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New Year Retribution
The closed curtain,
Veil of the new age;
Falls upon the tolling
Bells –
And we stand in
Vain hope –
The blurred shadow
Of yesteryear
In our eyes still –
Still we stand,
The whole world
In static motion
Towards a pale hand
Which corrupts
In steady stance
All who enter
Into ill fated contract
With a firm grip
And empty words
With the night-reaper in the stands…
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Ne’er Moving Man
No audience
Gathers round the
Catatonic
Ne’er moving
Man;
Like a mime
Without
The empty airs
Of pretentious
Performance –
He stands eternal
In marble monument
Watching over shadows
In silent duty.
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She is not a Rose
Neither rose
Petal or bud
Can be
As she –
The woman
Of the water
Who levels
Out the unbearable
Sound
With a
Tranquil moment
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Devil-shine
Reality
Asphyxiates
All
As lightning
Fixates the eyes
Burning, blinding –
Bleaching
In a moment
The day in
Devil-shine
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The Lover’s Leap Lies in Pieces
sonnets of souls
separated by space –
sound out
in that place
between
where the
breath of angels
cool in divine
circumstance
and timekeepers
stand reticent
by gates
holding back fate
reluctantly
to
people parted
by
blunt
location
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In Bones We Trust
In this ancient
Ruin we trust
In this relic
Of an age not
Ours –
Where shining men
Hid behind doors
And ruled
Against
Martyrs
Who could not
Argue
Or take flight
Against
Hamlet’s plight
—-
The age is past,
But the seeping
Sinister spirit
Continues
To fester
To the bone.
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The Sea Murmurs Murder
The red ragged rocks
Of grievous assault
Are in our steps
And our footprints
Carry the weight
Of deadly thoughts
As they imprint
Upon the shore –
Sand made concrete
By harsh fate’s hand…
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Paint Her Black
Precious pain
Paints her
Portraits
In black –
All her landscapes
Are flooded…
Men are alone
With her
And walk with her
In solidarity
Of solitude.
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The Heart-breaker
Cryptic crafted
Beating heart
Of mortal man –
What fragile
Construct,
Felled by a
Breath –
A live death
Stitched to an
Ego
In perpetual
Caricature.
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Pedlars Of Perfection
Superficial souls
Vain sellers of
Artificial perfection
And critics of nature
Have planted toxic roots
Which have grown under
Skin not theirs
Which like bamboo
Under nails
Have bled
Out dying hope
And hollowed the heart
Made it cry
Tears that will not cease
Until all that is left
Is the mirror
That shows
Brittle bones
Standing in flesh
Where mind
Has deformed
And forced
Starvation
As the norm
Upon beauty;
Calling it ugly
In the ubiquitous lie
Protected and promoted
By society’s hell.
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The Skeleton
A Poem A Day 