Walking on Air Collection Vol. 3

1998 2012

Walking on Air Book 3 Poetry composed in the spaces of time during travel and upheavals‌

Daniel Wordsmith Praymore Royal Order of the House of David

1

Index Page Poem 1

Kronos or Kairos

Page 3

Poem 2

Siren Lolita

Page 6

Poem 3

Among Satan’s Children

Page 7

Poem 4

Evensong

Page 9

Poem 5

Want of Love

Page 10

Poem 6

Dancing Prayers

Page 11

Poem 7

Dregs of Drear

Page 12

Poem 8

Aspiration

Page 13

Poem 9

The Homecoming

Page 15

Poem 10

The Ballad of Long John Silver

Page 20

Poem 11

God’s Gift

Page 33

Poem 12

Heautontimorumenos

Page 35

Poem 13

Troth

Page 37

Poem 14

Real Illusion

Page 38

Poem 15

All is Vanity

Page 39

Poem 16

Fecundity

Page 41

Poem 17

Sherbet Thoughts

Page 43

Poem 18

Us

Page 45

Poem 19

Elegant Rondel

Page 46

Poem 20

Creation

Page 47

Poem 21

Kismet

Page 49

2

#1 Kronos or Kairos?

The Sun darkened!

Palpable silence hearkened: only moaning pleas were heard; Earth convulsed!

Death of God's Bright Morningstar emulsed: Good and Evil together stirred...

Ultimate decision each conceived soul must make, absolute division one direction must take: with whom do you choose at Calvary to stand?

Is it among the soldiers of Rome whose law to Golgotha had come?

Or is it among the ogling rabble whose delight is curious babble?

Or is it among grieving family you have come the condemned for to see?

Or perhaps you're a blasphemer come to scorn your Redeemer?

Or maybe you're just a friend come to look once again?

Or are you one of Satan's private Coven like Caiaphas, Alexander, and Annas 3

whose politics is selfish lovin' like Jesus' chosen devil Judas?

None of them did very well: wonder if Judas met Jesus in Hell?

Could you be among the very few who their flesh crucifies as the thief who in repentance cries: "Lord, remember me, please do!"

Silence in awe of holy hidden majesty revealed as the Temple-curtain tore, hopeful shall draw to share Christ's cross in empathy concealed by Life's daily banal chore: to love our neighbor!

Jesus' every word the entire world has heard, Lovelight's shining treat makes darkness meet defeat: strong are disarmed, enemies charmed: Evil must yield the battlefield!

The Great Physician has come for the sick: lepers are cleansed, sinful hearts rinsed; blind see - deaf hear, spirit eye - spirit ear; lame walk - mute talk, the lost are found; dead from ground to life again are raised: God our Father is praised; guilt from our shoulders lifted frees to enjoy God's grace: no Saint is by Satan sifted, but our Lord shall see face to face.

4

God's housedoors are open flung inviting every sinner: contrite hearts, old or young, to join his Lamb's Wedding Dinner: The Ancient of Days' great feast welcomes all from the mighty to the least in wedding hall.

The Vineyard Lord pays wages full, mercies towards repentance pull that faithful may in resurrection enter New Jerusalem spotless, presented in perfection

by Jesus who has rescued them.

Aug 24, 2007. Š All rights reserved

5

#2 Siren Lolita

Like a bubbling stream, like a haunting dream, like a joyful song she moves me along her path of exquisite pain where gain is loss and loss is gain; here melancholy hope grows lonely as moss: soft, but without scope.

Her fairness I undress, wanting to be with what I see; yet, know I must flee such virginity!

Aug 24, 2007. Š All rights reserved

6

#3 Among Satan’s Children

“RADIX OMNIUM MALORUM EST CUPIDITAS!” said Caesar to Judas and Caiaphas while they shared Hell's steam-bath vainly rubbing at stains of sin and mud from the Marsh of Mediocrity.

"Ah! Yes, but any man who his own dream has," Judas said, "is driven by a force akin to life itself; won't see hypocrisy: forsaken in the far corners of reality betaken by sour dregs drunk from the grail of greed, he must needs forever on envy feed."

