the scream come from daffodils and parchment wrapped around dead fish
and demi-loaves of lunacy at new moon
succulent remedies to what not
and whatever... you remain altogether opulent in your nonchalance
whatever you wanted is dust; but you're not in France
you're maimed in false lies
of the ripple...
you're the noose garnet
swinging from the harpy's tongue
an impolite brigand
in the hate place
of your
miff.

and for what ?

So
Wilt thou
Let the cold storms
Maul me for our miff?

And
Wilt thou
Watch me drown
In thy angered roaring waves
Of love,for my frailty?

But
What wilt thou
Do,when thine anger
Is hence,and see my corpse
Couching in the cabins
Of these vitriolic waters
With my crust pare?

The
Pox I plagued
On thy heart,I plead
And for mine equally

I
Am a man
But a slave
In the grisps
Of the dim-light of jealousy
And I laboureth its whims absurdly
Day in,and day out
When my sight
Clutch them,hovering around thee

I
Love thee more than more
And it maketh me jealous
Am so, so jealous
I want thee for mine own
Just mine only

Yet
I know not
How to stack thee
Nor idolize thee wholly
This is my frailty,and I know

But I plead thee
leave me not
like a rose
rolling on the boulevards


Jealous
©Historian E.Lexano

So
Wilt thou
Let the cold storms
Maul me for our miff?

And
Wilt thou
Watch me drown
In thy angered roaring waves
Of love,for my frailty?

But
What wilt thou
Do,when thine anger
Is hence,and see my corpse
Couching in the cabins
Of these vitriolic waters
With my crust pare?

The
Pox I plagued
On thy heart,I plead
And for mine equally

I
Am a man
But a slave
In the grisps
Of the dim-light of jealousy
And I laboureth its whims absurdly
Day in,and day out
When my sight
Clutch them,hovering around thee

I
Love thee more than more
And it maketh me jealous
Am jealous,am so so jealous
I want thee for mine own
Just mine only

Yet
I know not
How to stack thee
Nor idolize thee wholly
This is my frailty,and I know

But
I plead thee
Leave not me alone
Like a falling rose
Rolling on the boulevards


Jealous
©Historian E.Lexano

Gratifying amnesia comes over
How easy to slip into devoid
Weren't we once friends Mr. Freud?
Tickled pink hysteria which drove her
Days laid in, loved in, ****** red clover

Crazy is as crazy does, only eye of beholder
How might we look past, see forward?
Without channeling her inner Ms. Crawford
I'm a miff and can only shrug shoulder
For I love her still, but laugh just the bolder

Clearly no clarity to lovelorn situation
How forsaken feels much dejection
Not knowing how or why such selection
So I accept my due eternal damnation
But by hell will I accept crimson castration

Clover in bloom, once again, awaits

Don't waste your life
They say
It's such a gift
let's waste mine instead
how should I say
Gosh
there is bunch of miff
drink a wine
and enjoy my days
don't be depressed
see me abandoned,
here,
in the middle of ways....

I Am So Grateful [Anybody Reads This Stuff]



I am so grateful anybody reads this stuff.

Exasperated that most others don’t.

And even with an inner miff

I carry on, pushed by an inner drift,

(some would add an inner gift)

Ambition not my motivation.



A brainstorm popping from wherever popping up pops up from.

You will recall it’s happened to you all;

You know, thoughts over which you’d no control.

And yet you thought them, acted out on

Drives beyond what’s called

Free will.



So, am I grateful or detached?

Dispassionate, disinterested, crosshatched?

Standing alone from strength

Yet obstinate from weakness’ lack of confidence.

I’m sure of this:  the length

Of life that’s left to me,

I will persist in poetry.

(One must

When it lies in the guts)

Tampering with syntax, spelling, yummy slang,

Choice aesthetics in good taste/

Choices ****** and a waste;

Writing with a rhythmic sense,

Caring very much for tense,

But not for meters recherché;

I, utmost mystic and most earthy:

Quelle dichotomy!

Hypocrisy?  No, contrast only!



I am grateful for and to the one

That read Ms Corwin.



I Am So Grateful 11.14.2017

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; I Is Always We Is You;

Arlene Corwin

I shift

endless transmutations
infected with miff

subtle causings
ceasing in nothingness

directing
my oblivious being
towards
the inevitable
void

We exist within the four dimensions

But truly live within the fifth

Everymind's a'whirl in it's own world of myth

Circles around circles around moments that we miss

While the trials of the porcupine lead many a'miff

To both want and want not; to flaunt meaning mixed


And yet...


I'd like to hold you closer, in spite of the ******

Be not deceived by the 'I', but take delight in it's tricks

Repeat that line till it sticks

And chase that spine to the Styx

It's a long, slow slide inside Ganesha and Nyx

And it's an, often, low ride from our cribs to our crypts