i.n.s.a.t.i.a.b.l.e.

I’m hungry, but not for
nicotine, caffeine,
solvents or ecstasy;
addictions of the physical,
their prurience envelops and
infects,
as kisses do,
but nothing’s quite as sweet as
lust and
every day I rot and rust.

A gambling man

Enter now the panic ponder!
These trees of green, orange or no leaves at all,
are like me; undecided.
Am I Summer? Autumn? Winter?
Cos I’m far from being spring,
with birds of a feather at it like rabbits,
whereas I’ve no beak or bunny to speak of.
But my money’s on Epiphany,
my three-legged pony at 52-1.
Slim chance!
Which is, ironically,
3-1.
Likewise, I’ll fly out of the trap,
grabbing my opportunity by the reigns,
or the mane…
or tail…
only then to be drawn through the rocky streets of education;
the forgotten purpose.

Never, never, and once denied

No matter how you may persist,
I’m once denied but never twice,
you’ll never kiss these dusty lips.

Though sigh and swoon have gone amiss,
your own entails too great a price,
no matter how you may persist.

You once denied; with silence hissed
that words weren’t able to suffice.
You’ll never kiss these dusty lips.

Your chill desire rolls in like mist,
but mine you cannot turn to ice,
no matter how you may persist.

Your feigned surrender can’t resist,
but I will never feel enticed.
You’ll never kiss these dusty lips.

You smile whilst clenching both your fists,
but I won’t welcome sacrifice.
No matter how you may persist
you’ll never kiss these dusty lips.

Dragon

“I specialise in madness.” He said,
leaning back and forth in the rocking-chair,
proudly puffing from his large cigar
who’s smoke whipped through the air
like the tail of a ghostly dragon.
And can we deny him?
Nay! For it is he that rocks
n’ rolls the ghostly billows from his toothy lair,
and talks of madness.
“But I,” said I,
“I can engage in madness too!”
He frowned awhile, then turned to face me,
blew a mighty plume towards me.
And I watched as the wafting dragon breathed a fiery kiss
and I burned, burned, burned
in the madness of its love.

Aenigma (III)

Relight my love for life
and offer me your wrong that’s right,
for suns can’t shine without their sin.
In truth the flame shall never die.
Envelope me and burn the night.

The riddle lies somewhere within;
one four four one and one stroke in.

It takes two

Had roses never drawn their thorns,
like laddered steps of bloody swords,
the dogs would eat just as they please;
insatiable, voracious greed.

But had roses never been so bold,
like diamonds, sat on wheels of gold,
the crows would spare their glistening eyes;
for beauties dare what they despise.

Throwing in the towel

A restless soul makes light of time
when flurried thoughts make dark of mind,
and held these lips forever be
till parting words find liberty.

The blind surreal is deaf and dumb
to every note my words have sung,
and when but silence meets my ears
this fools succumbs to all his fears.

Come dawn, come dusk, come midday sun,
I dither and dather ‘till all’s been done.
Pray tell me no, if that be true,
for assumption will no longer do.

There’s room for two

As of late, I have found, when the sun has gone down,
I dither and dather with the bats and the owls.
Then through reason alone, since I care not for sleeping,
I take to my bed and soften my breathing.

And I’m wondering if you were sleeping beside me,
if your own eyes were closed so sweet and divinely,
I’d find myself better inclined towards sleep,
cos these eyelids ain’t heavy and this midnight won’t keep.

With both of my eyes on the gap in the curtains,
I finally drift off to the sound of birds chirpin’.
So when daylight crawls in, just give me a warning,
cos it’s your voice that helps me get up in the morning.

Remedy

Commence the dance of bloom and blossom,
a spring in every step.
The fall of yesteryear forgotten,
those orange tears were laid to rest
where rotting memories shall reside;
the compost of the mind.

I long for days I can’t remember,
when fair was fair and fair the weather.
But now the trees stand nakedly
and wilting to their tapered dream.
Come blossom dance, help me forget,
with Spring in every step.

Rider

Swift as a breath drawn in quick cos of fear,
light as if winged with a breeze,
sharp as the path, created by He;
the diamond-cut rider.
No swifter, no lighter,
no sharper a rider than He.

Born like the sunrise beyond the horizon,
lives like a comet in flight,
journeys the worlds, no place left unseen.
The all-knowing rider.
No purer, no greater,
no wiser a rider than He.

Swift as a breath beyond the horizon,
lives as if winged with a breeze,
sharp as the path, no place left unseen;
no purer, no lighter.

Born like the sunrise drawn in quick cos of fear,
light like a comet in flight,
journeys the worlds, created by He;
no swifter, no greater,
no sharper, no wiser,
no more knowing or free;

the diamond-cut rider is He.

Beneath the smile

Fall on me or cut right through me,
smile at me or try to show me
what it is you have to hide.
Confide in me, you telling eyes.

Enlighten me or puzzle me,
engage with me or punish me.
I only know what I have heard;
be straight with me, you riddled words.

