Worm ship's side;
While some few hollow-eyed
Left either for the sack-sailed boat;
But this, though not remote,
Was worst to mount, and whoso left it once
Scarce ever came again,
But seemed to loathe his erst companions,
And wish and work them bane.

Then I knew (I know not how) there lurked quicksands full of dread,
Rocks and reefs and whirlpools in the water-bed,
Whence a waterspout
Instantaneously leaped out,
Roaring as it reared its head.

Soon I spied a something dim,
Many-handed, grim,
That went flitting to and fro the first and second ship;
It puffed their sails full out
With puffs of smoky breath
From a smouldering lip,
And cleared the waterspout
Which reeled roaring round about
Threatening death.
With a ***** hand it steered,
And a horn appeared
On its sneering head upreared
Haughty and high
Against the blackening lowering sky.
With a hoof it swayed the waves;
They opened here and there,
Till I spied deep ocean graves
Full of skeletons
That were men and women once
Foul or fair;
Full of things that creep
And fester in the deep
And never breathe the clean life-nurturing air.

The third bark held aloof
From the Monster with the hoof,
Despite his urgent beck,
And fraught with guile
Abominable his smile;
Till I saw him take a flying leap on to that deck.
Then full of awe,
With these same eyes I saw
His head incredible retract its horn
Rounding like babe's new born,
While silvery phosphorescence played
About his dis-horned head.
The sneer smoothed from his lip,
He beamed blandly on the ship;
All winds sank to a moan,
All waves to a monotone
(For all these seemed his realm),
While he laid a strong caressing hand upon the helm.

Then a cry well nigh of despair
Shrieked to heaven, a clamor of desperate prayer.
The harpers harped no more,
While the trumpeters sounded sore
An alarm to wake the dead from their bed:
To the rescue, to the rescue, now or never,
To the rescue, O ye living, O ye dead,
Or no more help or hope for ever!--
The planks strained as though they must part asunder,
The masts bent as though they must dip under,
And the winds and the waves at length
Girt up their strength,
And the depths were laid bare,
And heaven flashed fire and volleyed thunder
Through the rain-choked air,
And sea and sky seemed to kiss
In the horror and the hiss
Of the whole world shuddering everywhere.

Lo! a Flyer swooping down
With wings to span the globe,
And splendor for his robe
And splendor for his crown.
He lighted on the helm with a foot of fire,
And spun the Monster overboard:
And that monstrous thing abhorred,
Gnashing with balked desire,
Wriggled like a worm infirm
Up the Worm
Of the loathly figurehead.
There he crouched and gnashed;
And his head re-horned, and gashed
From the other's grapple, dripped ****** red.

I saw that thing accurst
Wreak his worst
On the first and second crew:
Some with baited hook
He angled for and took,
Some dragged overboard in a net he threw,
Some he did to death
With hoof or horn or blasting breath.

I heard a voice of wailing
Where the ships went sailing,
A sorrowful voice prevailing
Above the sound of the sea,
Above the singers' voices,
And musical merry noises;
All songs had turned to sighing,
The light was failing,
The day was dying--
Ah me,
That such a sorrow should be!

There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land
When Love ship went down by the bottomless quicksand
To its grave in the bitter wave.
There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land
When Worm ship went to pieces on the rock-bound strand,
And the bitter wave was its grave.
But land and sea waxed hoary
In whiteness of a glory
Never told in story
Nor seen by mortal eye,
When the third ship crossed the bar
Where whirls and breakers are,
And steered into the splendors of the sky;
That third bark and that least
Which had never seemed to feast,
Yet kept high festival above sun and moon and star.

And the trees about me,
      Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
      Groan with continual surges; and behind me
      Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!


Paint me a cavernous waste shore
  Cast in the unstilled Cyclades,
Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks
  Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.

Display me ****** above
  Reviewing the insurgent gales
Which tangle Ariadne’s hair
  And swell with haste the perjured sails.

Morning stirs the feet and hands
  (Nausicaa and Polypheme).
Gesture of orang-outang
  Rises from the sheets in steam.

This withered root of knots of hair
  Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
This oval O cropped out with teeth:
  The sickle motion from the thighs

Jackknifes upward at the knees
  Then straightens out from heel to hip
Pushing the framework of the bed
  And clawing at the pillow slip.

Sweeney addressed full length to shave
  Broadbottomed, pink from nape to base,
Knows the female temperament
  And wipes the suds around his face.

(The lengthened shadow of a man
  Is history, said Emerson
Who had not seen the silhouette
  Of Sweeney straddled in the sun.)

