The Black Faerie beats her sable wings,
And rises into the dark and midnight sky.
Tonight she needs a ******’s soul to live,
Or else tonight a ****** she must die.

Tonight the dark moon rises in the sky,
’Twill be the time the black arts they hold sway,
And so tonight a ******’s fate is sealed,
If the Black Faerie has her way.

She rises high, unseen by mortal eye,
And casts around, a ******’s scent to find.
She starts, and checks, then starts and checks again,
She’s found a ******’s scent borne on the wind.

Carefully she follows the ætherial trail,
Flying against the wind to trace its source.
She hopes, tonight, successful she will be,
And is determined to stay on her course.

After flying for some time she finds
The scent is getting stronger on the wind,
She’s slowly drawing closer to her prey,
And trusts, soon, the ****** she will find.

When then she sees a hut down in the wood,
Invitingly, a window’s open wide,
The scent is overpoweringly now intense,
So, silently, through the opening she glides.

She spies a truckle bed next to the wall,
A young lady soundly sleeps within.
The Black Faerie hovers o’er the maid,
And senses the dormant ****** power within.

The lady on her back asleep does lie,
Clad only in a white nightgown.
The bedclothes, in night’s warmth pushed aside,
On her breast, the faerie settles down.

She waits a moment listening; all is calm.
And then, before the fay can make a move,
A bright white light enters in the room.
A sparkling fairy’s fluttering above.

“What mischief are you up to now?” she asks.
The Black Faerie’s rooted to the spot.
She’s never seen this beauteous creature before,
And knows not what powers she might have got.

“And who are you?” the black fay asks in turn,
“You cannot be a denizen of the night,
You are much too beautiful for that,
You’re so gracile, and you’re much too bright!”

“Indeed, I am a fairy of the day,
I help the flowers to bud, bloom and blow.
I’d curled up to sleep, inside a rose,
When dark and silent past me you did go.”

“And you, in turn, so vagiley you flew,
Darting through the bosky wood with ease.
My heart stood still, my breath caught in my throat,
I’d never seen such a sight to please.”

“The other fairies of the day I’ve known,
Are bright and gay, and flit from flower to flower.
They idle, and they gossip, and they’re dull,
And I cannot stand them more ower.”

“So when I saw you flying past tonight,
Looking mean and moody dressed in black,
I just knew that I must follow after,
And hoped that you might lead me to the craic.”

The Black Faerie recovers from her fright,
The night’s the time her powers are at their best.
She decides to try to play it cool,
So sits herself down on the ******’s breast.

“Tonight’s the anniversary of my birth,
Which was a year ago at the dark moon.”
The Black Faerie then continued thus,
“And to prevent my death I must act soon.”

“The reason why I am a Faerie Black,
Which I believe is rare in faerykind,
Is because the dark moon was at zenith,
Which caused a problem with my mother’s mind.”

“This caused me, when born, to be jet black,
Which wasn’t any fault of my own.
The day fairies cast us out from them,
And thus, we had to live all alone.”

“Although I tried my best to keep her whole,
Slowly, my dear mother pined away.
And then she told me, something she must tell,
As wasting on her deathbed she lay.”

“If a ******’s life I did live,
Then indeed, a ****** must die.
And before the dark moon’s anniversary,
To get this matter sorted, I should try.”

Because tonight’s the night of the dark moon,
I have traced this ****** to her bed,
Now what my mother told me I must do
I will, and soon this ****** shall be dead.”

“Oh no! Please!” the sparkling fairy said,
“Surely there must be another way!
Instead of sacrificing this lady,
Take my life, I am a ****** fay.”

“Would you freely give your life for hers?”
The Black Fay asked, jumping to her feet.
“To save this lady’s life I surely will,”
The sparkling fairy said, “’Tis only meet.”

“Since her parents died, she’s all alone,
Living in this wild forest drear.
Despite that, she still has many friends,
A lot of wild animals come here.”

“To the sick and injured she gives succour,
And tends the crops and plants round here as well.
In fact, she does more than many fairies,
And has helped the flower’s numbers swell.”

The sparkling fay continued, “Oh Black Faerie,
Please don’t do this vile and evil deed.
As I’ve asked, please take my life instead,
Then, in time, I’m sure you’ll get your meed.”

The sparkling fairy then fell down sobbing,
In between the sleeping lady’s breast,
While the Black Faerie stood there sternly,
Considering the sparkling fay’s request.

The sparkling fairy’s sobbing soon grew louder,
And with her hands and feet she beat the maid.
She’d forgotten whereabouts they were,
She was at once both sad and afraid.

The Black Faerie’s voice also grew louder,
The sparkling fay to cow, and make shut up,
When suddenly, to both of their surprises,
The ****** maid awoke, and then sat up.

Both the fairies froze, and tumbled downwards,
And came to rest in the lady’s lap.
She grasped the Black Faerie very firmly,
Her hand, round the Black Fay’s arms, did wrap.

Sitting straight, the lady then spake thus,
“For a Faerie Black, you’re not too bright.
Although you heard what your mother said,
I don’t believe you understood her right.”

The lady’s other hand was much more gentle,
She held the sparkling fairy to her breast,
And softly said, “Don’t worry, it’s now over,
Try to calm yourself, and have a rest.”

“I have been awake for some time now,
Woken by your voices in my ear.
However I kept my eyes tightly closed,
So your conversation I should hear.”

To the sparkling fairy then she spoke,
“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
I heard you offer yourself in my place,
I appreciate you trying to take my part.”

“As for you, you wretched little faerie,
I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry
When I heard the evil you intended,
And knew, you’d got wrong, the reason why.”

“I am a pagan, as it happens,
And know about the phases of the moon.
And so, though you were born in darkness,
You actually were also born at noon.”

“This probably is what confused your mother,
The reason that it was dark for your birth,
The moon caused a total eclipse of the sun,
And thus darkness descended over the earth.”

The lady put the Black Fay on her lap,
A tear of sympathy fell from her eye,
“And so, poor thing, you lost your friends and mother,
And now, you know the real reason why.”

“Your mother didn’t know what had happened,
At noon, expecting to give birth to you,
Which is why she slowly lost her reason,
And the day fairies did you both eschew.”

The Black Faerie then started sobbing,
And curled up in a ball upon the bed.
“I always felt that I was unfairly treated,
And knowing that, I wish that I was dead!”

At that, the sparkling fairy gave a wriggle,
And asked the maid if she would put her down.
Then, slowly, she went to the Black Faerie,
And gave a gentle tug on her black gown.

The Black Faerie raised a tear-stained face,
And looked the sparkling fairy in the eye,
Who lifted the crying Faerie to her feet,
And chokingly said, “Please try not to cry.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she told the Faerie,
“You have had to put up with a lot.
Though now you know that you are normal,
I hope, perhaps, you’ll stop your murderous plot.”

The sparkling fay then smiled at the Black Faerie,
Who, through her tears, smiled also,
They then both tightly hugged each other,
And looked like they’d ne’er let each other go.

The Black Faerie turned to face the ******,
And said, “I am quite prepared to die.
I really didn’t want to have to **** you,
I don’t know why my mother said to try.”

The lady said, “You misunderstood her,
She didn’t want you to live all alone.
She wanted you to find a special person,
To be with you, after she had gone.”

“She tried to say, if you lived as a ******,
Then, as a ******, you would die.
Though she left out the personal pronoun,
So on a futile mission you did fly.”