There was silence as the three sat sweating in vapors that arose from the cauldron of boiling woes gleaned from those denied entry to Christ's wedding: heated by flames of fancy in the furnace of fickle desire, stoked by gambling and chancy politics of Democracy's Empire.

"Time to shower!" Caiaphas said, "In the innocent blood of saints who bled dying for compassion's craft love conveyed: let's wash in the blood of martyrs betrayed."

They went off to dry blown by scalding winds 7

coming off the wasteland of wantonness.

"I think that's enough 'till God all rescinds although I doubt, it's us God will bless."

Judas joked.

Earth's bowels smoked!

They streaked across glowing pebbly grit brought in from sensuality's quarry, mentioning they felt remarkable fit and not the least bit sorry.

From loathsome lips of lascivious lust mocking and blasphemy flew: remembrance of murders among the just and how Jesus they slew...

"Come! My friends," Satan's words were slowen, "don these vestments of evil vile woven from stolen strands of lurid life.

Let us as ghosts return back thence to strife!"

Meanwhile was heard word from Jesus and God out of Heaven's temple up much higher: "Well, if Hell's not enough or our Shepherd's Rod, for such recalcitrance there is just one place left: the Lake of Fire!"

Jan 19, 2008. Š All rights reserved

8

#4 Evensong

The end of day some people say is cause for fear and melancholy: Brother Sun is gone, whence he shone brings toil to mind with Earthly folly, which on the morrow must be yet repeated; hence hopes and dreams of youthful lusts are thus defeated...

As tired eyes peruse the skies and weary heads seek comfort's pillow; hark! You’ll hear it: Holy Spirit whispers in Wisdom's ancient Willow: 'Fear not, only believe God still hears prayer; trust Jesus and obey, loving faith is God's heavenly conveyor...'

Jan 19, 2008. Š All rights reserved

9

#5 Want of Love

Shuddering in disbelief, soothing errant grief the years slip by arrogantly without feeling or meaning: my spirit is leaning on the dais of daily ablutions searching obvious solutions to the fatal condition of every breath sucked in by laboring lungs; wagging of loose tongues discloses tattle-tale secrets no one believes, yet indulge simply because to divulge is an art in itself...

Jan 19, 2008. Š All rights reserved

10

#6 Dancing Prayers

All poured out empty like a bottle; burned: consumed in sacrifice!

Lashing knought, lawful stonetablet throttle, how can God's love but chastise?

Ascending beautiful prayers curled: faith's flowing incense river; unending streams from a fallen world our hopeful praise deliver.

Undulate they do like a woman: motherly vapors of mist; fluctuate as true measure human emotions cannot desist.

Surrender: up she goes, up she goes!

Rising sweet smelling savor; Defender: God's secret I suppose; dancing prayers find favor!

Feb 15, 2008. Š All rights reserved

11

#7 Dregs of Drear

Why bitterness?

Seems to me like some shade of self-pleasing indulgence: romantic immaturity disguised to obfuscate a point of view alien to selfless suffering; perhaps a delayed reaction when all is over in order to justify and underscore personal position to others who seldom, if at all care?

Mar 19, 2008. Š All rights reserved 26.05-06.1999

12

#8 Aspiration

Have you ever thought about this: those who're clever life away piss tending bodies, starving their soul?

What is to gain living in vain dreams of life's pride that to Hell glide while lust of eyes and flesh cajole?

What can be done to pass the time, if everyone, whilst they climb existence's mounting stumbling-blocks, always look back down a lost track where they went wrong: wandering among legalist priests whose mumbling mocks?

13

A happy life from birth to death: husband and wife, children and faith all seem like mundane illusion: what gives true joy that will destroy imagined fear, sorrow and drear?

Hope based on envy's exclusion!

So much must pass 'tween Heav'n and Earth where each soul has only one birth wherewith to taste good and evil; it stands to truth that right from youth one follow should what our heart would and with love defeat the Devil!