Tests the razor on his leg
  Waiting until the shriek subsides.
The epileptic on the bed
  Curves backward, clutching at her sides.

The ladies of the corridor
  Find themselves involved, disgraced,
Call witness to their principles
  And deprecate the lack of taste

Observing that hysteria
  Might easily be misunderstood;
Mrs. Turner intimates
  It does the house no sort of good.

But Doris, towelled from the bath,
  Enters padding on broad feet,
Bringing sal volatile
  And a glass of brandy neat.

I loved you so
My darling beau
And I thought you loved me too

Until you stopped
And then I was dropped
On the floor with memories and tears

I adored you so much
But my grip you un-clutched
And entwined your hand with someone new

Now time has passed
Though my heart still is gashed
I finally feel hope again

Because though you hurt me
I finally feel free
Because I survived loving you.

Black trees against an orange sky,
Trees that the wind shook terribly,
Like a harsh spume along the road,
Quavering up like withered arms,
Writhing like streams, like twisted charms
Of hot lead flung in snow. Below
The iron ice stung like a goad,
Slashing the torn shoes from my feet,
And all the air was bitter sleet.

And all the land was cramped with snow,
Steel-strong and fierce and glimmering wan,
Like pale plains of obsidian.
-- And yet I strove -- and I was fire
And ice -- and fire and ice were one
In one vast hunger of desire.
A dim desire, of pleasant places,
And lush fields in the summer sun,
And logs aflame, and walls, and faces,
-- And wine, and old ambrosial talk,
A golden ball in fountains dancing,
And unforgotten hands. (Ah, God,
I trod them down where I have trod,
And they remain, and they remain,
Etched in unutterable pain,
Loved lips and faces now apart,
That once were closer than my heart --
In agony, in agony,
And horribly a part of me. . . .
For Lethe is for no man set,
And in Hell may no man forget.)

And there were flowers, and jugs, bright-glancing,
And old Italian swords -- and looks,
A moment's glance of fire, of fire,
Spiring, leaping, flaming higher,
Into the intense, the cloudless blue,
Until two souls were one, and flame,
And very flesh, and yet the same!
As if all springs were crushed anew
Into one globed drop of dew!
But for the most I thought of heat,
Desiring greatly. . . . Hot white sand
The lazy body lies at rest in,
Or sun-dried, scented grass to nest in,
And fires, innumerable fires,
Great ****** hurling golden gyres
Of sparks far up, and the red heart
In sea-coals, crashing as they part
To tiny flares, and kindling snapping,
Bunched sticks that burst their string and wrapping
And fall like jackstraws; green and blue
The evil flames of driftwood too,
And heavy, sullen lumps of coke
With still, fierce heat and ugly smoke. . . .
. . . And then the vision of his face,
And theirs, all theirs, came like a sword,
Thrice, to the heart -- and as I fell
I thought I saw a light before.

I woke. My hands were blue and sore,
Torn on the ice. I scarcely felt
The frozen sleet begin to melt
Upon my face as I breathed deeper,
But lay there warmly, like a sleeper
Who shifts his arm once, and moans low,
And then sinks back to night. Slow, slow,
And still as Death, came Sleep and Death
And looked at me with quiet breath.
Unbending figures, black and stark
Against the intense deeps of the dark.
Tall and like trees. Like sweet and fire
Rest crept and crept along my veins,
Gently. And there were no more pains. . . .

Was it not better so to lie?
The fight was done. Even gods tire
Of fighting. . . . My way was the wrong.
Now I should drift and drift along
To endless quiet, golden peace . . .
And let the tortured body cease.

And then a light winked like an eye.
. . . And very many miles away
A girl stood at a warm, lit door,
Holding a lamp. Ray upon ray
It cloaked the snow with perfect light.
And where she was there was no night
Nor could be, ever. God is sure,
And in his hands are things secure.
It is not given me to trace
The lovely laughter of that face,
Like a clear brook most full of light,
Or olives swaying on a height,
So silver they have wings, almost;
Like a great word once known and lost
And meaning all things. Nor her voice
A happy sound where larks rejoice,
Her body, that great loveliness,
The tender fashion of her dress,
I may not paint them.
These I see,
Blazing through all eternity,
A fire-winged sign, a glorious tree!

