A loon communes on the lake,
the lake is a tear drop on Mother Earth,
the ripples flow like glass being blown,
I am perched on my porch.
The loon cries once more,
I puff on my cigar,
the smoke shifts indecisively,
it moves much like the unchained around me,
free willed and wild.
I dream of being unchained.
My branches stretch out,
they yearn for the sun,
but heavy grey clouds hang on puppet strings.
Overcast and encumbered by responsibility,
they shroud the sun,
blanket it with regret and doubt.
I dream of being unchained.
I lower my branches and shout,
but no one hears,
my voice is chained.
The loon cries out,
it echoes unrestrained.

Into the oblivion, regret is all he sees,
This is not who he is nor who he wants to be.
In all the truths and in all the lies,
Alone he stands in the rain, a lonely guy.
Not a soul can hear him scream nor hear him cry.
Alone he stands and alone he dies.
.
Time and time again I'm brought back to these halls.
So sore full the pain and I've been through it all.
As hidden as the faithfulness of the stars,
So everlasting are those ungrateful scars.
.
Everyone that I know is as much reckoning,
I know it's me even hell is beckoning.
I guess this is the moment, now is the time.
I can feel the vines of darkness taking over my mind,
Indecisively making it's way out of harm and out of sight.
But, god almighty. I ain't leaving this easy, not without a fight.
.
Already dead no more can I die,
I guess it's about time I went back to the dark side.

- Aks, *Old Diaries.

Shimmering Sea

Sitting at my cluttered desk
I’ve just attacked a rabbit
with a knife. Don’t fret,
it was an Easter gift,
a golden bunny bebowed
and belled, the chocolate
incised and brought to light,
rich and dark so keenly
comforting aside the coffee
beaned from Nepal.

Her gift so lovingly given
I bless her ever-thoughtfulness,
and turn my thoughts
to see her walking by the sea,
on the cliff path
by the shimmering,
glimmering sea, always
at her right hand, blue,
an April blueness
barely a footstep from
a vertical drop through
the light-filled air . . .


Heady Scents

Fox, she would say,
without so much as
a sudden sniff,
and carry on her way
alert to all and everything.
And I would wonder,
Fox? But I had not been
schooled to recognize
a creature’s scent,
though sensitive always
to the human kind:
that sweetness after ***
found in Cupid’s gym.
So the subtle coconut
of bright-flowering gorse
and garlic woodland-wild
when trodden under foot.
will have to do instead.


Brimstone and Blues

Well, the sea is blue today,
why not the butterflies too?
though seen, it seemed
for a second,
fluttering at her feet,
tumbling indecisively
in flickering flight,
then gone: to leave
a stain of perfect blue
upon the retinal cells.


Peacocks (not butterflies)

I thought it was a peacock’s cry,
but it turned to be a turkey
out in the orchard next
our path to the sea.

Such an unpleasant-looking
bird whose tatty hind-feathers
rose as its blood-red throat
trembled with venomous
indignation at our presence.

Sad creature,
so ugly,
a troubling form
lacking grace or line,
majesty or wonder,
colour or display
of the pave cristasus.


Skylarks

Larking skywards
in the soft spring
vertiginous blueness
of the daylight heavens,
on song with circular breath,
seaward and away.
We only saw it descend
and heard the formants
change of its harmoniced
voice as it brushed
the standing crop,
finally fell,
and disappeared.


Swallows

Martins maybe?
Surely swifts?
But swallows?
Not yet awhile.

Some similar birds
fresh from flight
across southern seas
appeared, tumbled over,
shook the blue air,
then disappeared, as
suddenly greedy for grubs,
insectivously joyful,
so glad to be over land
once more.


Stonechats

I take your word for it
(having still to finish
the birding book you gave
at Christmas). Sounds right:
the sound of two stones
being rubbed together?
This robin-sized bird,
though dumpy in comparison,
who likes to sit on a gorse bush
and flick it wings; a nervous habit
some might say.


Blue on Blue

The sea in your eyes
is blue on blue
dear friend, dear lover
of my earthy self
whose eyes are browny-green,
whilst your’s own cloudless sky,
reflect the still shimmering sea.


A Ruined Castle

In a gap between
Purbeck Hills.
the Castle of Corfe
stands tall yet ruined.
Kaikhosru Sorabji
once lived in its sight,
composer, pianist, recluse.
Owning a cottage
he called The Eye,
with a Steinway Grand
and a cat called Jami  -
he wrote long complex music
people found difficult to play.
Eventually forbidding
all performances, he died
aged 96 - in 1988.
A curious man.


A Complete Castle

This must be an Italianate folly,
hardly ruined but complete.
We’d stopped for tea,
both hot and thirsty.
You’d hoped for ice cream
but had to wait for another day,
another place.

Had we not a train to catch,
and two miles still to walk,
we might have sat on its balcony
high above the shimmering sea,
and whilst eating ice cream,
looked on the sight of Lot’s Wife,
that white and final pillar of chalk
far out in Alum bay.