Mar 19, 2008. Š All rights reserved 19.11.1998

14

#9 The Homecoming

While peaking at each other full blossomed flowers blush; as lazy sunrays laugh to birdnests saunter, little children to their loving mothers rush; a silent snail its house on back will wander‌ Like falling pearls of dew sweat drops off a nose in protest protruding from a down-turned face of a ploughing peasant whose tattered old clothes lend his tough working body a touch of grace.

His furrows are ruler straight as is his path in life: curves on rolling hills and forests round his field mellowing his obsessions just like his wife whose abstract virtue is his pride, strength and shield.

Trials have gouged in his face deep valleys of wrinkles: acquainted with grief, mild with seasoned humour, it looks like a relief-map full of crinkles; sad blue eyes dispel weakness as mere rumor.

Golden jubilee he's had married to Sara-Lee, the first day he saw her he remembers well: sappy teens they were; at a birthday party playing hide 'n seek was when she cast her spell‌ 15

It was late when she gave birth.

They have just that one son who at age seventeen left to find his way; it seems like good ends right as it has begun, without Sarah all his values would decay.

She shuffles towards him now, her frail frame weighted down: multitudes of devils have plagued her for years with thoughts of tomorrow that threaten to drown her heart's only hope in torrents of tears.

But there is no chance such a thing can happen anymore: her eyes and soul are void, she's quite cried dry; youth's ideals, dream-constellations she once bore are gone, shattered on shoals of fate flowed awry‌ In spite of toil and sorrow the two still plod along the road of no return, their last hope remains: finally today may be righted a wrong suffered long ago on some distant land's plains.

Long ago? It seems not so, memory time defies.

Many things have changed since then, dust gathers deep, mankind's lust for evil holds no more surprise; perhaps life to come will provide peaceful sleep?

"Hector," she called, "it's near time, the train will soon arrive!"

Without looking up he disengaged the horse, held its harness in gnarled hands: to town they'd drive in the hay-wagon to meet the visitors.

16

"It’s good of them to bring him; aye, we mustn't be late."

Hector’s wide mouth revealed tobacco-stained teeth while he meekly spoke of the upcoming date.

"They have had a long journey from that far heath."

With a soft smile Sarah turned her ancient white-haired head.

"It won't be long now we shall have him back home; once he's where he belongs, all is well," she said.

Nearby gulls perched on rocks midst ocean-foam…

At last they were on their way.

Close they sat side by side, a bumblebee sped by like a bullet-shot, from the leather-works came smells of freshly tanned hide; by now the day was already getting hot.

Along they drove in silence, a strong mutual bond.

Long days had they spent carting hay, hector thought: just the three of them then, the boy in back was wont to loaf on the hay-load and dream what he sought.

As they returned from meadows after full days of work his mind recalled, he once from the boy had heard, "Hey pa! This is fun the way we bump and jerk; I almost feel as we're going backward…"

Well, different things would be now, all had they grown older.

Except for habits nothing remains the same: spring becomes summer and autumn gets colder, youthful folly hungers for glory and fame…

17

Upon reaching the station they could hear brass-bands play.

Streamers and flags waved among thronging people milling about the platform yelling, "Hooray!"

As the train drew near bells rang from a steeple.

In high-hat the mayor stood, his long-coat touched the ground: trimmed whiskers, red sideburns, oval face, big ears encroached his purple nose set high as a mound over his mouth, which holds speeches no one hears.

The Bishop himself was there in golden vestures bright, cherubic choirboys' impish smiles belied their outward holiness: an impressive sight as with chief citizens they homespun deride.

The train-whistle's loud shrill toot cut sharply through the crowd.

Buildings and platforms shook, the engine pulled in; coloured wagons with open windows allowed returning soldiers to gaily wave and grin.

Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters all ran forward to greet their loved ones as they piled out of the coaches.

"Who are you," asked a woman, "here for to meet?

Oh, look! This is my son who now approaches‌" "Mamma!" a voice bleated out amongst keen hugs and kisses; someone stopped by them and to Sarah exclaimed, "nothing's like seeing again those one misses!"

In a passing flash Sarah’s heart-passion flamed‌

18

Voices died down, people left, the brass-bands marched away… two young men slowly walked to the hay-wagon.

"Are you Sarah and Hector? We can't long stay, please come with us before the train must move on."