She stood there, and at once I knew
The bitter thing that I must do.
There could be no surrender now;
Though Sleep and Death were whispering low.
My way was wrong. So. Would it mend
If I shrank back before the end?
And sank to death and cowardice?
No, the last lees must be drained up,
Base wine from an ignoble cup;
(Yet not so base as sleek content
When I had shrunk from punishment)
The wretched body strain anew!
Life was a storm to wander through.
I took the wrong way. Good and well,
At least my feet sought out not Hell!
Though night were one consuming flame
I must go on for my base aim,
And so, perhaps, make evil grow
To something clean by agony . . .
And reach that light upon the snow . . .
And touch her dress at last . . .
So, so,
I crawled. I could not speak or see
Save dimly. The ice glared like fire,
A long bright Hell of choking cold,
And each vein was a tautened wire,
Throbbing with torture -- and I crawled.
My hands were wounds.
So I attained
The second Hell. The snow was stained
I thought, and shook my head at it
How red it was! Black tree-roots clutched
And tore -- and soon the snow was smutched
Anew; and I lurched babbling on,
And then fell down to rest a bit,
And came upon another Hell . . .
Loose stones that ice made terrible,
That rolled and gashed men as they fell.
I stumbled, slipped . . . and all was gone
That I had gained. Once more I lay
Before the long bright Hell of ice.
And still the light was far away.
There was red mist before my eyes
Or I could tell you how I went
Across the swaying firmament,
A glittering torture of cold stars,
And how I fought in Titan wars . . .
And died . . . and lived again upon
The rack . . . and how the horses strain
When their red task is nearly done. . . .

I only know that there was Pain,
Infinite and eternal Pain.
And that I fell -- and rose again.

So she was walking in the road.
And I stood upright like a man,
Once, and fell blind, and heard her cry . . .
And then there came long agony.
There was no pain when I awoke,
No pain at all. Rest, like a goad,
Spurred my eyes open -- and light broke
Upon them like a million swords:
And she was there. There are no words.

Heaven is for a moment's span.
And ever.
So I spoke and said,
"My honor stands up unbetrayed,
And I have seen you. Dear . . ."
Sharp pain
Closed like a cloak. . . .
I moaned and died.

Here, even here, these things remain.
I shall draw nearer to her side.

Oh dear and laughing, lost to me,
Hidden in grey Eternity,
I shall attain, with burning feet,
To you and to the mercy-seat!
The ages crumble down like dust,
Dark roses, deviously ******
And scattered in sweet wine -- but I,
I shall lift up to you my cry,
And kiss your wet lips presently
Beneath the ever-living Tree.

This in my heart I keep for goad!
Somewhere, in Heaven she walks that road.
Somewhere . . . in Heaven . . . she walks . . . that . . . road. . . .

The captain held the wheel against the sea
His sails were gashed, but maintained their integrity

And so the vessel found its weary peace
in swaying waves where the birds feel less wind than breeze

The splintered wood would hold its bobbing form
until the husk could be retooled in the home port

And though the repairs will handle new storms,
battle scars of yesterday shall remain stalwart

Lest the ocean deep claim one more casket
of sailor’s lives, goals, and dreams before the maggots

Ditch diggers don't write poems -
As if there might be found
A single thought  profound
Amid the mud they go in;
The pungence in essence released
From trees' roots that are severed
Is never fragrant like lilacs,
And their labor is of purpose,
That dirt removed by aching backs -
Gashed earth becomes the grave
In which our sins can be hidden;
Tomorrow ditches will be filled in,
Restoring peace which land craves,
The simple laborer's work done.

Ditch diggers don't write poetry -
Palms calloused in pick and *****,
Too rough when art 's to be made,
Remain convinced by sophistry
They've no true claim to a pen.
Clods of clay always remain
Adhered to heels of workmen's boots,
Becoming my life's defining metaphor.
So we forgo more ethereal pursuits,
Though forever treasuring sweetness
Flowed over soil of our dank holes,
Loving breaths exhaled from souls,
Floral kisses blown across distance.

Happiness, a strange thing.
Happiness with you, more than anything
I need to be with you, but it
Feels like I’m losing my touch.

Happiness, a brave thing.
Happiness with you, I’m begging for it please tell me where you’re going because it
Feels like I’m losing your touch.

You’re my light, yeah.
Otherwise, it’s all the same.
It’s just all the same.
All the same.

Happiness, deranged me.
Happiness with you, all I can think about, it’s true
I’m so ashamed, but it
Feels like I’m losing too much

Happiness, leave me.
Happiness with you, questions left unanswered, no clues
I’m to blame but lately it
Feels like you’re losing enough.

Why?
Why did it go to waste.
It’s all gone to waste.
A fire no longer tamed.
No longer the same.

Happiness, a stranger.
Happiness abandoned, the ship a wreck, seasick, no longer standing
And I
Have given in too far

Happiness, belated.
Happiness, I’m stranded, gashed the wound and taped over with a bandage
And yet
You’re too far out at sea for me.