A Chapel

Profoundly square,
on a cliff-top high,
buttressed to its cardinal points
with a single window,
with a single door,
this chapel stands
where St Aldhelm
of Malmesbury,
would sing his sermons,
and, just for fun, some
hexametric enigmata
(riddles to you and me)

From his weaver’s riddle, Lorica:

non sum setigero
lanarum uellere facto
Nec radiis carpor duro
nec pectine pulsor

I am not made from
the rasping fleece of wool,
no leashes pull [me] nor
garrulous threads reverberate . . .


A Lighthouse

Brilliant white
and thoroughly walled about,
squat and unmanned,
it sits begging for
a crashing wave,
a serious storm,
but not today.
The sea is still,
calm and gently lapping
against the rocks below.


A Steam Train**

At Swanage station
just in time,
and amply satisfied
by our twelve-mile walk,
we settled ourselves
on bench-like seats
in the carriage
next the engine as
56XX Tank No.6695
took on water,
built up steam
for the seven-mile ride
past Heston Halt,
past Harman’s Cross
to Castle Corfe.

A circuit made
in seven hours
by path and rail.

The sun rose upon me and only me
Or maybe it was a smile divine
Shining bright enough to bring life
To a barren desert and every grain of sand

Those smile smitten grains carried love and life
And warmth enough to drown the darkness of solidarity
Yet, with outstretched hands transfixed
Complacent and indecisively basking in their radiant flow

You'd never think a desert bowl of sand grains
Would slip the grip of any person within so few moments
And yet, and yet, alas, the last slipped through my fingers
And I clenched my fists so tightly blood slipped
Through my fingers and upon the smitten grains dripped.

Going back is a privilege
Only a memory has.
Though what is to come
Holds so much more promise
Than the shadows of the past.
The blinding lights of the future
Certainly hold uncertainty.
I trust in my decisions
I indecisively make.
I tiptoe through mines
Of bankruptcy and heartache
With no promise of an easy life,
A happy ending,
Or a forever after.
But fear not, I shall -
I tire of recurring dreams anyhow.

expectations and assumptions
you and i
we had it all

why am i here?
i said as i clutched onto my books
indecisively struggling
it is a common event that i never anticipate
must have been the invisible weight that i carry on my shoulders
or the sleep that I'm deprived of

it is easy to speak and make a fuss
but difficult to ignore the voices that echo in our heads

it is all too concentrated
i feel suffocated
but i still keep the noose on
and drag around my own being
in these places
it is like play pretend
and i am the impostor

it was them
who preferred the mask
confusion was the one who got lost
in what it thought to be a playground

i am still strangled by the noose
as i continue to lose
surrounding my neck for its pleasure
and i stay here
blankly staring at the wall
of memories

In my dreams
we're surrounded
at the bottom of the ocean
by a school of fish.
We're holding hands
and embracing all of it.
The light barley shining through
as the current indecisively moves,
The ocean may be deep
and sometimes spooky
but at least I'm swimming through it
with you.

the train's presence blows her hair
as the sleeping dust on the tracks
run to meet her face.
-
she wants time to slow
and the aftenoon to go by fast;
she indecisively decides
to take the second train.
-
She wonders how they're doing.
are they having fun in the cold; she
wonders if they're tasting the bitter
wind against their harsh tongues;
or if they feel the amount of angst
and anger she does, currently.
-
She tastes the quiet breeze
against her sweet tongue, back aching
in thought, her mind and eyes blurring
out what's happening right now:
on the train she's on.

Imprints, emotional cuts that feel skin deep
I like the way your tears glisten on your pale skin
Priceless diamond drops
Chameleon eyes, changing along with the seasons
And with the shirts you indecisively choose to wear
For the people you pretend to like

You hold values close to your chest, worn like a necklace
Lip syncing yesterday's words I whispered to you
When we were in bed, alone and intimate
Forgetting about today because your head is on my pillow
Still kissing my lips and tasting my emotions I transfer onto you
Yearning to be loved, while loving relentlessly

It was just you and I the moment dawn tinged the edge of the sky with vibrant colors.
Our backs to the rest of the world, we were fighters, two friends battling the rest of humanity though we knew we could only trust each other.
Together we faced the perils of depression and loneliness with our hands clasped, eyes locked, hearts synced.
Questioning reality frequently, wondering if there was another world out there where we knew one another. Another place much kinder, more open to our dreams.
We stood over the shadows in the abyss and shone so brightly we blinded the sun.
I taught you how to dance, to kiss, to exist in ways you were awkward to at first. I can recall moments in time when you didn’t mind the ****** way my hair had turned a fiery shade of orange because that's what happens when you mix plum and blonde.
On the 4th of July in the elementary school parking lot 2 years ago you tried to convince me that this reality was false.
Delivering this ideal with such conviction and intelligence you almost succeeded.

