Peace! God’s Peace upon you all! The Bishop blessed
The dyed-young congregation: dyed fathers ‘n mothers,
Grandpas ‘n grannies, great-grandpas and great-grannies.
The demons of decadence--Hair dye, ****** and Spirits –
Chuckled and giggled, crouching well under the pulpit.

Dyed gurus ‘n financiers, dyed lawyers, doctors n’ nurses,
****** entrepreneurs and ****** entertainers, dyed judges
Dyed ‘n spirited evangelists, priests and vergers on ******
Peace be upon thee all! Blessed the Bishop from the pulpit.
Now, the demons in the hiding iterated and reiterated it.

A Sunday spirited chat—all smiles! -- in the church portico:
The ******-dyed banker in later life smiled a dyed smile
At the elderly dyed mother of three; and she said: they say,
In spite of my age, you know, I look so young and pretty!
And the thick flanks under her chin jiggled in approbation.

The ****** great-grandpa said to the dyed Justice of spirits:
Milord, they say: “The stuff brings cancer;” Fools! Idiots!
“The gloves—the ******-like device—that’s our safety!”
“Milord! This trinity wizard, they bring a million crores
To the exchequer of this famished democracy, milord!”

“Milord! The nature lovers say, we wash billions of bottles
Of these magic stuffs into their rivers and the seas, milord!”
“They say we all-- dyed ****** men-- are sissies and doofuses!”
“Milord! Our tubby women dye young, lest they’d be labelled
Mammy, Granny, Grandma, Old Granny, the decrepit ‘n that!

Now, the dyed media reported: father mated with his daughter,
Mother with a teenager, grandpa with an infant; and Ministers,
MLAs, MPs—all spirits-******-dyed-- are in a ******* spree!
Now the Dark Trinity cried “Wow! In this world of ******,
The Kingdom, the Power and the Glory--all are ours! Amen!

You shall bleed!

No Milord, please

You shall harm yourself!

No Milord, please

You shall love the one who does not reciprocate!

No!!! I beg you Milord, no! Don't do this to me!

You shall suffer!
You shall suffer!
You shall suffer!
Till death comes for you!

Y-yes Milord

The God of War sat upon his throne
In a wing of the Olympus palace
Under the sun his bloodied-eyes shone
Setting atremble his servants, Discord and Malice.

The wars below, as he viewed
Were hard fought and stalemates, it seemed
He sighed and spat, quite bemused
Why could no winner be deemed?

His bed of flesh from enemies gone
He rested within its dermal folds
The howl of the dying, singing its song
As Apollo’s chariot grew far and cold.

The roaring clamor of vicious scandal
Woke him from a bloodlight dream
And he looked below at victim and vandal
Appalled at the disastrous scene.

And Now, with Eos rise to morn
As the dew mixed with blood and sweat
Discord arrived to comfort her lord
Her company he did not regret.

“You have seen my battles
Look now below and explain
Mankind has become brainless as cattle
Look how they are, vile and maimed,”

“Milord, I see,” she spoke with grace
And her eyes did glint with fire
“Perhaps if you showed another face
The battle would be what you desire.”

And though her words were softly spoken
The answer they did present
And Great God Mars felt, at once, heartbroken
A message had to be sent.

Mercury, the winged messenger
With winged sandals and helmet
Arrived to be the harbinger
And was told to fly beyond the sunset.

“Beyond the sun and stars
There is a palace where a woman sits
Tell her that our Lord, God Mars
Invites her here, if she permits.”

Discord and Malice saw him off
And sweet Hermes, how he did fly
For the sound of war was not far-off
And nightly he heard people die.

The palace beyond the heavenly sky
Was one of silky web and silver
And within its courtyards did lie
A splendid woman that made him quiver.

This woman was Lady Nike
The very Goddess of Victory
Sister to Strength, Force and Rivalry
Who had fought the Titans in day old Glory.

The fair-ankled Nike heard the message
And smiled a fair, rosey smile
“Tell your lord that if he has the courage
to come and woo me here in my exile.”

When Ares heard this, he maddened with rage
and tore through Olympus with sword
and threw rocks down on the world stage
and sent hiding the servants, Malice and Discord.

Soon after saw Mars chariot race
Flying twice the pace of the sun
passing Mycenae and Athens face
to where the wooing would be done.

Aphrodite flew at his side
“God of War you’ll need  Beauty to aid
in wooing the Victory that hides away.”
The God of War grew weary and sore
and by the time he arrived at Nike’s door
his mood had taken a turn for the worse
and he muttered colorful curse.

Lady Nike was patiently waiting
For Victory is always calm
Her soft white dress billowing, baiting
An almond blossom in her palm.

At first Ares was rough and coarse
And Aphrodite grew red in the face
Seizing the reins, she stole his horse
While Nike kept him engaged.

