Pathways Medley

Pathways, pathways

gotta go any-ways

gotta go any place

now.

Gotta go, where to go?

I dunno, here we go

How we go is when we go &

stop.

Need to go somewhere

not just anywhere

need to find the path to

choose.

I can’t be here

here is nowhere

Nowhere has nothing for

me.

Need to find my place to be

Cannot wait to stop and see

where will my home have

gone.

Spin, spin, spin

Gotta keep your wheels spinnin’ baby

Spin, spin, spin

Gotta keep your choices free.

Spin, spin, spin

If you stop your wheels spinnin’ baby

Spin, spin, spin

No more options left to be.

Where is the berth for the wandering heart?

Where can it rightly call home?

Where is the room for the traveling soul,

when the world builds only for two?

When can I stop this curious mind

from peeking around the next bend?

What is the cure for loving too soon

For a man who knows just how it ends?

Why is it so easy to fall for someone

knowing how much it hurts when you land?

Why can’t I just stay put

and stay happy here?

Why must I go out alone?

Who can I hold

when there’s nobody left

because nobody left can hold me?

What is a relationship for someone who has

passion and trust in a friend?

What is the fate of this wandering heart

with no one to wander with it in the end?

On a certain Madame of mine

On a certain Madame of mine

She tastes of the color Red,

tender, tangy, supple, smooth.

She smells of sunset, of dusk,

of the mysteries which lie

along the border

between light and dark,

within the thick line

between day and night.

In holding her within my arms,

the world skips a beat,

pausing for a moment

granting us breath.

Daily worries & ponderous pressures

are lifted, forgotten, & freed.

Life’s weights and stresses

shared and shouldered

between us together,

for together no load shall overwhelm us.

For together,

our love is freed.

What If?

Dreams of worlds which never were,

Idle fantasies which never are,

Bright new futures yet to be,

Haunting shades of memory.

Suspended pale droplet

Focusing attention

quickening breath.

From a silken mane

glistening, shining,

fanned out in an earthen halo

To soft peaks

gently directing the world,

framing the jewel for all to see.

A milky droplet rolls lazily

down sweeping curves,

Framed in gold

Frozen in time

An emblem of passion

A reminder of trust.

Moonlight Love

Do not call it ‘love’, my dear,

for we know it is not so.

Passion it may always be,

but passion comes and goes.

I care for you,

and you for me,

for that is who we are.

But do not call it love my dear,

for that goes much too far.

So take this gift,

and think of me,

so when we sleep tonight;

the love we made

shall never fade

in the soft moonlight.

Epitaph of Man

Insidious maw, twisting and corrupting
All within its dusty reach.
As seconds slither by,
minutes vanish on the fetid breeze
waiting, waiting, waiting
forever.

Under huddle of cold comfort
Blankets pile high as futile bulwarks
Against creeping tendrils of frigid air.
Simple barriers of the familiar
Become cloth prisons
a holding cell
within
Me.

Time’s damned visage stares in perpetuity
Boring steadily through the mind,
embedded in the skull.
Sanity lies in oblivion,
The null æther beckons.
“Come hither.” It says,
whispering soft lullabies:
simple nothings
which taste
so sweet.


Cold in body and mind,
Embittered of man’s promises,
I wait for empty sleep
to overtake me
and grant me
peace.

For the good of one,
I must deceive another.
For the good of another,
I must betray one.

“Because of man’s lies, so must I lie here.”
So say these words:
An epitaph to man.
His resting place
In a cold, dark world.

And so I sleep,
An eternity in a night.
“And let the world know
that here, man lies forever.”
Good night.

Fireworks, on the Fourth of July

Fireworks, on the Fourth of July

Every year, the birth of our nation is celebrated:

In barbeques and cookouts,

In parties and gatherings,

In professional sports and amateur war.

By day we feast and play in the sun,

By night we talk and watch false suns rise.

Time to watch fireworks

On the Fourth of July.

Friends and family

Old and new

Gather round the flames.

Games are played, and stories are told,

All in subtle order.

Clockwork soldiers long past,

drum an ethereal tattoo.

Pounding beats thump, thump, thumping

On the horizon.

War’s refrain rattles listener’s skulls,

Stirring withered moral fibres for one glorious night.

Thump, thump, thump go fireworks

On the Fourth of July.

But something else stirs this eternal night:

A friend’s return

The tugging of emotions long buried.

Smoldering lust and flickering affection

Once thought extinguished,

Now roar into life once more.

Time, however, has damped this flame

Keeping it contained

Before it could erupt.

There shall be no harsh words tonight,

No fireworks on the Fourth of July.

A glimmer,

A jiggle,

A squeal of glee,

And a shared memory.

Nothing happens

When friends are only friends,

And love is only temporary.

Always the nice guy,

Never her nice guy.

Late nights of talking,

Memories of impaired judgment

Produce hope that perhaps potential still lies within.

Drawing closer,

Bodices warming more than each other,

A furtive pet,

Quick moments,

And slow embraces

All combine to kindle hope

That one day there will be

Real fireworks

On the Fourth of July.

Fall of the Houri

This is another recent one. This was a birthday present for Laconia.

Fall of the Houri

A streak of light

fiery and radiant

The Houri falls from grace.

Sailing, shining, crisping, crying

The flesh weeps in disgrace.

Once, she dined

of carnal mind.

She savored man and machine.

Standing tall

until her fall.

One soul,
One mind,

One being.

Silken ivory bodice

aquiline voluptuous goddess.

Sleek strands of onyx

coiffed ebony perfection.

