Will-o'-the-Wisp

I am a perennial gadabout
Who hath lived many lives of man;
I started with a world as flat
Come a full circle whence I began.

Seen the abstinence of the living
And the dying man’s greed;
Watched many a flower turn to stone
Saw many a leaden heart bleed.

Amidst the confusion, the tumult
I read the ailing verses from the Gospel;
My body was strong, my faith weak
I tried in vain to break the Satanic Spell.

Perplexed by the Hobson’s choice
Often I sunk to my knees;
To find ‘neath me a quagmire
The pungent aura of a thousand gadflies.

But the mirage holds erect: pulling me, pushing me,
Forever calling, my fantasy but did persist;
To a Neverland that I know too well
The State of Grace that does not exist.

Forbidden

Why am I so despicable?
Why do I fidget?
Frustrated fool that I am,
Why do I so lack courage?


I stand before God
Yet I am faithless;
I’d come to his altar to pray,
I manage only silence.


I sit there for minutes……
Minutes seem hours;
And for hours I dream,
My prayers now forgotten.


Is it so difficult to ask
For the thing you want the most?
I wonder if my desire holds true
As I fail to utter a syllable.


Perhaps some prayers
Are never to be heard;
But what of those
That are conceived, but left unuttered.


Why is it that my lips are frozen?
That I am not allowed my prayer;
As if the Father of Eden himself
Warns me of the Forbidden Fruit.

The Secret

Has it all been a farce
Have I lied all this while;
When did I learn to fake a tear
When was it that I forced my first forged smile.

I did learn to pretend then
Pretend the sorrow.......pretend the pain,
E’en did I feign the glow
While there was darkness still in my vein.

When did it all began……
Perhaps the day I owned a closet,
That I began to hide my skeletons
That I kept from me, my Secret.

And secrets once kept, they multiply
A seed, a sprout, a shrub, a tree,
They grow, they consume, they conquer,
All that is joy and glee.

But strange as I am
My success had but one key;
And when it did matter most
My beloved secrets, they kept me.

Phantasmagoria

Tap your feet on the ground,
Dance to the tune I set for you,
The mood is set, the Heaven’s blaze;
‘Tis a starry Night,
……Dance in its afterglow.

Plateful of ambrosia, playful temptress,
Water spills, and rum flows,
Aphrodite’s forces descend upon you;
Submit you must, no way out
The music’s too strong, too mellow.

Dance till your head swirls,
Your legs go numb,
Sing your heart out;
This moment, this tide, they belong,
Take them…..they’re yours.

Dream along, stark awake,
For ‘tis still night,
And you love your dream;
Your own sketched Phantasmagoria,
……Dance in its afterglow.

Open your eyes

Open your eyes girl
Open 'em wide and see
'Tis such a beautiful dawn
Clear, pure, fresh, alive;
Whence the charm that spawn.

Your sunup chin,
Your dazzling profile
Makes many a fair maid throw spite
Makes many a man’s heart flutter;
Handsome Phoebus does a shameful smile.

Oh! You have had your eyes closed
For so long, that you’re misled
And is it because of me
Do you hate e’en my face;
That, if true, I had not intended.

So open your eyes girl
And see me, I stand right here
With the sunshine on my shoulders
But with you in front
Who can hold back a tear.

Come on girl
Speak the truth, for I hate lies
If it not be your warmth
Do not give me that icy stare
At least make 'em long goodbyes.

An Ode to Love

For all those who love Love

And love not much of anything else;

'Tis a fine life they lead

Mixture of feelings, a delicious cocktail.

But there are those,

That name Love a Folly;

Illusions, passions, fashions, fascinations

Of a frail insipid mind,

That lead to melodramatic sessions;

The Devil is in the details.

And if you ask me, I shall say

Love, for me, was a revelation, a vision,

Sudden death and resurrection;

That made beauty

Of a not so ugly Beast.

It was the brightest sunshine

That made me laugh

With tears in my eyes,

I had loved Love

And now, I loved its Feast,

The insanity, the romance, the Tryst.

My Last Bow

Beneath the tree that is my namesake,
I speak to you, one last time;
You look at me with electric eyes,
That say so much;
Your face but is wry.
And then I leave you, I always have;
Walking away with lingering steps,
My heart so heavy, 'tis molten lead.
But then I turn, I face you,
Oh! I had a lot to tell,
My lot I'd wished to share;
And all I say,
"Shine on, my love,
Shine with all your glory,
Shine……..like a crazy diamond.
Pray to God that I meet my peace,
And I shall pray for thee,
May the man you love, love you;
May your Love
Be purer than me."

