Saturday, 31 August 2013

Mouldering My Mind

Nothing so coarse as that course
which will take my corpse to the morgue.
A rot in the roots where golden explosions grew,
sees that the soil masks my beauty completely
and my withered state must collect what it's due.
I have let this plant overgrow,
keen to reap the fruits of its embrace when they ripe-
but that comforting clutch is clenching too close
and the now blackening grass is past the graze of my grasp.

I won't be picking fruit again.

Sunday, 25 August 2013


When I'm smothered by the soil
dress me in withering white.
Say a prayer for my soul
and watch me as it takes flight.
When I'm buried in the ground
drop a single pen.
Read to me a eulogy
for me to write again.
When I'm food for the worms
keep the Devil's jaw away.
Do not wish for me to go
but do not wish for me to stay.
When I'm only rotting flesh
let the rain tear me apart.
Cherish the splendor of life
and forget my dried-up heart.

Life is too Long

Contrary to the overused phrase,
life is too long.

Occupied mostly by menial mediocre makeweight moments--
fastidious fragments of filler;
the greater fraction spent feigning death,
a large proportion placed in grudging positions
and just a morsel used to actually live.

100000 pages describing a character
with pretentious pitter-patter
which provides no penetration to the underlying plot.
A perpetual instrumental track,
with unnoticeably subtle progresion
that offers no tying motif to the record's ambiance.

Give me something succinct, condensed
and stimulating--

I hope that I'm dead
by the time this is read.

The Grey Chess Piece

Darkness ultimately devours all,
and rather than shy from it
I wish to fuel it with the Devil's narcotics
and become the light;
a nemesis to the demon Night.
Bring me close to the end
so that I may breathe down the neck of Death,
observe it
understand it,
and defeat it.

He will learn to fear me.

Meaning Found, Meaning Lost

Last night,
fueled by some clear haze--
I discovered
the meaning of life.

I forgot it by morning.


My phantom footsteps
float along the filthy floor
of this foul forgotten town.
Slipping through the slime
of otiose citizens
swiftly squandering handouts.
Medicine music
drowns out society's dregs
and deadens my disgusted frown.

Wednesday, 21 August 2013


The moon-grazed sleepy poppy fields
lulled my plagued mind into a lucid calm.
The moon gazed at shadows he yields
but had no concern of potential harm.

The sun's sharp prick got me back up.
Rubbing my eyes, I was mad at the day.
No longer numb, I took a cup.
I sipped til the clouds drew the sun away.

My eyelids danced like shooting stars
and my head orbited my drowsy frame,
intending to ask the way to Mars
all I mustered was a mutter; "Who's to blame?".

Friday, 16 August 2013

Second-hand Love Notes

Musky margins with amorous musings
in my used hardback book passed along;
previous owner to lover's perusing
to my own eyes. So uncomfortably wrong,
for these faded fancies were not meant
for me yet fate should have it I read these lines:
"This reminds me of the time we have spent"...
such sweetness I could not hold as mine.
It sickens that such care is discarded
and that the calligraphy's charm isn't cherished,
when someone's read is so well regarded
that their love lives on when the page has perished.

So perhaps paper is the best thing to hold;
its meaning stays true when people's grow old.

Sunday, 11 August 2013

Drive It All Over Me

Swimming in the salmon skies
on a Sunday afternoon.
Speeding to where softness lies
when conclusion comes too soon.
Shading in consonant sounds
to dissonant melody.
Sliding through the sun-kissed mounds
to valleys of strawberry.
Smiling upwards at the storm
with its purifying bliss.
Gazing towards my distant home
and the dreams of its soft kiss.

Tuesday, 6 August 2013


Low hanging wisps on a velvet fabric sky
falling into the ubiquitous wet,
illuminated by poppy flowers
with enough light to prevent the dew to set.

Sweet cinnamon moon brings the rain to rest
and the clouds all part to his potent glow,
dreams dancing sideways back into the day
float into the fire to feel afflictions slow.

She will bring song when such dreaming is done
her fingertips glancing my curtains ajar,
and rays will lead me to her glowing embrace
that which I have often admired from afar.

Sure, the skies shift with stuttered intensity
but I willfully trace her propensity.

Vacillating Vessel

Effulgent and effortless
yet so elusive to find.
Elegant and eloquent,
you are elevated in my mind.

Friday, 2 August 2013

Photographic Detail

I recount brief but concrete memories
when I return to those polaroids of you,
just as resplendent as I'd remembered
and your shining beauty radiates through.

But a photograph could never capture
the fine details that the awestruck eye sees,
like the way you try to fight back your smile
or how your soft hair dances in the breeze.

So that's why I keep on staring at pictures;
I'm afraid of losing the precise science
that blends itself to create a paragon,
an Angel cut from chemicals' compliance.

And though the film may keep some detail intact,
just like a photo, you'd never react.


You see me,
and I see you back
but we never exchange
much more than that.
A day goes by
where I wonder if I should say
but you are there
and I am nowhere.
It feels like,
you are beyond the shaded horizons of the globe
while I am starstruck on the Sun
and so I wait-
for the day when you see,
that I am waiting, and waiting
for you to see me.