Poem: Reuben in Wonderland

wonderland.jpg

I.

All day, all day, I hear the blackbird’s song

Within the daffodils and clematis I sit among,

Swinging in the seat on my cabin’s porch,

My Imagination beckons, clutching a torch,

Perceived to be the hardened rays of the sun:

“O leave this handsome refuge – come out, Reuben! –

And follow me over mountains, clumped with pine,

And delight in nature’s jewellery – by faeries’ designed –

Who take life as their canvas, and decadently smother

Everything that lives with all varieties of color,

Until exhausted, they retreat into the cup of a bluebell,

Which rings a peal too pure for human lips to tell;

But perhaps you can follow – follow me – let us sing! –

Put an end to paralysis, and take off on wings,

To enchanted forests – where wildflowers whisper –

In petally idioglossia – O, mistier and mistier!

A language of color sending the listener mad –

And if you should hear it, you should be glad,

For madness is liberation – and liberty – life! –

It’s the stairway to heaven – the pulse-freeing knife,

That lets the orderly drip out in all directions –

Yes, perhaps, violence, wars, and insurrections,

But also improbabilities by logic disallowed,

Let’s lift up those skirts – take off those shrouds –

And sail on clouds of wood anemone, up into space,

Where one can have orgies, yet still remain chaste!

Where blackbirds don’t sing, but utter melodic truths,

And happiness is restored by the same pain it removes!

Yes, consider the birds – they know it all –

Ducklings cascading down Patagonian waterfall,

Partridges – parakeets – larks rising and descending –

Don’t you know your fantasies are never-ending?

Imagination is infinite – life is infinite imagination –

Free-will playing games with pre-destination,

Thought after thought, like linked beads in a necklace,

I’ve told you before: Imagination is endless!

So, come Reuben – follow me – fall into the sky –

You do not need wings to be this impossibly high,

Only a mind most buoyant – eviscerated of dross –

Like that Tsarina of the Sky – The Albatross!

Always sailing in the sky – even sleeping on the wing,

And when its life ends as it did begin

The sky will be its egg with infinite shell,

Hatched out from reality – this miscreate hell –

Into a greater bourn – an incomprehensible splendour –

Like all the works of The Renaissance put in a blender!

With color fertilizing color, cross-breeding realities,

Quantum head-fuckery and surrealist modalities,

Pinwheeling through Elysium in multi-dimensional motions –

(And, if you sail into the sun, you’ll be needing more lotion!) –

Until you settle on a planet, emerald evergreen,

More splendid than anything you’ve ever seen,

And among strange rushes, into stranger water,

I’ll dip in my feet and wonder if Chaucer

Whilst hunched over, writing, At Richard II’s court,

Would take the laws of the universe as his fanciful sport?

But we have ‘The Book of the Duchess’‘The Canterbury Tales’ no less,

To see how keenly this man of tenderness

Could extrapolate from human nature things holy and sublime –

And interweave them with fart jokes without missing a rhyme!

Ah, like me! Like me! A maker of melody!

Who can weep over a poem, or a good cup of tea,

With a bandolier of bad puns, I can span the void,

Whilst ensuring fart putty is still well-employed!

Put a whoopee cushion under God’s Arse – the angels will harp –

Stifling their titters when they hear that world-creating ‘PARP!’

Yes, the world is made from farting – Rabelais could tell you,

With God’s Sperm still soaking in the dampness of mildew!”

II.

Ah, my Imagination’s Wonderlust – will these couplets never cease!

Can we not slow them with treacle – nor clog them with grease?

 But no – like a Queen Termite in perpetual birth,

My Imagination mixes whimsy with sorrow and mirth,

And like a swallow on hearing sweet summer’s spell,

I travel African coasts, o’er Mediterranean hell,

And count myself an explorer, great adventurers among,

Just because I listened to a lone blackbird’s song

 

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Poem: Apologia

rose.jpg

I.

Pain is bred into these walls,

So I walk out alone into the woods,

Where nightmare upon nightmare serry and prance,

All the dourness of death in a deathless dance,

Nightmares with dreams swiftly interchange,

What once seemed pure is quickly deranged,

And once deranged is purified again,

Wings of heaven and hell in the palace of a brain

II.