The Goddess of Victory never made answer
Her voice quietly humming to the bloom
And though Ares voice cut like a cleaver
She paid it no heed, fearing no doom.

Ares grew tired and finally rested
Beneath her feet as she sat on the wall
Victory obviously had him bested
This had been a fruitless call.

Finally, Nike climbed down to join him
Her dark hair loosed from its plates
And in the dawns coming, the darkness dimmed
And she motioned beyond her gates.

The battle below was louder still here
And Nike gave him a glance and frowned
“Every night I listen and shed my tears
for no victory can be achieved on this ground.”

At hearing her voice and seeing some hope
Ares let a rough smile play on his lips
Finally she was going to put things in scope
But rather, she moved and gave him a kiss.

“Lie with me and perhaps...”and silence then
Ares agreed and the two made a retreat
And there, in her palace, deep within
Blazed a terrible and passionate heat.

When Ares awoke in the middle of the next day
He found Nike gone from her home
Cold and angry he rose, intent to be on his way
but Goddess Aphrodite had left him stranded, alone.

But then he heard the softest sigh
the sound of a babies voice
and stealing to the sea, there Nike lie
holding the prize of his choice.

Within her arms was the smallest of creations
A child so pale, so weak it might barely survive
But there was Nike, crowning it with starry carnations
Sure, it seemed, that the babe would stay alive.

“This is my daughter and yours”
said Nike of this newborn miracle
And slowly stepped forward the God Mars
And took the child, his rough hands careful.

“Her name is Ireni, Goddess of Peace
she will bring calm to the wars below
and be the most coveted in all of Greece
hair dark eyes brilliant, skin as snow.”

Nike smiled her wise smile and stood
Holding Ireni as gentle and kind as the child
A silence spread under evenings hood
the ****** scene turned serene and mild.

And though Victory was not claimed
The battles ended for the stress and fear
And from nights cloak, Ireni’s tears rained
wiping the blood and sweat and violence clear.

And peace remained upon the land
Until the great War of Troy
When Aphrodite and Zeus would play their hand
With fair Helen their devious ploy....

Did you behold my form Milady?
then, well you know
the intensity of these coal black pupils
that flame with inner fire
or look away
and claim victory,
smiling memories
whispered sighs
moving ever onward
exploring
mastering all their ways
my hour approaches
grinning broadly
teeth clinched
to step forth
clothed in shadow

yes, indeed, Milord,

I couldn't advert thy eyes;
from the vestiges of
your smile, such memories
leaves traces of love
forever in my heart;
as each glimpse beckons
a taste from your sweet
mouth, fore, our hour
has arrived, casting
warmth within
bodies entwined;
languishing in light
of morn

by the light of the blue moon;
I made love to you,
amazons naked between earth and sun;
the only way left, the only position never tried
and we went together,
to a place of ancient curses
and secret runes
an island
in the sun

fore, which, I cradled you against
thy breast, whispering liltingly
of your tenderest touch
teasing thy entirety
as each breath upon
me raises every cilium
in ecstatic bliss
sealing our hunger
as lips and
tongues french kiss

and kiss to kiss return
hungry to taste this moment
from thy lips such sweet nectar
awakens in me a deep burning lust
to consume and be consumed, fore,
in some cataclysmic consummation ******
encompassing want

translucent you become
your hands a shimmering touch
your breast as crystal goblets glow
when cradled in each hand
your lips of wine quench my thirst
but kindle my own fire
my skin in fire itself erupts
and melts my heart's desire
a transformation has begun
this path the only key
to hot torrid love that
all the same erupts in fire

igniting in thee flames
of thy lust burning
with excitement as lips
touch upon sweetness
of thy petals blooming
accepting nibbling nips
to sepals quiver in want
of feeling bedewed
mouthing, sipping
its nectar as a bee
hovers ripened blossoms
as thy thirst quenches
in inebriation of honey

makes me wanton to taste
the salty taste of your
******* and the trail of
our love down to your navel,
then your thighs, as my
hand is damp with your essence
sliding gently up your inner thigh,
my beard becomes a
thousand sparks of
power on your petals bud,
your lips slide easily open
to my fingertips,
my tongue swims deep inside ~

within our throes of passion
you've fulfilled thy hunger;
I pant and gasp clinging to our
pleasurable ride, as in thy delirium,
you cuddle me within your embrace
still loving me from neck to waist
at a hungered pace; entwining
again in haste

I kiss your neck, your throat your lips
as my manhood ease within lotus petals
sipping sweet nectar covering him with
dewy freshness and your lips suckle mine;
thine own nectar on thy tongue doth grace
deliciously; pushing shoulders downward
I feed upon you thus, fueling our lust all night

within your gift of pleasure; thy body
shivers from each tentative touch so, soft
light, re-igniting deeply with each
******; manhood feeds thy lotus
thou nectar, fore, in thou wetness
I cryingly moan appetitively in succor;
as thy hands roam, thy lips find
thine deepest desire of want

as thy mushroom flares it's gills;
I'm filled with rushing sensations
all wetness I welcome, slide in
passions gush to meet
stroke for stroke, tongues
fight greedily, ******* taunt
stretched to limits of erectness;
screaming for pain, squeezing
hard between thumb and finger,
between lips and teeth;
lotus awash with rhythms that
cling to thy arms like boughs of oak
in trembling waves we crash against
rocky shores

blushing in sweet-sounding joy...

thus, satiated...