The baggage-coach was in rear where a conductor stood.

Impatiently he said, "It's not often we delay this long, but your reason is good.

Here! Your son has come home: there is his coffin…"

Later at the graveyard-site kneeling among tombstones two lone souls put a son to rest, did not cry.

Far away bands played 'seventy-two trombones', clouds like cute frolicking lambs romped in blue sky…

Jun 6, 2010. © All rights reserved

19

#10 The Ballad of Long John Silver Introduction

Now here's a thought for honest folks, though few there be alive: a parallel may snapped be drawn how bad not good survive.

The murderer, the liar, thief in person lone appears: as pirates are they known to some from tales of buccaneers.

As if by magic they transform to citizens of right, in sunshinegarments bright they flash their hearts as dark as night.

A mighty master of the world Julius Caesar was, but caught by pirates of his day he feared his life, alas!

Of nations all around the world the Brits have held most fame, unlike their Asian counterparts they glorified the name.

Dear Spain was used to justify the plunder, hate and greed: with violence in ecstasy did they their dirty deed.

20

Haiti or Tortuga dry first served as haven safe, Jamaica’s later Port Royal was base-camp whence to strafe.

Sir Morgan, Henry John was there soon governor to be, he Porto Bello sacked with zeal: terror on land and sea.

Consider Edward England thus who changed from good to bad: when failing cruelty to show died marooned, went mad.

Now Blackbeard, who surrender faked, Eden’s garden enjoyed with tribute and a local lass till Maynard he annoyed.

Anne Bounty as a man was dressed, her fate remains unknown; Calico Jack of Rackham sailed with Mary Read her clone.

De Basco's dripping spear and scull, Jolly Roger's passage, Robert’s the Dandy, Captain Brown, sword and scull of Lesage…

Keelhauling talks or walk the plank: Ho! Dead men tell no tales, Mission the Holy flies white flag, a sturdy sailor pales.

21

Such devils nothing sacred hold, Lancelot Blackburn ask; Arch-Bishop he of York became: about turn on a cask.

"Stand by to board, she treasure holds!

Ahoy messmates, ahoy!"

After the fight the captain calls, "fetch me rum and bum-boy!"

Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!

Awake! Awake! Surprise!

The reason good seems not to work?

We’re outside paradise!

The Story He looked a frightful sight the lad, as he climbed off the ship: ragged clothes, duffle-bag with a cutlass hung from the hip.

Tall he was, six foot six, stood strong; had long flowing blond hair, not a day over twenty four he'd sailed on a corsair.

Around his neck a tarry-string held a small silver key, which he took in his hand and kissed.

Painter from ship pushed free.

He sat. He took his gully out to cut a piece o'duff that he munched on the way to shore, of sea he'd had enough.

22

After they'd tied the docking-rope with land under their feet, the boatswain caulker one proposed, but he'd someone to meet.

Towards the country set he off, nothing could him prevent, his mind he'd made up long ago declaring his intent.

He’d done what he set out to do, the worst was now behind; a promise fair before him lay ever upon his mind.

His pace was brisk, a rolling gait, six years he'd been at sea; adventures high he'd tasted much, escaped the gallows' fee.

Blood, sweat and tears he'd shed them all, the price was not too high; he knew what he'd been fighting for, was not afraid to die.

A noble feeling in his heart would swell his breast with pride each time his spirit lingered on thoughts of his future bride.

A flaming cherub, brother sun danced on far mountain-peak; a hawk, its dinner held in claws, flew by: the mouse did squeak‌

23

The dancing ceased, the sun had set and dusk was all around; his home was very nearby now, he recognized its sound.

The confrontation Scarcely twelve years, a handsome boy came from milking the cows, beside him walked a girl of four; he stopped and raised his brows.

The little girl fearfully screamed and rushed towards the den, sprawling fell midst cackle and squawks tripping over a hen.

Fresh milk as a liquid carpet of snow covered the stones: buckets clanged, tumbled and rumbled mixed with the knocking of bones.

"Help, Andy help! A ghost! A ghost!"

Shouted the boy affright.