Come, let us love, and fear no more,

Cast all misunderstandings outside the door,

Pain may be bred into these walls,

But the tormentor becomes life-giver when duty calls,

For as unkind words cruel tongues quickly make,

Thirsty passions just as easily can they slake,

Instruments of pain to pleasure are made,

Stabbed and saved by the self-same blade

III.

Turn not your eyes from me, but pierce mine again,

The intensified eyes of a lioness with a lioness’s mane,

Let your lips find mine – speak only with sensation,

On this hectic journey without a destination,

Words can mislead – but touch speaks the truth,

Turn the next page – do not close the book,

Though my heart now be suspended as on a meathook,

Pleasure gives way to pain – pain to pleasure returns,

And the fire is contained in the same ice it burns

IV.

I cannot pretend that I know you at all,

But I want to know all of you – to walk among your walls,

And, perhaps I have been clumsy in seeking admission,

Made thoughtless mistakes with frightened imprecision;

It was all just to help you – to show you I care –

I want to touch you again – run my fingers through your hair –

Whatever wounds I’ve opened, may I seal them with a kiss,

Fear’s thorns and vulnerability are the gateway to bliss,

I wish only to love – to give you my tenderness –

To inject my soul into each and every caress,

V.

So, please forgive my mistakes – my foolish transgressions,

We can easily work beyond this unhappy dereliction,

The spell of three days should not be unmade in a night,

Even the kindest of lips must give way to fight,

And fight into light, like abyss into sun,

The tiny rippling explosions where the river doth run,

VI.

I’ll treat you like a queen – a flaming princess –

But it’ll take the hearts of two to clean up this mess,

Let me know what to do – how your mercy to move,

What acts of devotion my kindness can prove,

So what is ruptured can be restored with greater strength,

Measure for measure – and length for length –

Heart for heart – and beat for beat –

Bitterness into sweetness – and sweetness – more sweet!

From heaven to hell – and hell to heaven once more –

Though now able to locate the exits and doors!

*

And, as I pray not to lose what I would better know,

I hope for a gentle touch and not a hope-destroying blow

 

Poem: Hymn to Mother Autumn

autumn

I.

Oh, Mother Autumn, enter into our hearts,

And pierce them with the joy of your ecstatic frosts!

Your hair is woven from a net of leaves –

All the mystic colours your season breathes,

Invest us with the might to flow along with change,

As time doth all things rearrange,

As sorrow fades, and blooms into wisdom,

Usher us into the citadel of your burnished kingdom,

Into your faery landscape, charmed, enchanted,

Where the seeds of hope and joy are planted,

As sunset burns, and daylight lessons,

Brighten us with the balm of your blessings,

As The Mother of Ivy binds the forest together,

May neither time nor travail make us sever,

This our loving friendship, enkindled bright,

Roosting in the furnace of every star-filled night,

Oh, Mother Autumn, Mother please!

Paint us all the colours your season breathes

 

II.

Oh, Mother Autumn, Changer of Trees,

Enliven us with your thrilling melodies!

Reveal, oh, the wistful wonder of your workings,

And prepare us for what in the winter is lurking –

Paint us a path – show us the way,

So we can lilt most freely to your tender decay,

With haws on thorns, hazel nuts on bough,

Fructify our thoughts with your ethereal plough!

Fed on fruit of love at this Harvest of Souls,

Help us each attain our inmost goals,

Safe from claw of carrion, or sweep of scythe,

Keep our friendship always alive,

As wheat is reaped, and corn is threshed,

May these souls uplifted be refreshed!

Help warm our nights, and delight our days,

As we wander on our time-torn, winding ways,

Knowing that if heart or head is ever a-muddle,

We can always come together to find peace in a cuddle!

 

III.

Oh, Mother Autumn, come here to us now,

As the winsome robin reclaims his bough,

Shield us from thoughts desolate, and feelings forlorn,

Like the lonesome jay screeching for want of acorns,

Though the birdsong has receded into your chill air,

In our hearts may your symphonies eternal sing there!

With mushroom fruiting on log, in orchestral wood,

We learn e’en cruellest change can deliver kindliest good,

Now summer is gone, and sunlight displaced –

Come to us now – reveal thy face!

Standing by river, or willow-wreathed mere,

Hie to us sprites and spirits of deer!

Though we may feel sadness to see the forests laid bare,

We can rejoice for return of redwing and fieldfare,

And once again, we ask, this union to bless –

This Trinity of Hearts – Reuben, Hannah, and Jess!