Lapis seas and crimson flames

fire and ice mixed sensually

Tempting mortals to divine grace,

a testament to reality.

Worldly, with

worldly tastes,

worldly needs,

worldly frailties,

temptation leads her astray.

As Houri, she loves deeply.

She loves with more passion

than a thousand mortal men,

however that is not why she has fallen.

Trust is what failed her.

She trusted in mortals, and

as mortals, they corrupted that trust.

They used that link,

abused that link,

defiling all she knew.

When she needed help

They spat in her face.

Now she lies among mortals.

Wings turned to ash,

mortality her constant companion.

In some way,

she almost seems better for it.

She has found new trust

She has found new joys

She knows what it is like to fall

and how never to do so again.

Her fall from grace

was hard and fast,

but maybe someone will catch her

a falling star,

a fallen Houri

an angel, in mortal form.

Musings on a single grain of sand

Here's another one of mine. This one is actually rather recent. It's written to/about Laconia, a close friend of mine who wrote a poem shortly before I wrote this about the loneliness of a grain of sand. I wrote a poem to counter hers, and to cheer her up.

Musings on a single grain of sand:

There is little I can envy more
than a single grain of sand.
Minute pebble,
silently traveling the world,
filled with potential.
Unspoiled, pure.
One with the world
shaped by the world
leaving its impression,
forever on the world.

Where will it go?
What will it be?
An ocean of potential awaits.
Infinite experiences
both past and future
lap at human shores.
A pearl, radiating soft and milky love
A spotlight, shining perfection
A rose window, comforting and consoling
A glass toy, more relaxing compliment than lonely replacement
Infinite possibilities,
all existing at once.
All potential existing at once
within this one point of being.

This serene orb
leaves an indelible mark upon
all who harbor it,
changing their lives forever.
I know my life
will forever be better
from the passage
of that single grain of sand.
Some are irritated by it,
building up barriers and roadblocks
trying to stop this radiant grain.
Their futile struggle only makes
this grain stronger, more valuable,
and more beautiful.
(even though I don’t know how that’s possible)

The world would be far better
if there would be more grains of sand in it.
I would be far better
If I had a grain of sand
to accompany me into the world.

On Twin Points

Another post in my "get caught up with prior posts" series, this one is also rather old. I'm not sure who this is about, or when I wrote it, but here it is for completeness.

On Twin Points

Curled in a corner,

Face locked in a contorted ricture.

A visage twisted by the twins.

The angel Lethe, whispering sweet blissful memories.

The demon Belial, spreading dark poisonous glimpses of the yet-to-come.

Pulling in opposite directions,

His thoughts never wavering:

His love, his illuminating light, his being.

With her, he always wants more.

Ecstatic, but never sated.

For he knows how illusory it is.

Afraid to gamble on what he has,

But always lusting for more.

Without her, he is lost.

Every thought is consumed within one:

Her.

Every action derived from a single goal:

Her.

Every need subsumed before one:

Her.

To forget and ignore the spectral tormentors is to lose her.

To give in and explain is to drive her away.

To keep from oblivion, he balances on a knife's edge.

Neither silent nor vocal, for to succumb to either is to banish her.

Emotions bottled and hidden, only to slowly seep out.

Until he can move he will stand,

Perched on twin knife points.

Slowly pierced without motion,

The abyss waits for any wasted motion.

He cannot stay put, but he must.

"Just a bit farther" he says.

Just a bit farther indeed.

Tribute in Verse

Yeah, this was originally for a class in the style of A few lines composed above Tintern Abbey, but I put a little more into it this time.

Tribute to Great Men

Step across the seething marsh,

And peer inside the twisted ruins,

Memories of past life abound

And hang stark against the drained, the dreary,

the here, the now,

The reminder of life forgotten and faded.

To the left, a tangled mass.

Once glorious rows of blesséd fruit.

Ambrosia once flowed from these vines.

Blood and sweat,

Life and love,

Time and tears.

All poured into this hallowed ground,

this sacrament to great men.

The lifeblood of a generation,

shed to sustain this land.

My forefather nurtured this land with his last mortal breath.

Now all that remains of his passion,

His life's work,

His very soul,

is the ruins of a once great farm.

Now all that remains of the once pristine plants are tangled wrecks,

Seething masses,

Wizéned and thorny vines choking apple trees.

What was once the envy of the county,

becomes a tribute to mourn the passing of great men.

What once made the finest cider in the land now only serves for

worms to drink their fill.

Look upon these last vestiges of life:

The few remaining windfalls,

Sweetened by time, age, passion.

Taste the sultry sweetness.

The scarlet red, so vivid,

the color washes away the sorrow,

if just for a moment.

The silky taste, conjuring phantom memories of

passionate love shared under these ancient boughs,

The tears shed for young love, lost in a distant land,

The joy of redemption,

The serenity of knowing that the family is whole once more.

But even as you finish,

Know what has been shed here.

Remember the cries of passion unmeasurable,

of agony unbearable.

Remember the whispers of a legendary deal.

A man for whom the livelihood of his body,

Shall be the lifeblood of his land.

That when he could no longer raise his ancestral land,

Both should wither and perish.

That was the legacy of a great man.

So as you wander through this forlorn tribute to great men,

Raise your applecore up on high.

Remember the sacrifices made these great men,

And cast those seeds you hold to the heavens.

Let new life sprout from the legacy of greate men.

Let memories of new passion sprout.

Let these great men not go forgotten.

But most of all,

Let the heritage of great men flow through you

As you cast the seeds of a new generation to the winds.