I thought I had buried the pain beneath
the clouds, half-naked and floating,
a terrible vibration exploding into
immense hurricanes, savage knifed
thoughts drowning my flesh, saw
gashed, whip slashed, a ragged beaten
roadblock falling in drunken depths.
I could feel the cold splintering blade
slicing my neck, a suicidal slain beat
filled with swelling flames, crazy
unchanging borders broken, hammered,
shoved, a damaged ocean bleeding
in strangled waves.

I bow my head,
And fall to my knees.
Head hangs in shame,
I've hidden my true self from you.
Battered and tattered,
Cut and gashed.
Lost the battle,
Retreated from the war.
Internal battle with myself,
External war of shyness.
I'm not as strong as I thought,
Only to hide in myself once again.

I dreamt last night that you were with me
and we walked along that path leading to the river and the ferry across.
(do you remember the ferry?)

It was summer, or so it seemed,
and the air was heavy & hot.
The sky was blue, cloudless, except for distant flecks of white.
Insects and small birds shared the air
— I’m sure I saw a dragonfly, iridescent blue/green
hovering over a flowering thistle

The path we walked was as I remembered it;
narrow and hedged on each side
by waist high wild plants & flowers - blue and white, some blood red,
green, alive, hosting many flying fauna that buzzed and flitted
from bloom to bloom.

But interspersed among the verdant growths were
angry-thorned wild roses, nettles
and the dark brown and black of dying flora.

I wanted to hold your hand but the nettles and harsh-thorned plants
grabbed at our clothes and gashed bare skin.
So we plodded single-file, not talking;
I knew you were behind me but had to keep turning round to be sure.

It felt as though we had been walking for an eternity
until rounding a bend in the path,
we saw the river in the near distance.
Blue-green-still, dappled by sunlight,
its surface broken by occasional movements
from creatures beneath.

As we drew close the to river’s edge and the grey wooden jetty,
I noticed the buzzing insects and flying birds had ceased their aerobatics;
there was silence, not even the gentle lapping of water against the riverbank.

Looking across to that distant bank it seemed blurred and indistinct;
an eerie mist hovered at that far shore.

There was a brass bell atop a post standing at the back of the jetty,
aged and stained.

You came to my side and took my hand but spoke no words.

I reached out to ring the bell but you squeezed my hand.
I looked to you and your eyes were fearful.
Shaking your head, you mouthed ‘No!’

I nonetheless reached up and grabbed the cord tied to the striker
and rang the bell.
Three times I did this.
But not a sound was made.

The silence was heavy now & looking skyward I realised dusk had crept upon us.

I looked out at the river and the mist that moments before
had been at the distant shore was now edging towards us.

The air chilled suddenly and in the silence
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Your hand still clasped mine; it was clammy, cold.

I looked at you but your eyes were drawn to that distant river’s edge
And the mist that crept towards us.

I strained too to see into the approaching brume and saw a yellow light
in the now black, starless darkness around us.
It appeared to be hanging in the air.

Moments later, a small boat loomed from the mist,
the light bobbing on a spar at its prow.
And the ferryman, thrusting his pole into the green-dark depths of the river,
tall, thin, indistinct in the half light.

Silently the boat came to rest at the end of the jetty.
The ferryman caught my eye: I do not recall his face,
it was as though it was devoid of features.

He raised an arm and gestured towards us.
You pulled your hand from mine.
I looked at you but your eyes were locked on the ferryman.

He gestured again and you turned to me, smiled, and walked onto the jetty.
I wanted to reach out to you but I was frozen, paralysed.
I tried to speak but could not form any words.

In a few steps you were at the end of the jetty and stepped onto the boat;
it didn’t rock, almost as though you were as weightless as the mist around it.

I tried to call out to you but again no words came out.
You turned to me then.
Your eyes were sad.
You touched your hand to your heart then turned away.