“I don’t know if you really could have killed me,
Though to try, you’d go out of your way.
And I suspect your mother’s time-limit,
Was to make you find a friend without delay.”

“I don’t think that tonight you will die,
On the anniversary of your dark moon.
And now, perhaps, you’ve found a special friend,
So your quest here has granted you a boon.”

Seeing them looking completely right together,
The lady, down upon them both, did smile.
She hoped that they might soon get together,
And to help them, she might have to use some guile.

“You really both do make a lovely couple,
You complement each other in all ways,
Though I suspect, you courageous sparkling fairy,
You won’t be able to both live with your fays.”

“Round my hut I’ve planted many flowers,
Perhaps you two, near them, your home could make.
I would love for you to live here near me,
Won’t you please think on it, for my sake?”

“And now, I am afraid I’m getting tired,
We’ve been awake for most of the night,
And I would like to try and get some sleep,
Before the sun comes up and it gets light.”

“Next to my bed I’ll lay a pillow,
Which you both may use as a bed.
And now I’ll lie down and close my eyes,
I think, by me, enough has been said”

The lady placed a pillow on the floor,
And slowly re-laid down in her bed,
While the fairies, holding hands, flew aloft,
And settled on the pillow, head by head.

She heard them quietly talking to each other,
Though not the actual words that they said,
Then she drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of fairies,
Lying stilly and quiescent in her bed.

She awoke late the next morning,
And wondered what the misplaced pillow meant.
She vaguely remembered something about fairies,
Though put it down to what she had dreamt.

Then stretching and yawning she arose,
Drew back her window curtains and looked out,
When, what she then saw in the garden,
Quite caused her, her senses to doubt.

Every single flower in her garden,
Seemed to have bloomed overnight,
With larger than normal efflorescences,
And overhead, two fairies in full flight.

To her window sill they flew together,
And stood together, standing side by side.
Then told the lady they would like to live here,
While she stared at them with eyes open wide.

It hadn’t been a dream after all,
What happened in the night had been real.
After many years on her own,
She now had two friends who would be leal.

And so, together they all settled down,
The fairies living with her in her home.
She kept a careful eye upon them both
Though sometimes the fays would go and roam

They helped the wild creatures in the wood,
And kept the garden looking nice and neat.
They’d be out by day and by night,
And almost worked themselves off their feet.

Then one day they said to the maid,
That both of them were ever so sorry,
They had to go away for some time,
Though would be coming back, so do not worry.

Every day the lady looked for them,
And kept hoping that they were both all right.
Somehow, she made it through the day,
Then cried herself to sleep every night.

She very nearly gave up hope,
What kept her going was they’d said they’d be back.
She tried her best to keep things going right,
Though to her, things were looking black.

Late one night, she roused from her sleep.
The window ope’d, she thought it was the wind.
Then, irrupting through her casement came,
Her two fays, with two more close behind.

The Black and sparkling fairies lead the way,
Followed by two fairies, very small.
The lady sat, and looked at them in wonder,
From her truckle bed set by the wall.

The Black Faerie settled on her bed,
The sparkling fairy followed close behind.
“We’re sorry to have stayed away so long,
We’ve brought our children with us, please don’t mind.”

At that, the lady looked quite astounded,
“Have you been off with fairy men to dally?”
The two fairies laughed with amusement,
“There are no male fairies, you big wally!”

“We thought, as a pagan, you’d have known
How we maintain our fairy nation.
Female with female fairies manage,
By a process of adosculation.”

The Black Faerie lifted one small fay.
“This lovely dark child is mine.
We’ve decided that we’ll call her Midnight,
To remind us of what’s passed this syne.”

The sparkling fairy lifted up the other.
“And for this blonde beauty I’m to blame.
We could not decide what to call her,
And hoped that you might choose for her a name.”

The lady just sat there in stunned silence,
Quite unable to make any sound.
Oh so happy they had come back to her,
With evidence of the love they’d found.

Once more overcome with emotion,
She let her happy tears flow,
And said, “Please let me think about it,
As soon as I’ve got a name, you’ll know.”

“I’m so very glad you’ve returned,
It was lonely being on my own,
Now you’re back here with your children,
I won’t ever have to feel alone.”

The lady dried her tears, and then smiled,
“I should never have felt so forlorn,
This is a new start for us all,
So I think your child should be named....Dawn.”

Then they all started to laugh and cry together,
Each fairy contented with her child,
And they all lived happily ever after,
In the middle of the forest wild.
*
Grahame Upham
February 2014.

EDNA:  I believe you recently had a gay little adventure, Vladimir. So why don’t you tell me all about it? I can see you are simply dying to get it off your chest…

VLADIMIR:  Well, Edna, it happened like this. I hadn't cruised the ***** toilet in the park for months and I was ******* randy, absolutely dying for a really good session, so I thought I'd go along here after the pub shut and see what was up, see if there was any ******* ******* action. I wore some **** ****** under my jeans, you know the sort of stuff: red open crotch *******, suspenders and black fishnet stockings. My **** kept dribbling as I was in the pub, just thinking of what might happen down the toilet.  At closing time, I left the pub, my carrier bag in my hand, with a big anticipatory bulge in my pants.

EDNA [gulp]  And then what happened, Vladimir, dear?

VLADIMIR:  Once I got to the toilet, I was surprised there was no one inside, but there were a few nearby shadows in the park, people smoking cigarettes, walking round, looking for it.  Once in the toilet, I selected the cleanest cubicle and took off my jeans and shirt and put them into the carrier bag. I replaced my normal shoes and socks with the white high heeled women's shoes I had waiting in the carrier. Then I waited in the cubicle for someone to come into the toilet.

After only a few moments, I heard footsteps and I looked under the door to see who was there at the ******.  It was a short muscular looking man wearing jeans and Doc Martens. I could see he wasn't *******, but just standing there, though I couldn't see his face. I opened the cubicle door and he turned around to see who was there, so I opened the door wide open so he could see me standing there in the stockings, suspenders and silk ******* with my stiff **** sticking out of the hole in them.

He was about forty and very butch looking with close cropped hair and I could see his **** hardening as he looked at me.  I went over to him and took his **** in my hand and he grabbed hold of mine and started rubbing it.  I got down on my knees and took his short, fat, uncircumcised **** in my mouth; it tasted salty and ******* gorgeous. He grabbed hold of the back of my head and forced his **** deep down my throat nearly making me gag.  I could smell the odour of his ***** hair and I loved it.  He said, "Keep ******* it, you ***** ****, or I'll pull your ******* head off." I loved him talking ***** like that to me.

EDNA [getting a bit excited]  That seems very bold of you both.  What happened next?

VLADIMIR:  In what seemed no time at all, I felt him tense and then I got an enormous mouthful of his hot *****.  I'd never known anyone come so much, he must have had a week's worth in his *****.  After he'd come, he took his **** out of my mouth, put it away and zipped himself up.  I started to get to my feet, but he pushed me backwards onto the filthy floor.  ‘You're lucky I don't knock your face in, you ****,’ he said as he went out.  I love my men to be a bit rough with me, so I was very excited by this.  I half hoped he would punch me but he didn't.

EDNA: [wiping forehead] Well, that’s really very interesting. Did you go home then, dear, or were you still up for it, as the expression goes, Vladimir?    