Sometimes I dream that you were right.

I step back to reflect upon your face and the deep pensive blue of your eyes.
I remember how sometimes your hands were clammy and even though I thought that was gross I still held them.
We cuddled close during movies, any opportunity, thriving off the attention and affection, as if a physical touch could possibly be enough to heal our broken parts.
What naive, blind hopeful creatures we were.
I gave the credit of opening my eyes and my heart to someone else when in all reality it was you, with your gentleness and soft uncertain voice and warm fingers twined with mine.

There were summers spent indecisively deciding if I wanted to keep you in my life like you wanted me in yours.
Times where I dragged both our hearts through rocks and glass trying to decide what the hell was going on, what I wanted, what was best.
Moments where our friendship caused us more internal stress and agony than it did peace.
As it dwindled toward a drawn out end I had a revelation, knew what it was doing..
had done, to you.
Its a hard thing to recognize your own toxicity when desperately clinging to friendships, what we both wanted was killing us, slowly but surely, closing in with thorns around our throats, hands, hearts,  

I still remember when the sun began to burn us back and our light flickered and dimmed against its harsh rays. The tightness of our  fingers clasped slowly went lax,
I gave you room to pull away, but for some reason you held fast,  clung to my fingers like invisible strings held us together, like you’d die if I wasnt there to hold you.
Your emotional state continued to compromise itself, worsening the longer we were tied to one another.
This left us with a single choice, the alternative was unacceptable
A decision that would flush our exposed hearts clean with a acid fire and erode our hands till they fell apart and broke away.

Mountains trembled and crumbled beneath my feet, I feigned my gaze to different horizons and I hoped, that in time yours would too.
I ruined us.
Ripped our stitches messily out until we bled clear
Our voices cracking like crumbling cities, structures breaking with distress, shaking with the magnitude of the San Francisco earthquake that set fire to an entire coast
How we failed to make something permanent in a time when we knew nothing lasted, how we'd attempted in vain to pursue and maintain something destined to break.

The crux of it
The root of it
Is exactly this:
I was too scared
When I was 12
To give a girl a kiss.

That may seem small
But not at all
For the one that did not act.
Indecisively I felt true pain,
And I've been Hamlet in the sack.

I'm done.
I'm finished
Being the one
Who gives up
Without a try.

I tell you God
If I break my word
Then smite me down
I'll die.

From this day forth
A new man of sorts
From the ashes of regret

A fire's been sparked
This boys been charged
Not afraid of what he expects.

I claim not as mine
These thoughts I find,
Only freedom through my eye.

So hear me once
And hear me loud
I will no longer fear to try.

I watch, not seeing
I hear indecisively
Please leave me alone

I’m indecisive, I act indecisively but today,
I have decided not to fight people,
Have decided not to argue with people,
Have decided not to hate other people,
Have decided not to compete with them,

But I did be in despair, for I fear my weakness, i may be tempted to decide, but if I’m tempted to decide, i will decide not to decide.

I suffer from indecision but for now,
I have decided not to be jealousy,
Have decided not to be greedy,
Have decided to be selfish,
Have decided not to do all of that,

But I did be in despair, for I fear my weakness, i may be tempted to decide, but if I’m tempted to decide, i will decide not to decide.

I'm standing on the edge
With my head reminding myself how I got here—
That I've come too far to turn back
And my heart reminding myself how I got here—
That I can't give up now
My feet tremble indecisively
So my knees bend to hold my center of balance.
My hands evelope my neck
While my arms pull back just enough to prevent asphyxiation.
For, im trapped in this form of indecision,
So I put my indecisions to better use
And stand on a chair
With my indecisive feet
Trying to make sense of my existance and then inexistance
In between that manner of split seconds.
My indecisive knees deciding whether or not to let my feet push.
My indecisive arms making sense about to or not to spare my life
Another second or two
Afterwhich my feet no longer planted remain
For gravity only acts upon my neck
While my hands choke the neck that burns against mine
Hoping that perhaps the rope will give up before I do
Immediately I regret the decision
Or maybe I'm just preserving this suffering as long as possible
Since that which once felt can never again be thereafter
For, nothing there is after the soul removes itself except a corpse
For, the decision has been made.
There is no turning back.
There is only a push, struggle, and death.
Nothing more than that which was imagined beforehand—
Nothing less.

I listen to songs
I curl in my bed
I jumped around
I laughed alone
I cried alone
But my mind was truly only
Thinking about you.

The songs fade away
The bed felt hot
I fell down
I cried and laughed indecisively
But my mind was truly only
Thinking about you.

"In any method you use,
you'll always end up choosing the wrong one."

I wanted to tell you that, last night.
How your decisions
would end up ruining everything,
but for once I'd like to think that maybe
it was wrong for me to think indecisively of you.

I may not know what it'll become of us,
but I hope it won't turn out to be like
the dream you once told me.