The boat began to move away, back into the brume
and was soon lost to the night  …

I am patient and cold like the sea

I am patient and cold like you and me

I am patient and cold like the sea

I am patient and cold like the bumblebee



The bumblebee went out to sea

To fish a shell

But instead it just dropped dead

And went straight to hell



I am patient and cold like the sea

I am patient and cold like you and me

I am patient and cold like the sea

I am patient and cold like the key



The key is more than a key

It wants to find control

But after time it lost its chime

And fell into a black hole



I am patient and cold like the sea

I am patient and cold like you and me

I am patient and cold like the sea

I am patient and cold like the sea



The sea wants to be

Something more

But on the way it swam astray

And gulped its core

And now it is no more



I am patient and cold like something no more

I am patient and cold like you and me

I am patient and cold like something no more

I am patient and cold like you and me



You and me flew a tree

Up nowhere

But it crashed and you gashed

And left like despair

And now you’re not there



I am patient and cold like something no more

I am patient and cold like you’re not there and me

I am patient and cold like something no more

I am patient and cold like you’re not there and me

Step right up just come inside
We've got food, attractions and rickety rides
It's only ten cents to lose your mind
It's the carnival-circus of Cedric and Clyde

The magic man cuts the conjoined twins in half with giant shears
Then makes them instantly disappear
Then shows you your card as he chugs a beer
"Who's next?" "How about you my dear?"

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The sword sallower has something to say
But can't for hes devouring a flame
He tells the audience to try and imitate
He has them **** themselves then goes on his way

The snake charmer plays his tune
Down at the midway people lose
They throw the ***** but the bottle are glued
And the bearded lady and amazon women have decided to get ****

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The fortune teller looks into her crystal ball
And predicts society's failure and fall
And insists that you put up a wall
She gives you the number of a contractor to call

The muscle man and ****** are doing lines
As the lion tamer ***** on lemon rinds
You ask if everything's fine
They answer you in some sort of coded rhyme

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The clowns ****** each other for a laugh
They use exploding pies and poison gas
You see the fully loaded clown car crash
And they all lay lifeless and gashed

The merry-go-round is going mach five
The freaks and weirdos come out to say hi
The geek takes you on the Ferris wheel and get you high
And shows you the spot where they put those who have died

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The fun house mirrors are all cracked
Except for the one that makes you look fat
The roller coaster has run off the track
Those who went on can never come back

The contortionist talks backwards
The acrobats are up in the rafters
One is pregnant and plans on seeing the back alley abortionist after
She just needs to knock and give him the password

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The rabid animals come out from the petting zoo and under the tent
The elephants tear up in lament
The tigers eat the trainer and smile with content
And the escape artists swims with shoes of cement

The ringmaster walks out with his top hat and cane
And says "thank you all for coming, we'll return again"
With his handle bar mustache, hes looks absolutely insane
The whistle blows and they all board the train

Something isn't quite right with this side show
You sense there's something going on but you don't know
You need to get out of here but you still won't go

The jugglers and unicycle bears all have gone
The illusionists and tight rope walkers pass on
As have the knife thrower and human cannonball
The haunted house comes down, the brass band plays a good bye song

So there you are surrounded by dead bodies and horse ****
Stale popcorn and some kind of hit list
Of souls and cities they plan to visit
It's the Cedric and Clyde Carnival-Circus

All proceeds go to Mr. Jacques


young but weary were the eyes
that witnessed the desert dawn
and heard the ancient village cries
of sheep and goat and cattle fawn

fatherless, without the skill
to plane and join the wood
used to gather up earths till
steps short of where his father stood

his efforts to drill and plug rough plank
awaited the harvesters scorn
who offered him this one slim chance
to cease the funeral horn

while mother lay in quiet sleep
purloined fresh figs, he stole away
to walk the barren sandy keep
avoiding the words she would not say

he reached the dusty tans and browns
that painted the scorched earth
through dunes and strife and sinking mounds
and fell beneath the suns full worth

so low was he, so lost in spirit
eyed by the death bird, the sharp shinned wing
life’s loud call, he would not hear it
his repose intent on surrendering

then, one last time he raised his head
up from the blistering sand
and spied a vision in coppered red
a fishers boat, perched on parched land

the sight was the spark that fired instinct
that hovers beneath each soul
our hearts homogenous, yet distinct
on chance that one has found his goal

he raised himself with his last strength
and headed for the land locked ship
mindless of the shimmering length
entranced in  dreams shadowed grip


the craft was gray, and far from foam
it’s tethered mast twisted and bent
the hull was gashed, keel and deck undone
from which harbour had this wreck been sent?

the young man reached the sheltered ship
and fell beneath it’s sparse shade
then felt a cup brought up to dry lip
who dreams of water in a desert glade?