VLADIMIR:  I got up and dusted myself down.  I could taste his come in my mouth, it was ******* delicious.  I was still incredibly excited, my **** was absolutely rigid and I knew I just needed to give it a couple of rubs and I'd shoot my ***, but I wanted more ***, and I knew once I came, I would just feel like going home.  So I went back into my cubicle and waited to see if anyone else came in.

After about five minutes I heard footsteps, followed by more footsteps again and I looked under the door a second time.  There were two men standing there and, by straining my neck, I could see they were groping each other.  One had one hand on the other's **** and his other hand on his **** and the other man was working on the first man's **** as well.  

I let the door open and they both swung round as they hadn't known there was anyone else in the toilet.  They saw me and looked relieved it wasn't a policeman lurking in there.  One was quite young, about twenty or twenty five, but he was a bit skinny and effeminate-looking.  The other one was much older, about fifty, but he was much better looking and I could see he had a huge **** on him.  I walked over to them in my **** rigout and joined in with the wanking.  They both started feeling my **** under my *******.

I turned round and bent over, my hands on the toilet cubicle doorposts, stuck my **** out invitingly and pulled my ******* down to my knees.  ’Why don't you **** me?’ I said, bold as brass.  The older man, the one with the big ****, left the young skinny guy and took up the offer I had made.  He undid his trousers and pulled his underpants down to reveal the full length of his enormous **** and his big hairy *****.  He spat on his hand and rubbed it on his ****, but he needn't have bothered because I had already lubed my **** when I was waiting in my cubicle.  

He slipped his big **** up my moist ******* without much difficulty and then started ******* me gently.  I told him to **** me harder, to **** me harder than he had ever ****** anyone in his life, so he started to really ram it up my hole.  God, I loved it.

EDNA [sweating with mounting excitement and unable to resist touching herself down there]  Mmmmm. I wish I’d been there to see that, I really, really do.  But don’t let me disturb your narrative flow, darling….

VLADIMIR:   Then the young skinny guy got down on his knees in front of me and took my **** in his mouth.  Each time the man who was giving it to me ****** hard into me, I jolted forward and rammed my **** deep into the skinny guy's mouth.  I was moaning with ecstasy as I got ****** and ****** by two complete strangers.  The guy with the big **** couldn't last long and soon shot his load up my **** and as he did it he said, ‘O Christ, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm shooting my ***** up your ******* *******.’  This made me incredibly excited and I came off in the younger man's mouth.  The skinny youngster was wanking his own **** as he knelt in front of me and I know he came as I felt the ***** splashing on my stockinged legs.

As he removed his still fat **** from my gaping hole, a stream of the older man's ***** ran down my legs.  He said he wished his wife would let him **** her in the ******* like that.  I went to kiss him but when he smelled the ***** on my face from the butch one I'd ****** off earlier, he wasn't having any of it and left with a mumbled goodbye.

The younger man had now got to his feet and was standing in front of me as he buttoned himself up.  He said ‘We can wait a few minutes and then we can do it again if you like.  I'd love you to **** me, you've got a lovely ****.’  But it was no good, the magic had passed and I told him to ****** off.

So I went back into the cubicle, got changed back into my ordinary clothes and left the toilet.  I could feel ***** oozing out of my ******* and I could taste the first load in my mouth still.  I had a smile on my face. It had been a great night out.

EDNA:  [removing her hand from inside her ******* as unobtrusively as possible and trying to disguise the fact she has just had a cataclysmic ******]  Wow, that’s really a very exciting story. It’s made old Edna quite hot and bothered. You really are a very naughty boy, Vladimir.

VLADIMIR: Would you like me to tell you about what happened to me in the old cinema down by the docks?

EDNA: [still throbbing a bit] No, dear, that will be the subject of another interview. We don't want to over-excite our readers, do we?

*THE END

Elli had never thought that the walls were strange.  Really, she didn’t think of them as walls precisely; they simply marked where her world ended.  After all, they had always been there, looming grayishly about one hundred feet from her back door.  Occasionally, strange shapes would appear at the top of the wall, silhouetted by bright lights so that she could never say what they looked like.  The sky was a perfect circle of blue or gray, depending on the weather, and it hung rather flatly overhead.  Elli’s house had pristine white walls with a red tile roof, exactly like the other four houses in her little slice of existence.  There was one other child besides Elli, but he was a baby who barely spoke.  

Not that anyone else said much either.  The adults seemed happy enough she supposed and treated her with kindness, but they all looked at each other knowingly, with resignation.  

Elli couldn’t understand why that was so; they had everything they needed here: food, water, clothing, each other.  The weather was even cooperative for the most part, raining just often enough to keep the trees and flowers alive, and never getting cold enough to warrant anything heavier than a long-sleeved shirt.

She had to admit, though, it did get a little boring occasionally.  But, just as soon as she thought she would cry with boredom, a new toy would appear, or a new type of flower for her to discover.  When she asked her mother where these things came from, she would go tight-lipped, then relax, and say gently that they were gifts from Above.

What ‘Above’ was, precisely, no one could (or would) tell her.  So she made it up.
Elli thought that Above was quite mysterious, but it must be benevolent because it gave her so many gifts.  She would talk to Above sometimes, but it never answered; it only came with more presents when she had tired of the old.  Often, Above’s presents to Elli were in the form new discoveries, and very occasionally in the form of an actual toy.

One day, Above gave Elli a mysterious gift: a sketchbook and three pencils.  She was unsure what to do with them at first, but after some experimentation she discovered that one end of the pencil made a mark, and the other end could make the mark disappear.  That discovery alone delighted her, and for a while, she busied herself simply with the process of marking and erasing.

Next, Elli started to put the marks together in ways that pleased her, and eventually filled the entire sketchbook with abstract drawings.  She thought she would erase them all and start over the next day, but when she woke up that morning, another sketchbook and three new pencils were stacked on top of the old.  She squealed with glee.

Elli took the sketchbook out to her favorite tree that day, and as she sat in its shade, it occurred to her that she might be able to replicate what she saw around her on her paper.  
Elli began to draw.  

She explored everywhere for things to draw, and as she followed the curve of the concrete wall late that afternoon, she saw a strange object on the ground, half hidden by a large bush.

Bending down to take a closer look, she noticed that whatever the object was, it was flush with the ground and seemed to have space below it.  Elli thought that was odd; she had always assumed the ground was utterly solid, and to find that there was a seemingly endless hole underneath was disconcerting.  She set her sketchbook and pencils down and reached out for the object.

It was covered in a reddish dust that came off on her fingers.  She grabbed the grate and pulled a bit.  It rattled invitingly.  Acting on impulse, Elli grabbed the cover with both hands and heaved; it was heavy, but not unmanageable, and she soon had it off and found herself staring down a dark tube.  She knelt down, stuck her head in, and shouted.  The echo of her shout leapt away down the tunnel.

Elli backed away from the hole and sat down, contemplating her discovery.  One thing was certain: her little world was not as little as she had thought.

Eventually, Elli decided that the peculiar hole would have to wait.  She was getting hungry, and the thought of her mother’s cooking enticed her.  So, with some effort, Elli pulled the cover back over the hole and dusted her hands.  It would be waiting for her to explore tomorrow.

The next morning, Elli raced out to the hole and dragged the off the cover.  Again, she shouted and listened to the echo of her voice leave her behind.  

She wondered where the echo went.