Little Miss Norrington

Little miss Norrington
Was far from a simpleton
She knew how to butter her toast
Her charms worked well on men
She took them to her kitchen
And there she put them on roast.


Little miss Norrington
She liked the taste of mutton
But man-flesh was her favourite
A glassful red wine
Went along just fine
She said, "Bon appetit".


Little miss Norrington
Couple yards silk, fancy collaret and button
Oh! She knew her looks could kill
Once out on a holiday
On some distant bay
She nonchalantly murdered Bill.


Little miss Norrington
Once her beauty was gone
None ever came at her door
Her charm having been worn
She became forlorn
And this is where the story ends, I won't tell you no more.

Cliche

When I was still very young
I promised myself one thing
That I would never allow my life
To become a cliché
That I would make the most of it
Make it large
Make it a metaphor.
Indeed…….


So here I am now
Trying to form a picture
By putting together pieces
Bits and scraps of my life
Like a child figuring out the patterns
Of a broken, old kaleidoscope.
And what do I find
In that dark purple haze
Images that I cannot decipher
Memories that I cannot erase.
Forgotten dreams, forgiven whims
Winter, spring, summer, autumn
Twenty years of blood and sweat
Ten years of conscience
Seven years of puberty
Two years of dissonance
And two months' worth resurrection
For a lifetime of compliance.


I must make do with clichés
For metaphors are not at hand……..

My Immortals

I was a dreamer, I was born one,
Not that I had a choice in the matter,
Nor there was anything to be done.


And oh! How I dreamed!
Fancy seeing a face so red,
So flushed that it beamed.


I dreamt of beauty, I dreamt of dreams,
I dreamt of all that is good, is God,
I dreamt of savouring the cream of creams.


Dreams that remain unspoken,
Like a Dove's wings,
That stretch only to be broken.


And foolish me! I thought,
My dreams, my immortals will survive,
Beyond my life, beyond this drought.


I tried to write them down,
On a piece of paper,
Old, withered and light brown.


But each time I made a scratch,
The ink spread,
It left a dark, wet, messy patch.


And each time I cast a letter,
Each time I finished a line,
Disappear they did beneath the paper.


Finally when I was done,
It looked a wondrous mess of things,
It looked as though I had come undone.


My own dreams I could read no more,
They seemed as though they were lost,
Like some long forgotten folk 'n' lore.


I was vexed by such illusion,
Haggard, hassled I sat,
My dreams! Were they but confusion?


And then suddenly the West wind blew,
My paper turned, it flew,
Underneath I saw a view, a mystic hue.


All the poetry was now gone,
But the ink had seeped through,
And it gave me reason not to moan.


For my dreams had not failed their duty,
My immortals were now dead,
But the shadow they'd left….. was Beauty.

Remember Me...

Sometimes in the Night
When I'm all alone,
I remember a face, a vision
So bright, so pure,
And I say,
"I know your face, My lady
You are my first love,
I owe you my grace."
And she says,
"Forgive me, forget me,
Be at peace.
I was never yours,
I was not meant to be."
And then I say something
I have said a thousand times before
In my head, in my dream,
"You are long forgiven,
Why! I never had anything against you,
But you shall not be forgotten
Not ever………
For if I forget you, my life
What then shall remain of me?
And I ask you only this
For the sake of all
That is good, all that is Love,
Remember Me………

Drought

Is it that I am loosing my grace?
Poetry does not come to me anymore
Like it did on the first days of Autumn;
Winter approaches, dark and cold,
With a promise to snuff out the light,
The passion that burns within.
Will it end so soon?
But I do not wish it to end,
It is not because I am bored or wicked,
Nor is it that my Love is dead,
I did mean every word I said,
I always have …
But I fear, this I dread,
It would render me fallible again.

In which I die...

I have blood on my fingers,
Mortal wound in my soul;
Death's hounds have picked up my scent,
'Tis time, the bells have started to toll.

Though I know my fate is sealed
I run, I refuse to give up;
There is no hope this wound be healed,
For I have drunk from the poison cup.

I bang my head at every door,
I look into every dark hole;
But nowhere am I welcome,
No place to hide my murderous soul.

