Sonnet: The Death Knell of Love

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Dreams when you sleep – nightmares when you rise –

A solar shadow casting out a shadow of sun;

Clouds are in the earth – not in the skies –

And pain is wrapped up in a ribbon of fun

That unravels, unrolls, purls and flows out,

Like a river of ruin, chirping with disaster,

Peeling the lips off of every smiling mouth,

And hacking at the legs that would try to run faster,

To escape, to reach – to embrace happiness,

Before that unhappy candle is snuffed into dark,

And the melody you believed assured you tenderness,

Reaches your ears as a coarse, ugly bark;

The scream of the banshee – the duellist’s lost glove –

Hollowness without comfort – the death knell of love

 

 

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Love Sonnets 9&10

burne

IX.

Oh, wake me not, unspeakable dawn!

That brings only cruel, unforgiving knowledge;

More bad news that cannot be borne,

Couriered in death’s ineluctable carriage,

I wonder why I am even alive?

A creature created solely for pain,

With only suffering for my wife,

And plucked by torture’s fiery reigns,

How can I go on like this?

Tear-soaked, yet inexorably sentient,

Life denying me my chance of bliss,

Begging me, amidst thorns, to be patient,

For, only after wading through great oceans of pain,

Can I ever expect to be happy again

X.

Oh life! – why have you made me love,

Someone who cares not for me –

Who would rather betroth all else above,

Than this man of worthless pedigree?

Each day replays old patterns of hurt,

More knots of misery I cannot untie,

And leaves me with embroidered agony girt –

A blind man now with sightful eyes,

That sees clearly the nature of his fate,

To be alive – and yet alone,

Never to have a welcome mate,

A forgiving heart I can call my home,

This groom shall never take a bride –

From the Hells of happiness I’m cast aside

 

Poem: Love Coming Easy

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Does love ever come easy?

Would we still want it if it did?

You present yourself to me

Like a golden swan tangled in barbed wire

Or a piece of sumptuous fruit

Seasoned with razors

I think of the road I must travel

To get to your heart; and it seems

So perilous and complex –

Miles and miles of winding, aortal corridors

Ever in ambush from bureaucrats, bandits,

Jealous rivals, and the ugly misapprehension

Of societal conventions –

An Egyptian Road of the Dead

When I get to the centre

Will my heart be weighed against a feather?

Because, I assure you, my heart is already filled

With feathers, that ruffle, puff, preen, and fly

At the slightest agitation –

There is no straight course:

No ‘As The Crow Flies’

Just a ‘DO NOT ABANDON HOPE

YE WHO ENTER HERE’ –

As Dante longed for Beatrice,

So I long for you,

And my feet are already stricken

With the thorns, from the miles

I have erstwhile tread.

But hope can be hard to hold

Onto; like a rarefied butterfly, cupped

In my hands, the slightest distemper

Could send it off in search of fairer weather –

But I will not be dissuaded –

Dismayed, delayed, waylaid, yet

Never to be deterred, like the ravening wolves

That chase after the sun

Does love ever come easy?

No – one must dig deep to get the gold

I take myself out into the Arctic Wilds

And resume digging in the vanquishing cold

 

 

 

Poem: Arrythmia

god

I cannot endure

How much I miss you

My heart should be

Beating inside your chest

While your heart

Still beats heavily inside of mine

Feverish and senseless

I am arrhythmic and restless

As though all the peculiar beats of my heart

Are trying to encompass us both

I’ve drunk too much wine

Not to numb the pain

But to increase it

Like self-inflicted black magic

I hope to use to dispose of myself

I feel infinitely impaled

In the iron maiden of this moment

Celestial visions

Are as a close as skin

Goddesses loop

Their diamond sashes around me

But I’d send them all to the slaughterhouse

If you’d just run your fingers

Over my collapsing chest

And let me love you again

You could be my religion

You could be my hell

Always ripening into sunlight

As I hear my screaming senses blossom

 

 

 

Poem: Unready Flesh

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Another torrid night

In which my heart

Strives to beat its savagery

Away from itself

I think I can hear burglars downstairs

The scampering footsteps of insane mutants

Grinning from ear to ear

But whose ears?