Finally, curiosity got the better of her, and dragging her sketchbook and pencils with her, she lowered herself into the darkness.  

As her feet touched the bottom, she noticed that the hole had become tall enough for her to stand in.  Looking up, she realized that she would not be able to go back that way. She shook off that thought, and turned her face to the darkness.

The tunnel was damp, so Elli slid her sketchbook protectively under the front of her shirt.  The further she got from her entry point, the darker it became, until she could no longer see anything.  

For the first time in her life, Ellie knew fear.  

She thought of her friend, Above.

I don’t like this; I really don’t like this, Elli said to Above in the darkness.  Can you hear me, Above?  I’d like a gift to help me get out of here.  Please?

No answer came, but Elli knew that that was what would happen.  Above never spoke to her.  She felt wetness well up in her eyes, felt it trail down her face, and touched it with her fingertips.  Her fear abated a little as she stood in the darkness and nothing extraordinary happened.  Elli sniffed.

Picking up her courage, she continued forward in the darkness, feeling her way along the damp walls of the tunnel.  Suddenly, she heard a loud scraping noise overhead.  She jumped back, stumbled over her feet, and dropped her sketchbook in a puddle.  A sliver of light appeared in the ceiling, widening as the scraping noise continued.  Elli looked up, frozen, fear returning vengefully.  Light filled her section of tunnel.  She looked up, blinking at its brightness.  

A strangely elongated hand appeared, silhouetted against the light, reaching out for her.  Elli gasped.  It’s all right, the hand said, I will help you.  I am here to get you out of the tunnel.  Elli didn’t move.  Another strange hand appeared, and together, they reached for her, grasped her, and hauled her out of the darkness.  

Elli looked at the owner of the hands, into a face entirely unlike any she had seen before; the eyes were much too large, and the irises were an iridescent purple.  It didn’t have a nose, and its mouth was decidedly small.  It looked upon her with what she could only fathom was worry and concern.  There were others, standing, watching.

Who are you? Elli asked.
We are Above, it said.
And Elli knew nothing at all.

After ***
Abela
likes to lie

in the bed
listening
to duets

from that guy
Puccini
-I get us

some coffee
from the small
kitchenette-

isn't it so
romantic?
She asks me

from the bed
sure it is
but what are

they singing
about it's
foreign words

I reply
carrying mugs
to the bed

where she lies
**** naked
invitingly

words are words
it's the sounds
that move me

she tells me
I put mugs
on both sides

of the bed
on small side
cabinets

I climb back
into bed
Puccini's

getting her
in the mood
she eyes me

runs fingers
down my thigh
kisses me

on the lips
on the chin
on the cheek

my pecker
stirs himself
from slumber

not knowing
what hour
day or week.

i always end up like this
no matter what type of event i'm at
sitting, alone, in the back
but this time, there
on the church basketball court
converted into a dancefloor
just as roughly as i also was converted
into a church dance attendee
in dark grey corduroys
and a crimson dress shirt
(missing a collar button)
not to mention a shave
(far too thorough, as i always am)
and a haircut by my uncles hand-
it was there,
that i was choking back tears,
tears caused by glancing up momentarily,
javing five or more beautiful girls
meet my eyes, and smile invitingly
(telling me to stand)
but still being unable to drag myself out of that chair
and walk over to them.
an inability caused by her,
the one i still love(d)
wherever she happens to be.
but, this inability to move
is not her fault.
we're over
and i'm a free man,
so i make my mind up,
wipe my eyes,
and stand;
rising to look at the faces
of the two who are telling me
to walk, to tap, to ask, to dance
and
without a word
i walk into that crowd
leaving them behind.
but
she's still here.
and, keeping that in mind
i enjoy myself
but every face
every conversation
dissolves,

as my footsteps do-

as the music does-

at the end of each song





©Brandon Webb
2012

When thou art gone, the little sunlit shadows
Still may dance, and the flowers nod,
And the trees whisper confidently one to the other.
When thou art gone, the day may be
No longer bright, but with slow tread pass on;
And the sun shall lag, and the moon be late in coming;
And the stars shall be lone-beamed,
And faintly gleaming, and the valleys shall draw
Their scarfs of mist about their *******.
When thou art gone, the lilac nodding yon,
Shall make a sign of understanding.
When thou art gone,
No path shall seem to call invitingly.
When thou art gone,
The songs shall lack a tenderer chord.
But I shall not unhappy be!
For I shall follow thee,
Leaving all the mourning.

Back in the day when we could just sit back
Chill out and relax, it was nothing but just that
This one feeling (Psych!) no hidden tax, cleaned up scraps
Advance to attack softly surpass the romance is thick like sap
The impact you had on me I didn't know how to react
The thought is abstract, but intact with vows attached
Our love sapped from each other invitingly,
Finally you see just how much you mean to me
Quite the sheen we had, the luster once explained by Guster
Green light, fourteen, the events unforeseen you must've
Came to me, so afraid, now I'm amazed that I've uh-
found her this early, surely it's not today
It must be a mistake, but I can't contain these sparks
Sparse, is the words I have to say to you, "MONTHS!"
Worse, course you shut a bit of cabinet wood, it creaks
"Curse!", focus not on mom but on her you should be,
gravitational force, by fits and starts, this matter of bursts,
it comes in
I know it but not clear; smokey quarts, ******* crumbs an'
My blank *** mind is turning this into a blank verse
But first, listen to what I have to say, it works!
Not this, at worse I felt reversed, so I put us in park
My feelings for you are neutral, electrons are gone and,
it's too good to be true

You're out of excuses you've run out of time 'n' this ****'s on you
For doubt is bruisin', chewin' spun me around and...

Reminiscin' Cough! It even hurts to say
To breathe, my breath, it isn't here to stay
It's kinda like sleeping, it's just a cousin of death
I'm stickin around but not in this circle,
tripping like a round peg in a square hole,
you grind me into this grounded world of mine
Quit it with the same shape jokes fellow,
with your same lame faces, the same claims are racing below
Chasin immortality, thats a futile fantasy, reality
happily robs your dreams candidly, like you did to me
We're done here. Why can't you see
that when the smoke clears, it's crystal but not amethyst or ruby.
Truthfully I don't understand this new "me", I need an analyst
Matter of factfully, that was an accident, kinda like all this was.
I just ate too much and threw up all over this canvas
And it sounds like practice. Maybe I take you all back, just
grow up, crawl then, complain about this slanted stanza
Anxious I am to end the madness, the recent lack of composure.
but you cannot address the cheapest setback: I'm lonely.
The malice, the heartache, the "palace of flattest objects"
The helpless, the sorry, the callous fingers from these projects
What do they mean to you? Anger? Angst?
Somewhat close to a coat hanger, to hang up all of my paint?!
You're like watching grass grow, and for this **** I'm 'bout to mow

"You think you can do these things but you just can't Nemo!"

Here we go-
You know that one time when I said, "I'll always be here."?
I meant it. Now let go! I said it's over, delirious!
I'm serious, who would ever miss this?
I fear some wickedly addictive feelings are making me trapped
but it feels like it's just two ovaries
No wait, it's just you about to *****-act!
---------------------------------------------
It's a brief pause, but I feel it coming in strong!
The atmosphere is a thief, stealing my breath, so long
I've worked my *** off; it flew away now it's gone,
just like a me to a you, I meet you and ramble on:
I have spent so many days burning our bridges, keeping us afloat
Not once you take time to count me for my vote
Goodbye! Wait, hello... I'm no tough guy, I take chances, though
But you only get one, and this is it, to let you know
I'm outta here for now. And so are you; go.