Reach for me, let go of me,
be kind to me or cruel to me.
I fear I’ll never understand
the truth behind those shaking hands.

Arriving home

The cobbled path, my path to home,
the pitter-pat of rain on stone,
the knotted door, the worn-out brass,
the loggy thump, the denting rasp.

The soggy mat, inside at last,
the beaten windows, rain on glass,
the water boiled, the gentle fire,
the padded chair will host retire.

The mâchéd news, words laced with rain;
at least the sport has gone unscathed.
The Grandfather’s Grandfather’s Grandfather’s clock;
past resonates through tick n’ tock.

And so I give you my evening scene:
a man, his house n’ a cup of tea.
The steamy sweetness warms my heart,
and, as evening fades, my thoughts depart.

The wordsmith’s grindstone

Moleskine in palm;
its crude appearance wears timelessly,
and yet but eighteen years have worn creases in mine.

Patternless cover;
the simplicity disguises the complexity within,
for true beauty lies beneath the skin.

L’Plume in hand;
its wordy purpose so full of blotted potential,
like the creative finger I never had.

Emerald-green,
gold-nibbed and poised with majesty.
A ceremonial gesture, chosen with care.

Poet in thought.
Words come and go, abundantly so,
but few seem worthy of the page.

And so the naked canvas;
to be purchased by fools who wish to admire
something more thoughtless than they.

Dare to ponder

In thought of you,
I quiver.
These shaky hands,
excited shivers.
Dreams are sweet,
but you are sweeter.
Day is bright,
but night is clearer.

In thought of you,
I wonder.
These fantasies
I dare to ponder.
Love is fair,
but war is fairer.
Loyalty
is somewhat rarer.

In thought of you,
I can’t decide
if this is wrong
when wrong’s so right.
Just for today,
won’t you be mine?
My sweet, illicit
valentine.

English Summer

To me, love’s like an English summer,
with teasing spells of loving sun
and only then to, swiftly so,
fall beneath the growing shadow.

Then, from the dismal pelt of rain
that not so much as lightning yields,
comes forth a rookie, eyes ablaze.
But pride won’t dam the falling waves.

And soon cats hiss, dogs bark and howl
as all descend toward the ground
to douse and drown the rookie’s flame.
That torch he held was held in vain.

The monotone of summer rain
makes day by day the same mundane.
Before we know it, swiftly so,
we’re left knee deep in winter’s snow.

Yet come the darkness, we’ll remember
the beauty of our English summer.
Shadows pass, as lovers will,
‘tis but the sun that’s loyal still.

The laden truth

Is love a lie to which we must confess?
A promise held till out of sight?
These rings, these words and love affairs,
but taint the truth and riddle reason.

Can faithfulness be held so dear
when none but plan to try adhere?
The laden truth, if so enticed,
is every heart will have a price.

Departed loves

The havoc’s passed,
and just as well.
Departed loves;
they pushed, I fell.

Too many strings,
too many lies,
too many frets
and sleepless nights…

and yet this bliss is all too so.
No occupation,
I’ve thoughts alone.

I live, at least,
without obsession,
dream of love
and not perfection.
I’m wiser than before I fell;
departed loves,
they’ve served me well…

and yet this bliss is all too so.
I sleep at night,
but still alone.
No heavy thoughts,
but still I groan.
No need to call,
but still I phone.

I live, for once,
without direction.
Dreams are sweet
but lack perfection.
The scars I bare,
they’ve tales to tell;
departed loves.
They pushed, I fell.

But now to live without regret,
learn how to love
and try forget
those worried thoughts,
those troubled woes,
that caused this bliss to wither so.

No sleeplessness shall plague my nights
now tangled strings have been untied.

I live, at last,
with free desire,
and dream the dreams that take me higher.
I’ve made it through.
I’ve conquered hell.
Departed loves,
they served me well.

Pledge for tenderness

Sweeping strokes of subtle splendour,
touch this page with love so tender.

Day by day
night by night,
I miss her, miss her, miss her light.
Tonight she too puts pen to paper;
sweeping strokes of subtle splendour.

Naked,
and yet fully clothed,
I miss what I have come to know.
She held my hand
(I held her firmer).
Touched my heart with love so tender.

Let her dream the pure perfection,
dreams of love and sweet affection.
Sweeping strokes of subtle splendour,
weave these words with love so tender.

A spoken thought

Come back to me, my spoken thought,
the one I held so dear.
I cried too loud in to that night;
now all know of my fear.

Arm’s length

Your outstretched arm pulls me to you
when I have gone astray.
It’s there you hold me, at arm’s length;
it’s easier that way.

Your hushed reply, your cheeky smile,
soft whispers in my ear.
You’re armed with fun flirtation to
keep me not close but near.

You’re not alone in games of love,
for two believe I’m theirs.
Too blinded by my quick reply
to see my love is shared.

Neither unique in their cruel ways;
I practice this art too.
I’ve loved before but been ignored;
I tried and failed with you.

Their outstretched arms try pull me near;
I play them day by day.
It’s there I wait, just out of reach;
it’s easier that way.