Poetry

Sorrow lived inside her head

and misery did too – skin

her with evidence is red,

believe you! It is true: when

their vines spread inside her breast,

so did the great twin waves, like

wet weight grow inside her chest –

in the cold of summer days.

I saw her in the moonlight

pale – praying for the sun.

See her once again tonight –

begging it to come! Should both

her eyes begin to close

when stars come into bloom –

may her heart then find repose

and sweet-dream away the gloom.

Forgotten things and stolen

things may un-speak songs once heard.

My mother’s face – swollen –

like the breast of a dead bird.

In God’s shadow, in light

of day, bitter things have found:

suffering brings great delight

when you can’t make a sound.

Night’s black blanket had covered the sky

when a blue light flew like a firefly

through the window of a small, village hut,

where a birth cord was recently cut,

and gently drifted towards the woods

where a slender shadow silently stood.

Night’s black blanked had covered the sky

when the blue light flew like a firefly

into a pair of delicate, pale hands

decorated with shining, silver bands

jewelled bracelets and long, ivory nails

and held up to a translucent, white veil.

Night’s black blanket had covered the sky

when the blue light flew like a firefly

leaving the veiled fairy’s fragile embrace

to enter a quiet enchanting place

where dazzling, colourful wisps of light

freely dance and whirl through an endless night.

While cleaning out my crowded attic,

I came across this children’s book

filled with stories wild and fantastic.

There is one I quite like about a brook

bubbly gurgling in greenish-blue

through a deep wood, out of everyone’s view.

“O listen now, child. Listen to me.

Listen to the voice of the waters untamed and free.

In the forest beyond those grey walls

flows a burbling, gurgling stream

with moss-covered rocks and small waterfalls.

It carries off children’s gentle dreams

to a place of enchanting wilderness,

where they are safe from the world’s bitterness.

O come now, child. Come to me.

Come and leave your dreams in the waters untamed and free.

Time’s greedily grasping fingers

may steal your youth like a grubby thief

till you’ve nothing and all that lingers

is a crushing feeling of loss and grief,

but remember, a part of your childhood

calmly flows beneath the greens of a wood.

O listen now, man. Listen to me.

Listen to the voice of your dreams untainted and free.

Beyond your home of concrete and glass

lies a world of murmuring water,

stoutly standing trees and waving grass

untouched by deceit, betrayal or slaughter.

And in unyielding cold deeps it stores

fragments of innocent that were once yours.

O come now, man. Come to me.

Come and retrieve your dreams untainted and free

Have you noticed lately

Your eyes are somewhat blue?

They wear the color of the sky,

But to me that isn’t completely true.

The way I see it,

The sky is the one stealing your thunder.

There isn’t a way to make me believe,

Or to even make me wonder

The sky was the first to say that blue was its color.

Since it’s not the topic of this poem,

We can forget about this horrible theft.

These verses belong to your eyes,

The one on the right, and one on the left.

Your eyes are deep and blue.

Your eyes are kind and true.

Your eyes can take me to beautiful places.

Your eyes make me forget all other faces.

I truly believe it’s not completely fair

For your eyes to be called just blue.

They deserve to be praised twice,

And frankly, so do you.

So from now on, I give myself the right

To fully honor your blue blue eyes.

The second blue, although incorrectly used

Is their well-deserved prize.

Your blue blue eyes drown me in happiness.

Your blue blue eyes make me want to write.

Your blue blue eyes delete all the darkness.

Your blue blue eyes are my ultimate light.

It is no wonder I use poetry to bring you to life;

No other form would be perfect enough

Just to try and capture what you are.

It is not strange for me.

I see you in these words, I hear you when they rhyme.

A song is all I’ll ever have for you.

A song is all I’ll ever have of you.

These tiny thoughts symphonically combined to invoke the rhythm of your steps.

To love you would be a privilege.

To love you would be exalted.

So I’m gonna love you through these words and hope you’ll bring the music.

And suddenly:

It feels like all the bad in the world

is formed as ME.

In every indication of darkness

MY face is outlined.

And moment by moment I am ripped in pieces;

The scissors cut through me like I am paper thin

and pour out my blood like the oil spills in the ocean depths,

creating its own disastrous climate of terror.

Not in life nor death will I be harmless.

Original sin is born once again

and it blooms in ME.

I know I will die, do you?

Well you certainly should.

Otherwise you feel you don’t belong

Along the sea and the wood.

And yes, maybe I should count the days -

There are fewer left than ever before.

But y’know, I exist just the same.

What must one do when given a day more?

Maybe spend it dreaming

How lives were evermore.

No value is to keep, all declines.

Yet, look at all the value in my dog.

There’s real existence in those eyes -

It’s somet’in’ hard t’ put in the log.

Perhaps I best be goin’ be left now,

Time’s late and a lotta life’s to live tomorro’.

Don’ wanna throw a day away

And drown in all the free time sorrow.

Still die me, die me, else time be undone,

There is no fun when fun’s all the fun.

Die me, die me, so the world is clean an’ pure,

If the dark weren’t dark, there’d be no Sun.