Love-driven on the edge of chance
he took the stairs in his surefooted stride:
Two, four - and one too many.
Happens, sometimes.
He dunked his thumb in the jam ***
And sought for a sentence –
That eluded him.
He rooted, laughed and drank,
Took his scarf,
hat
and thought:
Such a lucky chance –
It happens, now and then,
That you lose time
But grasp your luck
And leave on the dot.

Well then!
Four, two – you know the rest:
One too many.
It was meant to be.
There were flowers by the table –
And the cups were steaming
Invitingly to be stirred.
Hot chocolate and a piece of cake.
You know too well,
It happens now and then:
That you lose time
But grasp your luck
Hot chocolate and a piece of cake.

I'd like to tell you
the story of the eyes
that changed my world.

It wasn't hazel but instead
it was sunken bloodshot eyes.
His eyes were heavy-lidded and
fringed with incredibly long lashes.

It was deep and empty yet
it was penetrating my soul.
Invitingly mysterious and all
I could think of the first time
I laid my eyes on it,
I was love-struck.

It was restless yet it
makes me breathless.
Allured by a round burning
brown-eyed.
I for sure was bewitched by
his unusual ***** of sight.

I was lost in a hollow
passage of his soul.
The colors that are painted
beneath his eyelids was full of
sorrows and chaos.
They are beautiful but
it was cold and dark in it.

It carries his heart and
draws everything in it.
It captures all that I am
and makes me see things
some can't.

A hurricane in his eyes yet
it laid my nerves calm.
A very familiar and miraculous
jellylike pair in a bony orbit.
It harbor the lonely skies,
enigmatic as the universe
itself.

His eyes were unconquerable.
You get lost and you get found.

Opening up to Monday
I unwrapped myself from the duvet
Pasted my limbs to the floor
Slippers winked at me
Invitingly, I settled my feet into their snugness
As I stood, I was thankful that today
Is Monday, wonderful Monday
Free as a song bird to create
My own melody, a chorus of hurrah
I caught up with the shower
On hot house temperature
Scorching...I fumbled for the cool
Climate, turning it sufficiently to
Bathe and recycle myself
As I stroked the cat meowing
A feline opera, making her presence known
The outside world had a dismal feel
The window onto the day told me so
Yet, blue escorted the clouds
Pushing the doubting rain packages
To another realm
Introducing the blue yonder that
Had won the day
We all gathered up into the aroma
Of a new week, stretched our
Arms towards one another
I joined the links for a few hours
Tattooing their conversation into my
Subconscious indelibly
Unhooking ourselves we separated
Turning towards the duties of the day
Swiftly we deposited out parting gifts
Hugs
Kisses
Our best
Our loving wishes

An alien fruit
on a low hanging branch,
she swings invitingly
flaunting her color,
that pulled me near
what an adornment
you would be to my
meager fruit basket,
inebriating scent emanating
overpowers my senses.

Your design, I certainly smell
I hear the whisper,
the disclaimer to entice me
to your side, "I don't like him,
the keeper of my orchard,
he pretends he owns it
but does he know the truth?
it's different, fruits aren't
his passion, just a hoarder
he doesn't enjoy  the ripe fruits,
and I am a **** fruit,
I see yearnings play hide and seek
in your eyes, aren't you the kind of guy,
I've been waiting to come this way,
take me, soon I'll forget him,
throw away your qualms
like fruit peels to the dumps"

I can't now discern,
what I now think,
no, I am no purist
who detests tartness,
I like the taste of vinegar,
this fruit offers so much,
this is a taste I relish,
but I am not game for this,
like to chase and hunt,
fruits from higher branches,
"wouldn't touch a carcass,
even if it promises much"

Water were caught in my brown curly hair,
The trail of tears have left stains on my cheeks.
All I could feel and hear was the water beneath me.
How invitingly silent and sedate the darkness seemed.
So nice and quiet.
Free from worries.
Free from fears.
Free from memories.
Free from pressure and demands.
Free.
My hands felt numb from the cold water.
It may not have been the best idea,
But it wouldn't really matter after tonight.
Nothing would.

Whispering her smile
Looking beatific,
Looking arousingly terrific,
Uninvited but invitingly,
Place my pointer finger
Upon her breast, ******* already attentive,
*****,  she preps to dance and to
Leave me

Bid her despedida,
For my adieu is tinged
With desperation internal raging,
For tantalizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged

My tango muse,
Off to dance in dives,
Where all the men are
Strangers, who paid in cash,
With creased and stained $20 bills,
To soil themselves, to dance with my woman,
Paid far in advance.

For consorting with the enemy,
I renounce her not, but guilty charged,
For mesmerizing, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged

She'll return, after three,
Undress before me,
Purportedly sleeping,
Pointedly, slowly, knowingly,
To insure I scent the sweat
That tango demands,
The ****** side effects,
The Argentines invented,
Accoutrement rituals,
Excuses to invent dance,
In order to pleasure intensity,
For teasing w/o mercy, J'accuse,
Guilty as charged

She chambers her body bullet,
Sliding in unrobed,
For a negligee would be
Negligent in her condition,
Laughing at my pretend closed eyes,
She whispers,:

I return here, to you
For one reason alone
Despite soul and body, exhilarated,
While gone, you have been composing
About me without permission,
Of  this, of thee,
J'accuse!

I know you have penned
Poem,
Which long after the dance thrill has chilled,
Will belong to me forever,
I will kiss you now so I may taste the
Words  that are mine, until next week,
When I will be guilty again
Of charging your imagination

Grandmère = Grandmother

Peter and I are in Paris, we arrived this morning. We’re staying at my Grandmère’s Champs de Mars residence - near the Eiffel Tower.

One of my Grandmère’s oldest and dearest friends is a Catholic Bishop. When I was little, he was ‘Monsignor Jean-Marc’ but now he’s ‘Bishop Jean-Marc.’ He’s been around so much of my life, he’s almost part of the family. I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that he has his own apartment somewhere in each of her houses.

Jean-Marc is old. I think that’s fair to say. He’s white haired and the kind of short that comes on slowly, with age. He’s a disciplined kind of thin and his deep wrinkles are tanned from years of gardening. His teeth, always visible in his salesmen’s smile, are as white as altar candles.

When I first glimpsed Jean-Marc from the hallway, he was sitting on a cream satin settee, in conversation with my Grandmère. I knew something was up because he was wearing his red trimmed cassock and red sash, instead of his usual black suit.

What I couldn’t see from the hall, was that the room was packed with matronly ladies, dressed in matronly dresses of glittering white, glittering beige, glittering yellow and glittering gold. Argh! I was wearing a white Polo tennis dress, Keds mini canvas sneakers and my hair was ponytailed. I wasn’t dressed for a social. I swiveled to give my Grandmère a sharp look, but she took that moment to be interested in the drapes.

As I’d come into the room, Jean-Marc stood and greeted me cordially saying, “AnnAAAas!” raising both hands up over his head as if he were channeling the pope. Ok, I thought to myself, this is happening. I offered my most innocent smile. “Bishop Jean-Marc,” I said, while performing an involuntary curtsy, conjured from somewhere deep in childhood reflex-memory.