Suddenly I see out of the corner of my eye,
A figure, hooded, cloaked,
Approaching me in light foot
I grow pale with fear.

I feel the ice in his breath
He raises his hood, I see my face;
The dagger descends upon me
And I cry "Malediction".

Incoherence

Love is like a Sandstorm,
It blows hard, makes you blind,
Buries you six feet under
'Tis the Tomb of Sand.
And if ever you arise
When the storm is over;
What then flows through your veins,
Is not blood, 'tis the Bloody Sand.
* * *
If thee cannot weep,
If thy sorrow is so much deep,
Thou must bleed;
For grief shall not be bound.
* * *
All my life I've lived by a code,
The code is simple;
Then pray, tell me, oh why today!
Everything I held dear,
Do I wish to gamble.
Madness! What Magic is this!
* * *
Acrid smoke and tongues of flame
They scorch your very form,
You try to put it out with the Darkness inside,
You find only light; all in vain,
The fire burns.
And then you become desperate
You try to hide it beneath your coat
The glow fades for a moment,
And then bursts forth with all its might
Burning your coat, your chest;
The fire is dead but your passion still burns.

A gaze that was held...

1

Men are wretched things
They build castles out of thin air;
Oh! Why do we try to read so much
In just a look, an ephemeral stare.

2

Confused as he was, he could not have said,
What was in those eyes, that stare;
Was it pity, perhaps sympathy or e'en hatred,
Could it be Love?
He could not perceive, he did not Dare.

The Lone Rider

The battle cries fade in the distance,
The blood in the sky mellows.
Into the land of the setting sun
The Lone Rider rides;
Into the West he goes.
*
The Rider was valiant once,
He used to be brave.
But today he flees
Lest he should fall;
In his heart he fears this.
*
And so he betrays his native land,
His duty, his friends, his King;
For though he had no Achilles' heel,
Aye! His heart's love
He simply could not kill.
*
The Rider rides hard
As he nears his home again,
His steed froths in its mouth,
The earth melts under its shaky legs.
"Bear with me a little more,
My noble friend, my brother",
So saying he spurs it on
"Soon, we'll be home again".
*
But alas! The Rider knows not
What destiny has in store,
What be his fate.
For as he fled from his duty
His king had said,
"Deserters shall be hunted down like Dogs!"
And sure enough, behind a bush
In the form of an Ambuscade,
His Doom, his Death chose to wait.
*
They speared him, stabbed him, made him bleed,
But he did not stop, though he could not breathe.
"Bear with me my friend, my master",
He thought he heard his mare speak,
"Soon, you'll be home again".
*
And as his horse leapt
O'er his garden hedge
His head swayed, he fell with a thud.
He was home, and so he slept.
The auburn sky above him was dry
Only his faithful steed stood by him;
Alone it stood and it wept.

Cowboy and The Lady

Out of the Red Clouds of the Morn,
The Sun breaks through.
The Land wears a Scarlet cloak.
'Tis an early hour, and the townsfolk, they sleep.
The faint trot and the horse's neigh;
Become clear as The Cowboy comes through.

A window opens; a face, a vision;
There is the Cowboy and there is The Lady.
The Cowboy bows, and gallops away.
He'll be back, at Day's end,
For that faint smile and that pink blush.
And this'd go on, like a never ending dream.

* * *
But all good things must come to an end.
One day, at Sunset, 'neath the window,
There was the same Cowboy; there was no Lady.
And the following day, the Cowboy returned,
The window now was closed.
And it remained that way;
For everyday the Cowboy returned,
He found no blush, he found no rose.

Months passed, then years, and then.....
Oh! He must have lost count.
For his hair grew silvern
And his mare was now old.
But in all those years, not for once
Did he give up his perch,
No, he could not abandon his Post.

* * *
And then one day, as the Cowboy drew near,
He saw a young lad, twenty and one years old;
Perched 'neath the window, now open
His gaze fixed on a fragile yet delicate form.
The Cowboy cleared his eyes, they were blurr
And saw the same smile, the same face,
Though much younger.
A teardrop rolled down his cheeks.
He motioned to the young man and said,
'Be wary, my son. Heed my warning,
For Evil is not necessarily Beast, 'tis Beauty.'
And some time on, the faint trot was heard again,
O'er the distant hills; the Cowboy had left,
Ne'er to return again.