Shrieked the girl, "Daddy, daddy come!"

Out stepped he in the night.

"Now, what is all this roughhouse about?

Dan! What’s she doing there and why is milk spilled on the ground?

Get up Sally, come here!"

Before he spoke another word the boy exclaimed, "It’s John!"

"What nonsense Dan," said he and sighed, "you know John's dead and gone."

24

"Then who's that standing over there by the old pigsty gate?"

Asked Dan to a shadow pointing.

"Aye, 'tis me, John, by fate well preserved and back to life brought; ghosts have not blood and bone, mine though I nearly lost at times, real enough am I, not stone."

The older man, aged thirty-two, gasped as John nearer came.

"What jest is this, if I may ask, to use my brother's name?"

"O come now Andy! Can’t you see that truly it is I? I’ve come back home to marry Beth, to work, to live, to die."

"Daniel! My Sally take inside.

Of this breathe not a sound.

Say, should they ask, a stranger passed who seems for southward bound."

Thus left alone the brothers two stood looking face to face.

Said john, "why Andy, you I thought would give me an embrace…"

"You broke dad's heart going away with no word of farewell: six years no news has come our side 'cept of your death to tell.

25

The ship you sailed they said went down; a frightful storm there was, of men and mice no trace was found, the cargo was a loss.

Yet here you stand alive and whole, I dare not understand what fate has brought you home again free from the ocean sand. it is not that I you life begrudge, it's only things have changed: had we known you're alive, facts might've been otherwise arranged."

"What do you mean? Is father ill or have you lost the farm?

But no that couldn't be, God keeps you all from harm.

Look here: this money have I brought and jewels all for us: forever poverty is gone, no need to sweat 'n cuss.

So tell me now, is father well? and Danny looks so strong; how Beth'll be surprised, I bet; come, let us move along‌" "Nay Johnny, nay! You listen here."

His brother's face seemed sad.

"Father died when he heard you'd drowned, he took the news so bad.

26

The farm he left for me to run with Danny in your stead, the papers are drawn up and sealed, of family I’m head.

And thus are we content to be, we wish no further change: with jewels and your precious gold we'd only feel most strange.

We're merely simple honest folks, don't need extravagance; we're not like you who went away to lead a life of chance."

"I’m glad you're here, I love you still," said Dan who had slipped back.

A hug he gave with kiss then asked, "What’s in your gunnysack?"

"Bright silk and lace, embroidered cloth to give my maiden fair, and pistols two of ivory to shoot the one who'd dare my lovely Beth to harm or fright or try to steal one day: for her I have come back, you see, for her went I away.

It matters not, good Andrew sir!

You hold no room for me?

My bride I’ll take to distant shores that lie beyond the sea.

27

My cutlass, Dan, I give to you: it is a weapon fierce, which saved my life so oft a time this heart no one could pierce."

While thus his story John did tell the house-door opened wide, Sally at first her head stuck out then ran she back inside.

Whence they stood it was clearly seen the one to whom she ran: a comely woman young and meet an infant by her hand.

"Mommy! Mommy!" they heard the child, "they're standing just outside."

A fearful face the woman turned with Sally for to hide.

Aghast stood John, his face went pale, the cutlass weight he felt; in his eyes Andrew tensely stared, the truth its blow had dealt.

Arm raised to strike, his wrath John roared in one blood-chilling yell: "My bride it is you took as wife?!

May both youse rot in hell!"

All time stood still or so it seemed while waiting for the stroke.

"Our brother's blood must christen not," Daniel it was who spoke,

28

"the gift you have just given me, this God could not forgive.

Two years went by your death announced, while everyone did grieve; Andrew his rightful duty did you widowed bride to wed, life must go on, as you know well, in spite of common dead."

"Such wisdom from a boy so young, you sound like father's ghost," John said. "I fear not God or man.

Of fratricide to boast my father having put in the grave is more than I would want."

Against the wall the cutlass hit with a clattering taunt.

"Come here my Danny, come to me and give another hug!

Two lives me thinks you've saved tonight just being smart 'n snug.

But you I loathe, always the first: Andrew, the eldest son!

Though never once did I forget father or anyone.