I don’t like priests. Slam me, sue me, **** me. When I’m around a priest, I’m reminded that I’m a sinner and I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. It’s the worst kind of guilt for a Catholic, because we don’t earn any credit for it.

Opp! I just thought of Peter, so there’s lust, right on queue - that’s a sin. Unfortunately, Peter’s not here. He and Charles went on a chauffeured driving tour of Paris. Envy - there, another sin, I’m on the road to hell but I can’t seem to stop, one thought just follows the next. Where’s a priest when I need one? (to confess) Just kidding, there’s one right in front of me.

The bishop began asking me a string of unimaginative questions, like an old friend catching up. “How’ve you been? How's university? As he grilled me, slowly, like a steak in a smoker, the herd of matrons ambled slowly our way, closing in to listen in. It was a scene straight out of the walking dead. I wanted to escape but my Grandmère held me in place, with the full wattage of her proud smile.

Ordinary boredom is an un-experience and all you need to free yourself is a phone. High society boredom is one of Dante’s circles of hell, because you have to interact with strangers when you could be doing something fun instead. The gathering finally broke up about 7pm and I was free to go. I was starving, my throat hurt from talking (about myself) and I hadn’t heard from Peter. When I checked “find my,” it showed him there, somewhere. So I went in search.

Peter was in his (our) room, on his back near the edge of the bed, one shoe off and one shoe on. He was as still as a corpse but a soft snoring suggested he wasn’t dead. I leaned over him, his black hair was somehow more disheveled than usual and his lips, moist and slightly parted, looked invitingly ready to kiss. I didn’t do it though, that would have been asking for trouble. Instead, I smelled his breath, slowly and deeply. Cognac. Charles had gotten him drunk. How helpful.

Once I tucked Peter in, I went looking for Charles, only to find him shooting billiards with Jean-Marc. He looked none the worse for wear and the gleam in his eyes told me he knew what he was doing - avoiding me with the bishop.

As I prowled the room, trying to decide what to do, while picking up objects and weighing them as objects to be thrown, a server brought in a tray with three bowls of cassoulet,* which smelled incredible, my stomach growled, and I remembered I was starving.

Charles, sensing a shift in the mood, said, “He (Peter) needed to reset his body clock. He’s young, he’ll be as good as new in the morning.” I just laughed. Charles knew I’d come looking for him and he’d ordered me dinner. I can’t stay mad at Charles; he knows me too well.

The cassoulet was to die for.
We’ll start our vacation, for reals, in the morning.

Thousand times I walked on this path
Thousand times I was in rush
Thousand times I saw my own thoughts
Thousand times I heard my own steps

Today I walked on this path again
As I walked there for the first time

I saw the big oak standing there for hundred years
Crinkles and scars gracing his body
Daisies and daffodils warming his feet
The eyes of a green man are smiling at me

The meadow is invitingly soft
The sunbeams are tickling my face

I took of my shoes of and watched my steps
My feet got wet loving blades of grass
My soul turned green
My fingers touching gently the face of a green man

The dewdrops are sparkling in the sun
Washing my face

The meadow puts its arms around my body
Hugging me gently like a caring lover
Dressing me in most beautiful dress I ever had
Filling my heart with love

All my senses got busy
The silence makes a sound

The birds are singing
The warm breeze playing music in the leaves
The butterflies are dancing in the wind
The sky is deep blue

I feel the heartbeat of mother earth
Swaying me slowly in a sleep…

… dreaming of a green man …

I don't know what got me into
this shady old bar
though first I wanted not to
but door was invitingly ajar.

I went through a cloud of smoke
to an old chair I found my way
my thirst for *** n coke
that's all, nothing more to say.

My love, I will hold you tight
we will sway left and right
but I will be with you whole night
we will dance in heaven tonight

Now I grab the humble fry
while you empty yourself into me
far behind the past died with a cry
and I invoke fresh thoughts for us to see.

A hawk is hatched

in the harlequin hush

inside the walls of library books

in their incendiary shelves

incline

invitingly

in carnal stories

in words that leave us billowing smoke

in scenes of innuendo...



A bird of prey in flight

even in a stationary perch,

he is a glorious sight

eyes full of limpid thoughts, & search,

levitating litany

like taboo

thrown across the room

questions and detours

from his gaze

uphoric pheremonal *****...



My ***** is

in a penury of vigor,

my skin / proving red-rushed

weaknesses

for just his adonis sight

for just one fantasy night...



The humid walls,

with their olden and unbiased

silences

attend my quickened qualms

attend my entirety of suddenly

needing

to be caught in his talons' violences

craving

to be the meal ~ in a hawk's sight,

flesh ripped in lushious strips

to be inside his mouth,

to feel

my digestion...



We match growling stares,

feel the quicksilver pulse,

hesitation and realization

the super nova flares

heating my middle,

hardening my fiddle

creating new sensations

and worlds of wicked inflections

a warm nest

to rest, after the S

                         E

                         X...



A nervous breath,

as he stands

abducting his hardbound knowledge

odyssies in exquisite arms

a twinkle in his *******-brown eyes

a pause, for crumbs to be sprinkled

on the path to reprise,

a piece of paper with a numeric surpise;

a name:

"ANGEL" flashing collegiate goods,

an endangered understanding

a naughty smile--a young mouth,

and i am a V-formation

heading for warmer south...



A hawk is hatched

from the harlequin hush

of the Flamingo Library,

i am ready

to fly beyond loneliness and February,

catch urgency's godspeed to Angel

in the tradewinds of our testosterone

his invitation scribbled on a corner piece of notes

i am guessing / i'm in control

i am the words unspoken

in these pages, in dusty scrolls

in the volumes on the walls

our endangered understanding


If he is there and nothing's there...

still must follow my volcanic hopes meandering

so to speak that entangling

his and mine / tongue...


how like a hawk in Spring

i am sprung...


(and understanding
how endangered I become)

Walking down a hall of splendor,
simplicity smiles from the edges fragilely.
My eyes are enchanted by empty hearts,
gliding to transform their fates,
aflame in all their need.

Closing in are hands from years
falling through the comforts, I know nothing of.
Quickly clouding my field of vision,
I see what I cannot dream of ever promising
in any sound of love.

Fires burn and invitingly wake me
to stand visible to all aching hearts.
Yet I cannot see what they seek to win.
Until, I find I am burning in these halls of splendor
crying with no beginning and no end.

I set out to write all that I am
and found in time I had penned a tale
that left footprints on the souls
of those who had looked into the flickering fire
of my heart, thinking they knew me well.

On my window sill, perched is a winged being
Unhappy to be sharing space with another form of life
Perplexed as I am, at what my next move might be -
Like it, I do not know what it is like to be bereft of being.


They say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder -
So I behold, and obscurity I see
Chaos and rivalry makes me cringe in my space
Hiding from circles – invitingly tainted.


Yet beauty I had seen amidst the chaotic life
Life – a symphony orchestrated at his free will
Though some notes were beyond my taste
I try to nod along, as if imbibing its grace.


My palms capture the monsoon after the blazing summer
Dark skies are torn open by the mighty thunders
It mellows down, pouring in as cold welcome showers
For halting hectic lives, it also makes some scream.


The earthy fragrance which follows induces in me – sleep
And paves its way smoothly within my tired frame – deep
I see myself relax, though my silence loud-ens
Embracing my soul it blocks out even seldom words that peep.