the weathered mate was old and broken
much like his stranded  vessel
his words were uplifting, a happiness spoken
his boats plight a small obstacle

whiskered white, crooked in bone
strength hidden beneath frail tendon
the task is great but not alone
could he send the boat, a new sea beckoned

work with me  as we attempt
full sail this craft beneath the windy lair
when labor’s shared, knowledge is kept
my age, your youth and a little repair

why debate the young man thought
events are only but a dream
a chance to practice what he father taught
eye the board, swell the peg, lift the beam

so, that next day in rolling heat
they began their ventured labor
square, line, bit and mallet beat
wood sinew joined with neighbor

and through it all the old man shared
far tales of risk and glory
offered comfort and compared
the mystic with the daily story

the days slipped by, he knew no count
only splintered hands and shoulders weary
their work was slow yet no amount
could turn the craft to sea worthy


a crazed endeavor to sail on land
the bond between us lies untapped
our connection now leads to this command
walk this earth, fulfill the prophets rapt

the sky then shivered, the aura to thin  
and rising from the boat appeared
a red wrapped head o’er charcoal skin
she towered, bright smile adhered

the old man spoke: our love supreme
now walks this ground, w’ no gentle wake
I choose to break the sublime extreme
for I fancy birth, creation’s take

the young man gazed at the African woman
eyes bent upward, she dressed in red calico print
by all that had happened, he began to fathom
a powerful force in her white eyed glint

the work progressed, the craft made whole
guided by only her silent smile
by firelight the young man poured his soul
his laments were heard and felt erstwhile

the day had come to begin the voyage
sun burning high, yet keel on sand
cryptic psalm spoke by the sage
earth and sky bent fully under his command

the blue of the sky fell in shimmered drops
replaced by gray earth shot toward the firmament
transformed to foamy wave from bleak hilltops
the air from dusty pall to green sea scent

cool spray filled breeze under leaded cloud
opened canvas cloth bound with simple tackle
the craft bobbed, new joints groaned aloud
for the sea had fallen to sail the stranded vessel

the young man stared, at heavens new plaque
the red draped figure who steered from helm
guided the boat from tack to tack
crowned and throned in her fresh made realm


the sage was silent, physical sense broken
content to sail the deep brine
sea and sky majestic spoken
new coarse now set,  subject to time

yea ! yea ! celebration is inherent !
laughter emits at the joys of fate !
the young mans laments, gone and spent
fruit, bread, dance, and singing elate !

the journey of these wondrous three
led to adventures, too numerous to here collect
amended the testament and set free
each soul, which when heard, stands boundless to select

steps led to his mother’s mud brick abode
from the young man’s heart, his numinous story leapt
but she knew all, without benefit of being told
and all these things, into her heart she kept

you found the rustiest steak knife in the silverware drawer and gashed it through my heart

A rush of a million causalities
Beyond anyones comprehension
A stirring emotion
Pulsing through and through
These aching limbs

Violent swaying
Thrashing towards the skin
A broken body
Lies deep within
Gashed but still moving
Their heart is slowly beating
A sad, hopeless beating

A struggle to hold onto
The light that is up ahead
A weak limb mightily
Wastes the last bit of energy
It once had

Crumbled now
The body is leaded
Stiff and ******
Simply trashed
Towards the ground.

Soul erosion grinds away until eventual implosion
Build corrosion today until the ultimate explosion
Throw your Precaution to the winds I can smell in the dusty air once again it's new familiar sins
What has been will be, so no need to listen to me
You're truly free,use it to create and then you'll see


Mosquitoe tears mashed together with my own blood's smears

My deepest fears gashed holes in my souls fragile human years

Another wave appears, crashed to the shore and time again interferes

The mind clears as trashed worries burn and ring upon deaf ears

So many spheres, lives flashed in a dream,  then it all disappears

blood stained arms,
swollen face,
red rimmed eyes.
The blood flows freely from where the blade gashed my flesh.
Slacker
cut
Not good enough
slash
Worthless
a new slice appears.
Each with red, ruby red, emerging from the depths of my sorrow.
Each word rips into me,
and I carve,
carve the image i want to be,
carve the pain i long to be free from.
The crimson stains my skin,
giving each laceration a halo of red.

Evicted due to his past, for a time he was convicted
conceited were words spoken, as words repeated
Lost in the moment, this had come with a cost.
Now he walked out, one thought of why and how,
Spoken were words to a neighbour, a look now broken.
He motioned her with a nod seeing no emotion
The past was a moment his dreams now gashed
hollow thoughts his companion, this so hard to swallow.

I used to cower
Hidden in the dark
Stalking the night
Loneliness a shroud

Fear is a weakness
Sadness is a flaw
Lies I thought true
Paralyzed my maturity

Diseases are nasty
They give you marks
Or break your bones
Or slit your pretty throat

No one even whispers
Mental Illness is taboo
If your head isn't gashed
There is no wound there

Illness, not weakness
Don't laugh at the wheelchair
Don't scoff at the pill bottle
I refuse to be ashamed

✨√SIGNED_FATE

I looked at myself in the mirror,
Smiled,  but hit back with a frawning reflection,  
My thoughts lingered on the darkened soul,
Where the black suit sheltered pain, deep sketched scars of a tortured heart...
A place they found as comfortable as home,
A place they cry and mourn.