For six long years the memory was stamped upon my brain: for this I lived, for this I fought to see you all again.

29

I thought to bring you happiness, to share my wealth and fame, but find that you've forgotten me and stolen have my name!

These things I leave, do what you will; see me you shall no more.

Remember this on your last day: Long John forgave this score!"

Thus having said he walked away the old road whence he came: his pace was brisk, his steps were crisp, the moonshine just the same…

The Tryst After awhile John stopped to think what pain was in his heart, he'd reached a hilltop by an oak: his childhood playground part.

'If she had known that I was here', he sat and reasoned out, 'surely with me she would have come; this I cannot doubt.

I will, I think, try once again what I have long not done.

I’ll pray that God to me will send my dear, beloved one, and then I’ll wait that if mayhap some favor on me falls; so when she comes, together we might run when Andy calls.'

30

Thus musing sat he quite alone discovered by moonbeams: a nightingale its dryad sang, fresh water flowed in streams‌ Then faintly could he hear a sound as were it shuffling feet; soon panting sighs revealed someone who wanted him to meet.

He saw a woman's silhouette approach him up the hill: she staggered as if had she run a race with time and till.

Her face he could not rightly see, 'twas dark though moon it shone.

Then in a voice well known she spoke, "John, is that you my son?!"

Epilogue Hence time it passed, old glamor glazed, but scoundrels who can tame?

Their faces age, they come and go, their spirits are the same.

From West to East the breed is found with sword or scimitar, all something seek to make them rich and powerful by far.

31

Their methods change, their purpose not, disguises are preferred: "Let victims live, them rob again!"; the modern voice is heard.

Things various be worth to rob of value great and small, it really matters not a whit: in death they lose it all!

Besides, as sinners soon find out, treasure is but reward for worshiping the fallen one and aiding in his sport.

Devotion’s flame, the thing to steal for brigands of renown, is worth much more than purest gold, more than the sweetest sound.

Not moth or rust nor canker eats: such treasure needs no cave.

Death it holds in tight embrace, follows beyond the grave.

Eternal flame of the universe, coveted treasure trove!

It’s known by a most sacred name: that holy name is love!

"Hey ho! And a bottle of rum; ahoy messmates, ahoy!"

Long John Silver, famous the name, was once a real farm-boy…

Mar 19, 2008. © All rights reserved 32

#11 God's Gift

A woman must assert herself, she is after all our clone not least meant to waste on life's shelf with idols of flesh and bone‌ Her features fair invigorate macho dominated thought: caresses sweet alleviate high costs of pleasures sought; Ah! Let’s quaff the cup of Eros, nectar of honeydew lips: dare to risk rejection's nonplus baffling solar eclipse!

Such journey is without return so rather have no regrets: who's a fool to smolder and burn like celibate hypocrites?

Whenever manly lusts burn out revealed is her inner soul: ready she stands weakness to rout so even Satan cries, "Foul!"

Her value far exceeds her use: companion and a friend she copes with passions and abuse, she provides the perfect blend;

33

A serpent blundering by her heart veiled in cloth of innocence her virtue coils as honor-guard: slippery sentry of revenge; Its bitter bite without remorse kills, unless smothered with love; upon knee brings all earthly force 'til stroked by hand in kidglove.

Comforts of femininity will humble both young and old, our hearts break invariably: saddest story often told‌ All this plus more lies at her door: pleasure with pain unending; once we taste we come back for more, there is no use pretending.

Two times there are in a man's life when he does not understand: before he finds himself a wife and after he takes her hand!

What can I say to ease your mind, do I know better than you?

Woman is god's gift to mankind; maybe he is married too?

Dec 28, 2010. Š All rights reserved

34

#12 Heautontimorumenos

Memories of bygone days where in pleasant meadows oft my soul would comfort take cooling in the shadows contemplating nature with all her wonderful wiles that enchant us, provoke my heart to tears and smiles.

"Cease friends for a little space your selfish scorn of God's grace, embrace this verse with your heart: rest awhile from the pain of death; come love toward."

