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bones Nov 2016
On the first hour of my first day
in the front trench I fell;

'Get up,' bawled Sergeant Major,
'and stand eye to eye with hell,

and look ye on the plucky dead
whose chests swell out with pride';

but t'was the rats that swelled them
as they plucked them from inside..
I wondered if I borrowed a line of poetry whether words of my own might follow after, the borrowed line is Mr Kipling's, from Epitaphs of the war 1914-1918..
Rama Krsna Aug 2019
atop
that golden haystack
mounted on an unwieldy bullock cart
you wished we had......

a regret of a million lifetimes!

every time
your plucky smile flashes
in the sacred space between brows,
i see a wish fulfilling acacia tree
nymphalid butterflies flutter in my gut
and rapid clips of lifetimes past
neatly edited,
projected as movie trailers

your deathlike silence
has quietly become my universe,
as i pen in moon-like solitude
memoirs of an unrequited love

© 2019
Dedicated to all those who’ve loved, failed and venture to retry.
Loameo, Decomposeo, Scaremoleo, Romeo RIP.
A sazhen deep l/ a kulak, kozy.
Down here, hic jacet Jared, or some other
hick l/  me, face it. Grauballe greenhorn's chia
pet ***** moss my roof, arbuscules anagenic.
Ignomio in nightsoil, netty Chthonically kerbkicked.

Dirt heart of dark heath, a daft felodese.
What did my dark daffodil periscopes see?
A merry widow that reneged midway on the pact.
Ethereal barefootedness on my deadman's doormat.
No Elysian toejam on  brazen untumbling Jill.
Julie Judas, whose stayed hand waives a ne'erdofarewell.

Her sweetheart leprous w/ wet weapon seepage
of winterstices. Yellow leather thews fuel spoilage,
foison of the fomes my former foison bequeathed
to Nitrogen's garden, gravestrewn global glebe.
My mournedover mould, from my Morlock Tafilafet,
sprighettis dustland & brushbowl, on rebound from Juliette.

Waldeinsamkeit my plight, but a lil' lower
down I floundirt. The dead autistic as the flower,
that strains past the compost of my final
season of gas & mellow fertilicer, mortal fruitful
-ness, l/ that ribburst Deianira
(her freewill blackball, plucky gibbous bloodpear).

W/ that valiant apple, Apple Lily unravelled
zombie Eden. Julie-Eve  d'aujourd' hui resiled
tho'. Thus alone I fell thru this mortuary
orchard,  l/ a worm thru stewed apple, to dormitories
of mouldwarps. Atop my catabolism,
postapocalyptic allotments! No voar for alyssum,

not even upon the fullblown Ides. Her betrayal
harvest has the ecology gross w/ her turned tail's
martyr. Putridly, I pullulate a larval *******
of laurel bandages, Avalon Mole by recycling carnage
of some Pomona Braithwaite int'a Seamus Heaney
Swamp Thing sludge loved. Spleen spores, organic bicne.

Infusorians party in my tears. An epic lettuce
gloats where cartilaginous flap over my glottis
fingered stops of pickup artistry after Petrarch. A
backtracking princess of dwales, to Proserpina Harker
ceded me.  Bride of all corpses, bog queen boss of bosses
cannibalised Loameo, ironically, for locus amoenus.
Ashley Kaye Jul 2019
Love to me has come to be
a garden party
Where passing the sugar
is philanthropy
Where summer has come
and gone
again
again
Men passing like plucky clouds
on those days of sun to be spent
Flatter yourself dear. Surely you are more than
This.
...

You shall not. I am my own entity.
July 10, 2019

— The End —