For sure

The sound of a gunshot

Piercing the sky

Another life wasted

Without getting by

A world that’s so wounded

It cannot survive

But still there is hope

Of remaining alive

Lost in the torture

Of a perishing world

Remember the pleasure

Of pulling the trigger

Remember the life

That’s fading away

The dance of a bullet

A dangerous game

When you come across one

Bearing your name

Another night filled with

Bloodshed and tears

Nightmares awaking

Humanity’s fears

Lost in the torture

Of a perishing world

Remember the pleasure

Of pulling the trigger

Remember the life

That’s fading away

Remember the bullet

Your conscience is clean

But forget her gaze

That’s going to stay

When the inevitable end sucks the breath

still curling inside my tortured lungs,

and metals of pure rust sever the life’s seam

with malevolence of devil’s tongues -

burn my body, burn it whole,

dare not leave a solitary mole!

When the first hair abandons of its

roots a deformed housing, treacherous soul;

and the finger’s hats gain the length

of a biblical, with dust laden scroll -

burn my flesh, burn it through,

dare not leave a bloody queue!

Let not a maggot or any creature of

such filth have a taste of spoiled juices,

and black dirt to touch the skin eaten

up to its core, that itself it looses -

burn my body, burn it now,

dare not leave of thoughts a vow!

Allow the dying flesh its last desire;

let not blood drain from mutilated eyes,

hearing slip away from crippled lobes -

so burn my body, burn it please,

let it not become of cynics a tease!

From flesh I was made and

within flesh I shall remain.

From blood I was sown and

blood I shall continue to gain.

With tears I was fed and

on tears I shall survive.

With chaos I was conceived and

only in chaos I shall thrive.

During a storm I was born

and the storm itself shall inhale

a foolish reason within

me trying to prevail:

for I am a child of flesh,

tarnished with bones,

and torments and cries;

absolved with moans,

and sorrows and venomous flies.

I am a creature of lust,

of a mind submitted to my blood,

ascertained the sense to drown

in a nocturnal, rapacious flood.

Crept up from beneath,

crept up from under,

from thus quiet heart,

made thy own plunder.

Crushed it, burned -

amongst fires turned,

to force it to suffer in

a mere motion learned.

Into a scaffold it made,

with tears the aching

flesh oh so roughly laid.

And yet unaware,

of perfidious deeds

blind to a fault –

thy continues me to

drown assault by assault.

Oh, sorrow sorrow,

Mellow sorrow,

Why must you be

my sorrow?

Why burn the

wanting heart

morrow come morrow?

Oh, sorrow sorrow,

Piercing sorrow,

Why crave thy be

my sorrow?

Why torture the

aching touch

morrow come morrow?

Oh, sorrow sorrow,

Darling sorrow,

Know you even to be

my sorrow?

Know to destroy the

love of breath

morrow come morrow?

In his deep blue eyes

In the darkness of the sky

In the sea of thought

In the breeze of maroon blood

In the lurking of the past

In the looking through the glass

In the shadows of tomorrow

In the meadows of today

In the wilderness of woods

In my new boots

In memory

In dream

In flow

In stream

In his song

In my rhyme

In free time

Lost above, lost beyond

Feeling so divine

But never ever fine!

If I close my eyes

The clock rewinds

An instant in time

Frozen in my mind

Standing still, just like

A statue of the past

no test of time

Not built to last

Now shatter it

Turn away

Just one step

Do not stay

Don’ look at me

Your eyes pierce

That’s what I felt

And my heart melt

My eyes closed

A whisper of hope

Grazed my ear

At once, no fear

A piece of glass

Against solid metal

I wonder, romance

Do we stand a chance

I want to tell you about the things buried in my backyard,

but, oh, where do I even start?

Perhaps to tell you why I am the gravedigger.

Our house is a bit bigger

than the other ones on the street,

that’s where we start the whole deceit

- a bigger house, a bigger yard,

more place for us to discard

of all the things that happened to us,

more place for us to put them to dust.

We never have to look back, there is no recap,

just pin them to our backyard cemetery map

and they all turn to ashes – disappear,

no one to see them and no one to hear.

Since I was born, my parents knew

that something in me had gone askew,

I had a wretched heart, if I had any,

and their crimes were many, many.

Ghastly face, they said, a vicious soul,

look at those eyes – dark as coal.

A perfect girl, a perfect heir

to conceal their lurid affair.

And it was true, I had no dread,

of killing, spading, or the dead,

soon my hands were painted red

for there were many that there bled.

But with every crime that I buried,

there were two more that I carried,

I grew oblivious to my weaving fate,

and soon, it was far too late.

I had never dug a shallow grave,

for I knew what the dead men crave,

they will dig themselves back out

and of our crimes they will shout.

So deeper and deeper I dug, as I swore

I would deliver them right at hell’s door.

But as I watched them all fall down,

something else was making sounds,

little pieces of me hitting the ground,

on their bodies they would pound,

and as accidentally they were tossed,

so in the darkness they were lost.

I searched for them all around

but they were nowhere to be found.

So I spread the dirt, evened it out,

and with time, forgot all about

the parts of myself I had cast away,

not knowing I might need them one day.

Indeed, all that lives must meet its fate,

and much of it is met on our estate.

Beggar or king, bare head or crown,

with gentle hands, I lay them all down.

Buried desires, forgotten dreams,

hopes and hoaxes and different schemes

- all the things hidden right by your side

are also the things from which you should hide.

So stay wary of your everyday strolls,

should you not hear those weeping souls

and feel the need to turn your eyes

to look at our tired lies.

It best be you play your silent part

for should a single word start

on the tip of your tongue,

all your songs will be left unsung -

it is simply a house so turn away,

or forever you will stay.