Daughter of fate as written,
Happiness buried deep within my soul,
Screams and cries of the vengeful beasts inside,
Wanting to be let free,  
And ***** the whole situation up.
Echoes of the defeaning silence,
Sending me to hades...

They watching,
My every move tracking,
Leading me on a journey there's nothing like retrieving,
Where I hope to have an unerrinng ******* life,  
Where I wish they lull me to eternal sleep.

Their voices becoming louder as I pootle in,
Gravitating deeper in the gloomy atmosphere,  
Wild thoughts circulating in my mind,
Suicidal thoughts taking the better part of me,
with a force greater than centrifugal,  
dismantling whole of my right mind.

Their open arms luring me to hug back,
No one can save me now,
No one can unhitch me from these chains of torment, condemnation,
My mind is all frozen,
My heart is all broken,
Nothing's right,  
Maybe signing my fate is the only real thing,
Maybe I'll no longer feel this emptiness,
loneliness,
Just like leaves gyrate slowly to the ground.

Everything happens so fast,
In nick of time, blade in my hand,  
Gashed both of my wrists, half-arsed,
Gush of blood flowing,
I pass out,
In a pool of a blood,  I lay helplessly,
Waiting for my flipping Will to be read out.
Signed fate...

©tiana...😭

She talks about scars
Like she wants to know about mine
The retelling of stories
Makes me think she wants one from me
And I don't know how to tell her
That I took a knife
And carved myself up
Like the turkey on thanksgiving
That I gashed my skin because I was craving control
That I was once so alone and hurt
That I took it upon myself
To drain myself of all my emotions
Turning one pain into another
Controlling how many
Controlling how hard
Controlling how long
I could've stopped if I wanted to
But I didn't want to
And so there's a whole parade of them
Up my leg
When she traces my bones
With her fingers and feels the roughness
She sees them with her eyes
While I shut mine tight
Like it will shut me out of the situation
I'm not sure what goes through her head
Does she question
Does she accept
Does she ignore
Her mouth never reveals her mind
Only leaking hints about her own
And I know all of her scars by now
The bike accident on her elbow
The scar on her palm that matches her moms
The pencil lead from her brother
The opened drawer on her shin when the lights went out
The ****** Knuckles games as a kid
All such simple explanations
Oh yea
These 30 marks here are from when the only girl in the world who paid attention to me told me her goodbyes
And was going to **** herself
And she threatened me not to tell anyone
I told someone anyway
This one here is when I felt such strong hatred for myself
That I couldn't even bare the thought of looking at my reflection without getting enraged
This section here is for every time I wanted to put my fist through a wall
These few are from when I wanted to jump off a ******* bridge
These ones are from when I felt the need to punish myself
For making stupid mistakes
These 3 here are placed as a decoy so people would never really know how bad it was
But I've come a long way since then
The past is the past and I'm going to let it stay there
Until the key of a question is revealed to unlock the box
And with that
I will not lie
Hoping that it won't change anything

Her soul bleeds love darkly
Red pools on the floor
She has been stabbed
Her soft heart pierced
By cruel knives
Sharpened with words of love
And water colors of rainy days
And small gentle hands
That won’t go away
Sharpened to cut deep
And she bleeds
And bleeds
As she is gashed
Over and over again
By the cold uncaring souls
That she once loved

Glacial, the gaze of wintry viridian irides
Silken, the heavenly flesh
Lurid, the flames of a paradise awry
Mourning all the sinister angels have blessed
With their tainted perfection, their hideous lies
Hope shines so thinly in an eonian land barren of all love
Great men become emptied, the tormented cry
Amidst desolation, a beautiful dove
Becomes alive, voicing a longing call
Amongst forgotten pantheons, a saviour resides
Though, broken, gashed, beaten, and threshed
Awakened by beautiful birdsong, driven to reply
Was this an augury? He must strike out to answer this call from above
 To redeem some grace, from the woe of it all

A Rich man laid trapped in an evil desert obis.
Meanwhile a bounty hunter searched for a disabled elder a miss.
He heard the screams desperate deep and blurted.
He ignored his senses, weighting risk like none had heard it.

His body walked on but his nose smelt loot.
He risked his life and clawed him out honey to scoop.
Boosted on shoulders the triumph tasted lick on sweet!
A statue I will make in your honor for your courageous feet!