Last evening  Adam came to me and said:
Listen, Dorian, let’s lay it on the table. In my garden
I have a house. It is yours, for free. All you have to do is
take care of the garden: cut the grass, get rid of the weeds,
Water the flowers, feed the wolves…whatever…pick up the leaves,
Maybe do a bit of to sweeping…ok?

I looked Adam into the eyes, I watched the way
he moved his bunch of keys, the way he had shaved his beard above the upper lip
and his snake leather trousers, his shoes.
And I said: Yes! With a hand on my hip and the other over my eye

Then Adam got into his car, opened the gates of paradise with the remote control
And I was left alone. I fell to my knees,
On the alley with snails and lemons,
Then I started to pull the weeds with my bare hands.

The sun was shining on my back, rather hard,
But I, charged
With bottles of water, was stronger than him.
Innocently, I set my mobile to play Mozart
And the butterflies hit my chest like a powerful love

The garden was flourishing under my hands. Even the sun was fawning under my knees
And the wolves were eating flower seeds and grass form my hands.
Then she passed, dragging by her bare feet a marble cross.
I ran and picked up the cross, until I managed to throw it over the wall.
She looked at me and said:
Glad to meet you. What is your name? I’m Marianne.
Then she went indoors, with a bag of snakes, in her arms.

Many years I worked at that garden. But Adam never came home.
(At times, from the house, I hear noises, scratching and cooing)
Sometimes, even in my sleep I hear his voice calling me:
Dorian, Dorian, where are you?
I am here milord…here I am.
What did you do?
Nothing, nothing at all..
Dorian, I have a house in my garden. Did I tell you?
Yes, Sir, you did…
And did I agree?
Yes, we both did.

Then, I see him darkening, opening the car door and getting in smiling

Fable XVII, Livre II.


À qui diable en veut cet Anglais ?
Il sort du lit avant l'aurore,
Laisse dormir sa femme, éveille ses valets,
Et court déjà les champs qu'il n'est pas jour encore.
Le silence a fui **** des bois ;
Comme ceux des murs où nous sommes,
Leur écho redit à la fois
Les jurements, les cris, les voix
Des chiens, des chevaux et des hommes.
Mais quoi ! le limier est lâché ;
Sur ses pas, en hurlant, le chien courant détale :
La queue en l'air, le nez à la terre attaché,
Des bassets suit la meute intrépide et bancale.
Un commun espoir les soutient.
On trotte, on court, on va, l'on vient ;
On se rejoint, on se sépare ;
On presse, on retient son essor,
Au gré des sons bruyants du cor,
Au caprice de la fanfare.
Point de repos : bêtes et gens,
À qui mieux mieux chacun s'excite.
Mais tombe enfin qui va si vite ;
Tout l'équipage est sur les dents.
Couvert d'écume et de fumée,
Le coursier du maître est rendu ;
Plus d'un chien haletant sur l'herbe est étendu,
Et de sa gueule en feu pend sa langue enflammée.
Milord, qui de chemise a besoin de changer,
Et lentement chez soi retourne à la nuit noire,
À passé le jour sans manger,
Et, qui pis est pour lui, sans boire !
Et pourquoi tant de bruit, tant de soins, tant de mal ?
Pour forcer un triste animal
Qui perd, aussitôt qu'on l'attrape,
Le prix qu'il semble avoir alors qu'il nous échappe ;
Et, **** de nous valoir ce qu'il nous a coûté,
N'offre à l'heureux vainqueur de tous ses stratagèmes,
Qu'un mets auquel deux fois on n'a jamais goûté,
Et dont les chiens à jeun ne veulent pas eux-mêmes !

Toi qui possèdes la grandeur,
Et t'es éreinté sur sa trace,
S'il se peut, parle avec candeur ;
As-tu fait plus heureuse chasse ?

Likened to a wave,

the overhead cloud ringing out
mutterings of daffodils and burps of bees
the land resists, smooth and indefatigable,
persisting tirelessly,

rolls of sharpened grasses
rising up in an unheeded swarm
the breath halts in the chest
like a grand mistress unsheathing her sword,

we siphon off the dregs of courage
bottle out the bravery
there are mountains of battles to fight
and only a mind of resistance tonight.