My life, a duet, maybe composed by time
But sung by me – and I hadn’t followed the rhymes
I tweaked a few tones, I’ve upset the hymn
Wrongly pitched a few notes - maybe missed a few lines!


A silent sigh somehow escapes my pursed lips
As the hurt which instilled it, eats into my will
Though I know I had tried to face it like a man -
I had never run away nor brought about any harm.


I hold no account for the countless days, bygone
Nor try to justify reckless moments, the past has now worn.
I know I have had my razing revenges – few
But I also know I have stood up for all my deeds, lewd.


I have created many bonds for my kids to take along
And broken a few too, for which into pillows I have sobbed
I may not have lived life, the way it was meant to be –
But I know I have lived it true, so now I recede!

This blank sheet on my screen,
Just waits there patiently.
Stays invitingly,
Urging me to write something.
My heart is a wanderer,
It imagines a lot.


But when I sit back to write,
My mind is nothing but white.

I wonder what to type,
About the stars,
Or my life.
Maybe about the last book I read,
Or the question which was spinning my head!

In the mean time,
My heart has taken off,
To some place I want to be mine.
I think about the beautiful hills,
The lakes and houses,
In a small countryside,
Where I would like to reside.
Living a life,
In which I have plenty of ‘me’ time,
Where I can just gaze at the sky,
And dream to fly.
I want to run in the meadows,
Just lie down under a tree,
Doing nothing,
But admiring;
Nature and its wonders.
                                                        ­                
The sun not bright,
Just some soothing light,
With a small pond nearby,
In the grass, I lie.
Looking up I see the clouds,
Covering the sky,
Not so high.


I want to reach those clouds,
I want to hold them in my hands,
In the cool breeze,
(Of) Where I stand.


I want to be on the beaches,
See that golden sand,
Watching the sun go down,
With coconut in my hand!
Then, the stars would come out,
Shining at me,
As if all pointing me out.

I want to travel,
And travel a lot.
I shall write,
About that whole lot.
About those breathtaking scenes,
And beaches and greens.
The places I see,
The people I meet.

Living life is all about happiness,
And seeking the same,
Even in things that are bad.
Just never stop dreaming,
Expressing, and fulfilling,
Keep your eyes open,
Cling to perseverance,
Keep that fire of life
Alive,
Don’t ever let your heart die.
The best part is still to come,
Watching the dreams you have had,
And seeing them come true!

~for Jill~

“from your messages”
elsewhere scribed, a
confession that your comments
be challenges like cool
well water drawn, a
fresh mix and minx,
a two flavored scoop
on a waffle (or sugar) cone,
mmm call mine, flavors of
inspiration and aspirations

it’s 2:46am, one would think
that a deadrose would know
better behavior, but up is up,
and down down down-come
tumbling words, as usual,
each screeching hoarsely

“pick me, pick me!”

uncover your note of appreciation,
side splitting laugh in shame md shock,
that spellcheck has altered intent,
one day, likely a  cause of a war,
or e v e n a new poem

peddle a rose
became
“pedal a rose,”
invitingly nonsensical,
my point exactly

but the awake-too-late idiot,
can’t stop me now ~ urgency
has mastered my     common
sensibility, thus        commanded
me to write and shine

somewhere nearby,(1)
babies be borning,
and flippers of coins,
old humans too,
be expiring on the
sell-by-date
some surrounded,
all surrendering

Angels sent to
both sides now,
to ferry them
back home,
their adventures
completed or a
preface begun

Oh
for the ferryman
to ferry them
across rivers whistling
hello my darlings,
to a new home,
with a clean
writing tablet
to inscribe their
owned
future or past,
making their case
for a future or a
memorized posterity

I am dancing on the edge
of that first category,
dancing tap before that ——,
unwilling to cross over
and the angel sent
with collection papers,
mine and JoeBideen,
can’t touch us yet,
while in the middle
of our latest composition
(ya didn’t know?)

where in the world
has this to do with
pedaling roses?

the angels offer enticements,
write like the great ones,
sit at the feet of Leonard & Sylvia,
get introduced to the author of
“Leaves of Grass,”

who will amend and correct
(using spellcheck)
your own new scriptures

for rules From Above,
are carefully careless,
and don’t care about
impossibility so
leap with me,
onto a bicycle of roses,
each pedal a petal,
each tire of  woven stems,

our destination is
everywhere, our purpose
to bring scent to those
who still have need to
breathe, and those’d who have
ceased
being needy
forever

filling nostrils
with colors of roses,
and finding poems
on the floor, full writ,
purposely scribbled
and scripted for just
a jilly one,
(just like
this
one)

just lacking a title,
just lacking a name,
customed for a single
customer, now a custodian
of a new born baby
poem
ready to be fedex’d
to its new owner
and deposited in
the this bank here,
right here

so thank you for
revealing my
inadvertent typo,
and aiding in my
quest to bring it to
a new life,
but must petal on,
for new babies are
being born and need
wrapping in a
a bed of white petals,
fresh happily donated from
living roses!

3:19am

The air trembles
over the rough tingling skin
of my simple lips
The world around
cold
gray
thick and wet like the dewy morning grass
Eyes caught up in one in another
Raw knuckles brushing
against loose shirts
The pads of your fingers
Swirled and soft
The cotton stretches overhead
And whispers float away
on our small smiles
in September days
We curl around each other
Bodies mapping out the movements
Subconsciously preparing for the moment of contact
Jeans await anxiously to meet
Your voice doesn't fall out of your mouth
It streams, steady, sturdy, without question
My shoulders open and welcome
Teeth gazing invitingly
This thrumming doesn't stay contained
It moves throughout my limbs, my core.
You light me
You lift me
Even if it's only a little.
Even if it's only this.
I could play in this negative space happily
Until the time comes to move on.

I tasted your lips in a sip of that coffee
Bittersweet, strong though it calmed me
You are the aphrodisiac that dug through
my subtlety
Awaking me with your aroma invitingly

I'd take another cup of you, be drunk on
wakefulness
Collide in our own magical listlessness
You burn my tongue, twist me in a mess
My love, my love your love does impress

Often times when reading the messages
poets metaphor in rhyme,
in reason and allusions and imagery

they say the same thing--as if they all of 'em took
a class together on love

they say "love is relative..."

relative to what?
to whom or how or when?
like a family member twice removed,
an aunt, a grandmother's warm smiling
invitingly familial

be it an impromtu emotion, described grandios
and Hollywood acclaimed,
love seems
     obscure
     demure
     fickle at times
     wishful
     blissful
     fervent even
     magically
     restless
     with its deliciousness
on and on so it goes / without saying too  much
how it will breathe
new life into those
     lackluster
those without
yet are
     consumed
     hollow

those without hope, suddenly are given it
     anew
vivid energy miraculously appears,
HD the world is seen / absolute brightness
faultless and star-filled
     clear

Yet it well can cause
our worst of fears
of wars / casualties / gruesome endings
   tragedies
   :a movie
with Shakespearean poetic pain,
the pentameter of the mortal heart
   sonnets of our human condition
   :a documentary
   of life

   conflicted
it is a cause many have and will bleed
for, some even die for,
searching and reaching out
whether in vain
or suffering in the pain find
awakenings

that's what it's all about ...


it is relative, to what or why
in life,
     pragmatic,
     fractal
human feelings reign -  yet a populace
of loneliness, millions of neighbors
never extend an open hand or invitation
so love can be difficult to find

in the sea of man, of many of a world separated
it strikes like lighning, they cliche
     quick
     unannounced
     unstable
it happens without warning, cupid's arrow
hits, discriptively it must be a wound..?

yes / yet no / unknown

it has begun: an end
to a means - a chemical thing
(hypothesized
in scientific circles,
I guess
just one of those undefined unexplainables)

like crop circles
in the wheat fields of the heart it is
sometimes
unpredictably appears
     obscene
     wild
     flavorful
     rigid
     rarely
     mean
     spirited
     ferocity
at times...
all the while

in nature's law of strength versus luck,
small prey to a predator : eat or be consumed,
love is not recognized (or is it? by the animal)

mate and procreate in their simplest terms.
Does a shark check out it's female before it decides
to release his *****--take it on a date, a swim in the riptides?
a bite of sushi first?