“No need I’m just happy your safe no need for honor!”
But deep in the invisible dark silence he brood for his daughter.
Then a stench of half eaten carcass ransomed the moment gross and misplaced.
Staring in disgust they agreed “What a pitiful disgrace!

The day before walked the elder man whom was blind and mute.
He heard a cry from the soil and searched in earnest for the root
He clapped his hands and stomped his feet
Risking his very life in blind eyes deceit

Grabbing at the wind, tired broken in vain.
The rich man heard his noisy attempts and cursed his name.
That didn't stop the blind and mute man from trying.
Instead a jagged stone gashed open his leg leaving him bleeding and dying.

The grains of the dessert soaked the earth and cried for his rest.
As the coyotes fought over his wounded flesh....
The rich man claimed “my life I swear will be in your place!!”
With his last bit of life the old man wished the man in the pit would be safe................................

***** fission
ringwormed and worn
in a fetal position

blue blood(less) and opaque partly venus partly awake


brittle smoke the basement of youth
from the lower
          drifting street outlined by morning
gashed translucent wings and braid
empties out the milk brigade
                                                         ­      (ice water hymns   collided gaze rescinded unto twitching haze)
          
        
           dried rose thorns upon her head
yourself the queen denied the dead
footsteps 'neath the ardent wonder
shy gaze threaded 'tween the thunder




20 numbers in a pin ***** line
wishing they were pierced by 9
if 13 could he'd lick your prime but 13's 0 next to 9
(number 9 in its prime was nothing less
if not divine)
pulsing thorough the line is fine
young of spirit and sanguine
1-10 were neighbor kinds
11-20 like grapes upon an earthen vine...
but they all shied away from
0....because

0 led a life of crime
was going away
then dropped a dime
he ratted out his old friend 9
then skipped this town
due for the rhine

His skull
like the ivory of a shattered tusk
smooth
hard
the still-moist dull gleam of cream
lining the torn-apart flesh

Clean

Look inside the head
its void
the most inner part exposed

The white of the bone

Free from the marrow of the chaos
the thoughts inside contained

Clean

The hollow warmth of its hue

You won't see
where the bullet burst
through the top of his head
like a boiled potato
lying in its skin
gashed across
and squeezed on all sides

If you look at the white of the bone

Closer, closer

Just look at the white of the bone

the jagged edges which gashed
his bare feet on the trash trove of shore by his trailer
slashed the folds of his memory as well

he chooses to tell no tales of that
hungry, motherless time--sharp years when he prayed
his dad would be passed out when he got home

and he usually was, there
on the cat **** sofa, splayed out like some beached whale
while he scavenged for food, and old pop bottles

a lifetime now from those foul filled days
he is a continent away, yet living on the shore,
with a fat portfolio and thin wife

who both protect him from "intrusive thoughts,"
though still he hunts for treasures on the sands, not
the nickel returns that bought his daily bread

instead, he seeks more ancient relics, glass
made smooth by the round chisel of time--soft, cool, full of color,
with no recollection of the fire that forged it

Guarding the door,
like a bulbus Heimdall,
a blank pumpkin sits,
internally unhallowed,
without gashed gaping maw,
nor knife-notched nose,
nor eyeslits: triangular and odious.

Its inertia, serendipitous,
not for a moment did it greet
children asking
"Treat-or-Treat?!";
Never a one did it glow for.

Encased within, like
those stringy pumpkin guts,
is the puckish Pagan spirit,
craving bones ablaze in a fire;
Lost Loves manifested as moonlit
flaxen apparitions,
finding them Angelic
(yet unchanged),
easily as a ring
found in barmbrack.

A return to the turnip.

Ambling along ferns
rusted that same shade of pumpkin,
pondering the dead, and where
I long for them to reside now;
Rose, with her heaven,
Ryan, his Valhalla.

To each their Kingdom
of eternal inviolate peace.

Into the wide, unmeasured, lonely skies
Beyond this dark, confining world he winds
To keep his watch; on moon-tipped wings he flies
O'er cliffs of cloud, and nature's star-lit climes
Above this England, gashed with iron scars,
And o'er the sea with white-capped shining waves,
He passes ramparts, washed with foam of stars,
And in curls of cloudlets loose he laves
To be up there, amidst that heavenly band,
It is his duty, and his life, his boon;
No hand can hold him to the steadfast land
When duty calls, through rays of a Bomber's Moon
When he returns, that golden host will ring,
And he'll be with his comrades, flying wing to wing.