Fleeting dreams my mind recalls, how I was wont to dream: love and stolen kisses by ardor's crystal stream where porpoises frolic and flying-fish speed on by: short-shared moments of eternity from on high.

How lovely were the slumbers: floating wishful bubbles of some future promise seen; nearsight vision doubles, expectancy supreme that with the morning vanished into thin air like youth old age banished...

35

What is left after our birth perpetual motion engages in realms of time sailing heartbreak's ocean to distant shores of hope?

Oh! Should souls in niter lave, life, even so, gravity pulls into the grave...

"Cease friends for a little space your selfish scorn of God's grace, embrace this verse with your heart: rest awhile from the pain of death; come love toward."

Dec 28, 2010. Š All rights reserved

36

#13 Troth

A Sunshinefriend will fail in time of storm: when sole intent is shown as selfish ego form friendship is defiled.

Anguish-filled tears shed silently as rain wash away fears, mellows lingering pain anger turning mild.

Crystal castles of liquid diamonds drop rainbow pastels: majestic light-shows stop thoughts of every child!

Birth's but a test: the refiner's fire; feed at love's breast, revive and fly higher: through death life has smiled‌ Mar 22, 2008. Š All rights reserved

37

#14 Real Illusion

What is real, what is not?

End the illusion of freedom by hangman's noose or bullet shot?

Defiance or compliance, is there a visible difference?

Is life a sitcom or some other abuse?

Confront you is what I do whenever my inner chamber is violated; don't care if you're a member of established norms, or masturbated by endless forms of senseless bureaucratic slavery: it's still aberrational knavery designed integrity to squelch.

It murders my soul as you blasphemy belch and my creativity quench with political stench...

Jun 9, 2008. Š All rights reserved

38

#15 All is Vanity

When I reach to touch you but you no longer are there, my heart remembers loving you, my hands feel but air.

Oh loneliness! such painful stress; sweet-sour tears well up to wash the windows of my soul, I drink my destined cup of rose-wine turned foul: we loved, we lost; each went our way moved by the cost of cultured sway: is nubile futile?

Defiance or compliance?

Reconciliation or emancipation?

Who can be celibate?

Biology will agitate, is prevention repentance?

39

Infected by profanity we're sentenced to melancholy directed by humanity...

Kindness we forbid across eons and acres upon acres of legalisms; God's absolutes we search through dusty grains of time, yet find naught as we ought...

Child in tears sorrow bears: weight of empty dreams cannot find home in a sordid tomb buried under dried-up streams...

How will I live, how will I give without a spark of love?

A treasure trove is to be what evil is not: locked within the cluttered confines of convention float Lovelight and faith: indefinite suspension...

Aug 20, 2010. Š All rights reserved

40

#16 Fecundity

It twirls and curls, and curls spinning infinity: orgasmic spirals of insanity; like shipwrecked sailors rafting a cruel sea, life without women was not meant to be: sputtering colors, flitting barbs of fire, licking tongues of insatiable desire; love may be deep, unthinkingly sincere; yet without a woman strength turns to fear...

The vortex vomits, many flowers bloom: ascending forever, avoiding sure doom...

A distant sail is seen while ocean waves toss, whatever hope kindles counted is for loss;

41

drifting far, far away from land's solid shore, remembering the past now can be no more.

Cartwheels an' flashes ascend like whirlpools negating with love the scorn of proud fools.

God’s greatest gift of life: a woman's fecundity, existence's profundity, a child without strife!

Jun 10, 2008. Š All rights reserved

42

#17 Sherbet Thoughts

Tasty tangents of chocolate, inspired morsels of bitter bites, my neurotic sidewinders all conspire to derail an otherwise imperfect day; the local weather-forecast has banned sunshine, my heart weeps incoherently replacing well scheduled nonsense by flashing long forgotten hurts; never-mind such idiocy, it keeps me passive in an insane world hooked on self-delusion where vanity is a specialty profession disguised as attractive social fabric; perhaps I should simply give up my identity acquired by stealth or maybe impersonate someone dull or someone inanely undependable?

Nah! Maybe I should just go back to sleep...

What? Sleep? Mayhap some more chocolate to sweeten the acid burps disguised as banal necessity that emanate from the burned-out rubble of yesteryear's failed prognostications?