Empress bees and others with their queen-ruled colonies
birth a world from one,
does she feel the same for her thousands of husbands
fathers of her millions of children spawned?

love is relative... love is blind
another descriptive falacy
invented by folk without husband or wife or vision
nor same-*** partners : it is universally
known in these modern communities
of man-made homes
and tomes ... blind ... as if like a person, the word
unable to see,
inept of decisions, making a finale,

who will stay by the miens of our simplicity
flesh and feelings
     silent servants
     beguiling
     hidden
     treasure

Now imagine lightning striking
     suddenly
     real
     unabashed
     fulfilling
     electrifying
     sensual  
     salivating

far beyond restrictions of the flesh/ ***
past times and her finite
musings, they say it will go on and on

"forev'a ev'a? forev'a ev'ah"

so does the song repeatedly plays
so i say, as long as we are

still the masters of this life's age, kings of consciousness,
of intelligence and rage
Love tho'

     fleeting
     whispy
     liked
     quenching
     lessons-learned
aloft in flight
Love
will stay  
and as witnesses to war
or after : in peaceful days,

O the one true thing
I have seen of love's relativity:
love is relative to humans
and our
being
whether blind or whether seeing

(it's yours and ours  
heavenly
          seeking) ...







Free of will & full of meaning
Love is the truth
All Life is feeling...

There is
the open book

her inquisitive look
the way

with one stockinged leg
hanging over

the arm
of the chair

the centre parted
wavy dark hair

and he sitting
across from her

at the writing desk
writing to his mother

saying how good
he was being

all alone in Paris
reading the books

she’d sent
paying his way

paying the rent
eating out

working in
getting

the studying done
leaving the girls alone

no late nights
no *****

no cigarettes
no sadness

or regrets
and looking up

from the letter paper
seeing her opposite

with his book
open on her lap

her black
laddered stockings

the way she sits
invitingly

him smiling
dotting the i’s

and crossing
the t’s

periods at the end
whispering

to the dame
be there soon

kisses on the bottom
of the letter

for mother
and the dame’s

(bottom)
maybe later

letting the ink dry
imaging what

beneath
the dame’s dress

and underclothes
may wait

and his
deep sigh.

Hold your breath, it’s Friday!

From the North, East and West they all meet up here
And I have no options to make this sign
In the name of the father, Son and the Holy Spirit
Saucy lines strictly seasoned for hungry insatiable eyes
I accept my fate reluctantly, poor soul but they are here

Freshly baked brown bare thighs exhibited invitingly
Chocolate and light skins served chilled but with pepper
And this is Kampala, on this Friday, just hold your breath
Weapons of Mass destruction paraded on hefty chests
Smeared with scented oils suspended in visible bright colour bras

I hear them whispering faint nothings littering this city with their beauty
Hot painted lips on ever glowing pretty faces
Hold your breath brother, if you have any left!
For we can run but we can’t escape, this is Kampala on Friday
Saturday they all migrate to the lake scores of Entebbe
Parading leisurely their derriere ever bikini clad
But we still meet with them for our Sunday services
At Calvary, Watoto, All Saints etc. with hands raised to the Almighty God

And I humbly watch, perhaps lazily, perhaps keenly, God have mercy
Perfect curves in ever tight pieces of clothes, nails vanished, legs waxed
Hair held back in all variety of styles, God invented Hair!
All kinds of heavenly perfumes from the most expensive brands
High heels, shining, bright and neatly designed, they really hate gravity
Contours past the River Nile, artist’s hand find it to paint
Any one would think there is a scarcity of underwear in Kampala
But we love it still, the bliss, the warmth, and the glamour of Kampala
So my good brother, Hold your breath this is Friday

©Ronald K Ssekajja 2014

You're a house in a field blanketed in snow
Your doors are locked and windows are closed
The chimney takes foggy breaths,
Drawn by your fireplace, fervently ablaze
I can almost feel the glow
emanating from your windows
How they look at me,
so enticingly, invitingly, I could almost mistake it as lovingly.
But I am forced to stay, deeply rooted into crystals of cold
Although your doors will never open for me.
I am incessantly yearning
for your warmth.

an orange sat contentedly
or so it seemed to a quick eye
its skin glowed invitingly
reflected table top sheen
only to bring a belated sigh
when all at once it rolled
and rushed and crashed
on a cold polished marble floor

Whispering waves call
invitingly, not caring
if I sink or swim.

(3) Fantasies
(A Friday Night ****)**

#1
The first time I saw her,
she looked and smelled
like something good to eat-
wild and exotic
with a curry’d twist;
but I haven’t been hungry
in quite a while.
Still, it was humorous
to have alive thoughts again.
After all,
she is Spring’s rain
and raging rivers.
While I am hard earth,
barren trees
and Winter’s snow.
It brought to mind
the UB40 song and words:
“Breakfast in bed,
kisses for me, you don’t
have to say you love...”
_

#2
Her skin was the color of chocolate
with coconut swirls;
she smelled like rain
on a cool Spring day
after the Magnolias have come alive.
I did my best
to act like a human being
and not stare;
but when she sat down besides be,
I couldn’t help but smile.
_
#3
(10 W)
Hummingbirds entice her
flower nectar; she opens her
petals invitingly.

Aztec Warrior/redzone 6.1.16

For some it’s a teddy, a Hotwheel, a dumptruck,
But not Doug, instead he gave lashings and then ******.

I knew not to holler lest Doug lose his focus,
Grasping my collar, he shrieked, “Hocus pocus!”

After Doug’s very first drink he’d soon have a *******,
Then that sinister wink, I knew I was far gone.

Exhausted from ****** my nubile ***, on the couch Doug laid
And then out he passed. I was no longer afraid.

The weekend ere last, after ******* Doug’s ****,
He’d showed me his bolt cutters cut through a lock.

How many times had I undressed ol’ Doug?
His **** were like limes, his chest like a rug.

Sleeping upright, legs invitingly spread,
Soul black as the night, I began to see red.

O, but the sound! Like scissors through steak,
Doug writhed all around, eyes seeming to quake.

After rising, I followed the crimson trail,
As if suddenly hollowed, gravity prevailed.

Wrists sore as my ***, mouth tasting metallic,
Bound like a lass, their faces utterly pallid.

Waddling down the hall, I was greeted with whistles,
“Give me a call!” Words coarser than bristles.

From the infirmary I write, and prone I must lay,
For Jerome likes ‘em white, as do Randy and Ray.