Nobody could guess.

This isn’t any pillow talk

Just molasses for the mad

I lay torrid on this bed

A bed that wants me too much

Where flesh wants me too little

Still, the goddesses enfold

Their vajra bodies around me

I feel the panic of a moment

That knows no promise

But the shrivelling fear

To fulfil itself

I look for a Heroine

Some meaty fishmonger

Who can throw me in The Deep Freeze

To save me from The Thaw

But I want to die –

What good will that do me?

Building sand castles

Out of ostrich eggs

And stroking my body

Wishing it were yours

Whose eyes

Will ever again

Gaze at my own?

To piercingly infect me in the night

In the kingdom of a bed

I got kicked out of

To go paddling

In a corpse-strewn moat

I did always like a good consumptive

Tuberculosis eating off your face

The strained wings of a pterodactyl

Fallen prey to escalators

As their preferred means of travel

No wonder they went extinct

Stupid birds

Going the way

Of all stupid things

Memories sometimes feel like vampires

Sucking us away from the present

Until we’re too enfeebled

To face any moment

The straight-jacket of the past

Forming a palimpsest

That makes all horses turn white

I try to cultivate hopelessness

And seek asylum

In loving arms

Of the inter-dimensional doxies

That intersect this one

Oh, heart run smooth!

Oh nerves, stop jangling!

I shake with palsy at the sensation

Of a sad awakening that already grips me

An argument of isolation

Seems to haunt every conversation

Have I given in too much to my feelings

And buried myself in the past?

Love alive can never be a certainty –

Just a gamble, a hope, a spectre,

A distorted vision

Seen over the shoulder of stupidity

While it was busy

Looking the other way

At the meaningless whiskers

On life’s trivialities

While a scythed warrior drew by

Maybe I’ll see you again some day

In a different time

When forgiveness flourishes

And karma is rinsed away

All my dreams

Won’t have to seem so fleeting

The meeting place

Of hope and fear

The horrid arena

In which they both like to play

And so the torrid night

Continues to tyrannize me

With the hiccups and bumps

Of unready flesh

My mother bought me some bamboo

To take root in my desk

Perhaps by the time

It’s old enough to get a job

This poet

Will already

Be dead?

 

Poem: The Cracks of Compassion

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Perhaps nothing is more precious

Than having your heart broken

Or your will to live destroyed

When your heart breaks

The cracks let in

All the limitless love

You had previously denied it

And when you stop

Wanting to live for yourself

You are graced with the power

To live for every single being

Break and bend, my friend

Break the finite

To become the infinite

And bend yourself

To become

A perfect circle

Poem: Conversations with Hope

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Hope sees me

Lying on the floor

Mind in ashes

Heart in tatters

She gets her broom

And sweeps me up

Not quite intact

But a little closer

To being whole

“It doesn’t have to be

Like this,” she says

Guiding me

To look into

Infinity

“This is your playpen

None of it is closed to you.

No amount of sorrow or grief

Can keep it from you”

But I may need

A little more time, Hope

To incubate in your mercy

This soul is feeling fragmented

And his heart is more than thirsty

So please forgive

My wayward melancholy

My eternal delusion

And my insistent folly

Once a heart’s

Been let out of its cage

You never can never

Put it back in

Poem: Arctic Wasteland

arctic

When you keep your affection from me

It is like being denied the light of the sun

Out in the Arctic Wasteland

I battle with monsters

From unwritten bestiaries

There is little to eat

Except ice

And the strange medicine

From the congealed miasma of darkness

Punish me as you will;

We’ll see how I hold up

Once your Winter’s done its worst.

Poem: Sorrow From The Dragon Well Cave

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Nauseated and nauseous
My bowels cease to function
As though refusing to digest
This information
Leaves turn purple
Veins become flaccid
And too tired to pump
Who knows how to express sorrow
When tears refuse to come?
Just pour more tea from The Dragon Well Cave
And roost until the pain takes wing.