Blake

The feral silence of Angels

flooded his form.

Fens were drained like

faces of lost souls

beguiled by the 

Demonic din of Babel.

Sunstitched

 

Sunbrace

Her smile bright as milestones 

on steep sun dressed hillsides.

Sunspot amber eyes' shade

with the grace of dawn's rays.

Clusters of stars flare 

in her heavenly hair

twisting gaily in 

Etesian air.

Lullaby

Arbors of clientele,

physiognomies

cast by articulate

leaves.

 

An owl's coo and flutter the coda

as rustling leaves lull us prey 

to strange aspects.

Lockdown Spleen

 

Barricade streets, confine living souls,

you cannot kill the love inside us.

Throw families out into those streets,

starve the poor,

let the elderly perish without a word

from loved ones...

Be clinically cruel as you wish,

it will not kill the love inside us.

You only kindle bonfires that shall 

make motes of your feckless cruelty.

Wealth of Nations

The Gates are horrid, 

built with the bone and sinew

of indigent test subjects.

Far away on private isles

our wealthy benefactors

are deflowering children

or drinking their blood

to procure eternal youth.

In boardrooms quid pro quo

proudly slaughters millions 

to reap robust return.

Pandemic and shutdowns for subjects,

mandating untested but profitable 

vaccines to mint trillions for gatekeepers.

The Prick Kicks

Cocky Paphian, teeth bared boldly, 

savors tastes of comestible booty.

His tactile leer caresses flesh

on Sun sopped promenades.

He struts erect as a rooster,

relishing each coup de foudre.

Reflection

       

The Eugenicist at Home

At his mahogany desk

constructing a standardized test,

calipers dangle from the wall

like lynched relics.

                                                      An unconscious numerologist,

                                                      he avoids six and embraces seven.

His bookcase to the right

stuffed with titles by

Murray, Attenborough,

and Flynn is dusted

by a servant whose name

he never recalls.

Her dark face 

entails an occult

erasure.

 

Philoctetes

Lit a pyre and burned again

for an abducted princess.

To Troy he sailed 

with Heracles' bow

to snuff twin flames.

Hera sent a serpent

to cross his aims. 

                                        He's bitten.

                                        The wound stinks.

                                        The poison rots

                                        as each hero shrinks

                                        away fleeing his

                                        accursed state.

Until twin wits plot

to purloin his bow...

But good faith prevailed

and provided a cure

for all he ailed.

On the Good Foot

 

Draped Pedestal

 

It's Gonna Be a Beautiful Night

The Timid Suitor

 

Save the shaky palm which strokes the brow,

  what can untimeliness do to assuage?

Censure wayward star, contritely pen a vow

  and wish your eyes smile on the page?

Harvest

Breaking the circle of page and path we step aside.

     Harvest Moon, pregnant with soft gold,

                  denudes heaven.

It posts low,

vigilant over spoils.

Pull back the sheets. 

Cover mouths.

Mute pages sleep,

dreams reaped 

by prying eyes.

 

Nightfall

We cannot still desire or silence fear.

This print, Nightfall on pale as day pages.

Sun tucks eye under margin 

to close glaring Tribunals.

We're sentinels of night.

White blanks intimate explicit silences.

Every page a canvas where desire passes

kept breath. 

At Sleep

Wilds of her dark hair
alive with mystery

August's potent scent
steeps still air

As shared breath braces
the hush of chapels.

Parmenides

Only one story and one way
appearing many that is.
Never disparate, but facets
full of all that is.

I turned away from Pythagoras 
and all he learned from the Egyptians.
Parts wise, but the whole
marred by his own
artful knavery.

My chariot Plato nicked
for his treble soul
shall never roll.
And the Sail,
whether white or black,
still swells full
in Sailness.

Temporal Economy

Days short as a breath,
nights lasting epochs...

Youth's extravagance
mints time's mounting debt.

Words written or spoken
hang swords overhead.

Conscience, a shrill picket,
disturbs placid temples.

Articulation's Progress

Born so stuffed with words
all we do is laugh or cry.

Pulse a deviant metre,
resonance sculpts its
scales in the ear.

Whispers inside engrave worlds
to find shelter in or escape.

Ultimately we cede expression and accept
the eternal peace of Heaven's boundless prospect.