43

Actually, a long time ago the decision to never repeat mistakes of my elders blinded me to the inevitable: I am them-they are me and that is as pathetic as can be...

Bah! Old men, old testicles, broken dreams, broken spectacles, women age so much more sensibly evoking fleeting glimpses of glimmer sparkling away into never, never land...

My quest for something better, albeit hard come by, keeps me going somewhere out there with sweet sherbet all over my face...

Nov 5, 2009. Š All rights reserved

44

#18 Us In the dwindling evening glow my thoughts will wander ever so as to the meaning of us; how I've suffered you'll never know: conceit severs passion's truss...

What are you doing right now while sunset's flames our sky endow with scarlet smears of warning?

Are you lonely like me and how do you cope 'till the morning?

My heart cries out in passion, my soul's desires are lashed on unforgettable memories: images in their own fashion self present as parodies.

Bright, our star with parting winks beneath cold Death's green water sinks leaving me bereft, alone; to someone else it new light brings, in darkness I turn to stone.

Foreshadowing of dawn lays foundation for other days in pale moonlight reflected: so much there is I wish to say once our love's resurrected.

Aug 20, 2010. Š All rights reserved

45

#19 An Elegant Rondel

Splendid lily, graceful flower genteel midst nature's seductive brocade, you're a renegade of mute power unyielding from your sun-tower, a harbinger of life in death's chill shade; splendid lily, graceful flower genteel midst nature's seductive brocade, our lord's dower of his everglade wiser than Solomon for want of trade slaked by god's anointed shower: splendid lily, graceful flower genteel midst nature's seductive brocade.

Nov 23, 2009. Š All rights reserved

46

#20 Creation

To anarchy bursts forth waves of light: photons of love in laser flight, kaleidoscopic colors bright, creation's crystal might‌ Uniform motion, parallel fellowship, atomic fission is born; electricity with sound through silence rip, chemical actions adorn by remote-control an inter-cosmic trip as planet from mass is torn‌ Genetic composition appears.

Phantasmal view through tears: life's effluent essence adheres to measurement of years.

Extant ubiquity shares length, height and breadth, probing the fourth dimension, conducting one-way traffic from birth to death regardless of declension; along the silver-chord of time breath by breath souls age in apprehension.

Afflictions equal willpower like the blooming of a flower after a fresh midday shower nigh fate's prison-tower.

47

Consciousness of all substance with harmony pools in the eternal now; while on journey at constant velocity forging-forward thoughts allow entry for doubt vomiting cacophony by asking questions: Why? How? Needs, desires, fears and loneliness among mankind cause great distress: those seeking license to oppress are clothed in shamelessness!

Is error freedom from shackles of seasons?

Some mortals seek it in herbs called guides, keys of heaven, or divine reasons; each escape attempt disturbs inner peace, afflicting heart-walls with lesions encroaching truth's suburbs…

To court nature and far stars that spin could energize bodies with sin; conscience's light speaks from deep within: "Don't let lust hope rescind!"

Accounts of ancient desert-tribes are bygones, tales of weeping rocks and stone; hands rise caressingly from sands of eons whispering "We're not alone…"

Oracles from a necromancer's séance claims doom must sit on God's throne.

Rocking rhythm, sweet music of trees, notes of singing birds glide with ease; familiar touches appease, a child to sleep agrees…

48

Abortive dreams fade out in lost abstract hope: caught in bleak reality where unwanted poor are left behind to cope with curses of ancestry; unloved children abused by family grope through illusion's vanity…

Nov 30, 2009. © All rights reserved

#21 Kismet The kiss of dawn, as balm of a crystal cool breeze compassionately caressing, timid and gentle like a fawn, dissipates the lingering sleaze of nocturnal fears sprouted while sleep eludes the subconscious, like when I'm in my own dream only can't really change anything; and impressing hope upon my bedeviled mind proceeds to make love with daylight bright, firmly yet kind, knowing what it hears as background noise of dripping tears shed to counterpoise: is the approach of another night...

Sep 3, 2010. © All rights reserved

49