30/09/13
Here are ten poems I wrote from July - December 2010 (out of eighteen). The themes here range from self-reflection, music, romance and class to polygamy, memories, sex, beauty and life.
A Man Within Me
A man deep within me,
the voice of the crowd,
criticizes all others
just to be loved aloud.
Faced with the pure,
he is quick to uphold
his aesthetic veneer
as the richest of gold.
The critic of bodies,
he loves his own face,
this man without heart
yearns to be replaced.
but screams for the air
to circulate through
emptiness everywhere.
A man deep within me
loathes his reflection,
but a broken boy stares,
wishing for deflection.
A sun is to set
but light does not fade.
Her resonant croons
have me remade.
Secret beauty obstructs
my skeptical sight,
shedding my darkness
to harbour the bright.
Her swallowing girth
controls every thought.
Her angelic smile
yields all I’ve sought.
My pivoting body
surrenders to song.
One falling petal
to where it belongs.
Cinderella
It is quiet again,
the moon doesn’t blink.
Stars needn’t wink
in Nobody’s Land.
The clock strikes midnight,
and you must run
to your dusty home
in Nobody’s Land.
Your disregarded beauty
is caught by an eye
of His unpretentious side
at its very best.
You’ve tasted the wealth;
such sweet bitterness.
Your lavish Charming's
smiling incidental gold.
He’ll follow the trail;
glass slippers and pumpkins,
evading the certain plot.
You are just by chance.
What would you pronounce,
through all the dust,
to exchange the solitary
for pure solidarity?
The affluent bug bites,
taints your virtuosity.
Everything’s on a timer,
but you’re no Cinderella.
So, if midnight is to strike,
and if you must run,
never delve into love.
Let the dust fall upon you.
conducts monogamy
through my network
of vines and veins.
penetrate the dreamers;
releases their inhibitions
as light swallows moon.
whether chasten or fallen,
love is unfurled grain by grain,
is passed from heart to heart.
Hegemonic influences
prove too powerful
as my heart of purity
becomes a void.
telluric sensuality,
I’d be faced with
organic liberation.
They love long
as blood is green.
I’ll accept that
if life runs cold.
Glam
I sit at the table,
cut stars and hearts,
wishing to be...
wishing to have...
The music pours in.
Still, I have not one.
Life was promising,
but I’ve died since then.
and I stayed awake.
And coffee was nothing
when I was young.
I stick them in
the book once someone’s.
I’ve since passed away
onto other failures.
Golden 39
I reemerge after golden 39,
unthreading the paragon,
fibre by gorgeous fibre.
Ribboning light reduces,
illusory fires brush my skin,
undoing the inner pain of me,
floating away in a rip of dark.
She did it again;
revived my soulless spirit.
I am better, happier;
hopeful of love.
Of life.
The minute wind-up,
such perfect closing.
She murmurs and echoes,
I fall all about.
Back into sleep,
back into dreams.
Internal wonderment,
knowingly sleeping.
News Reporter
Clean-cut correspondent
presenter of youth,
your creamy white smile
fills my screen like fog.
Aesthete of complexion,
you entice me
with tranquilizing speech,
and mar my time.
You shimmer like pearls
in a treasure chest,
luminous in good news,
picturesque in bad.
Silver-tongued orator
you magnetize me
and teach me to
never touch the remote.
That’s all I learn
as thousands die,
as storms break cities,
as I near death.
The Dark Beguiler
The dark beguiler
sparks his blackest flame.
YouΚΌre a helpless moth,
His supple hand lures you
far beneath cover’s surface,
shining light from every deep,
but never enkindling you.
Your energy won’t last.
The web tightens around you.
You’ll fall to him
before you fall to sleep.
You’d never known until he.
You’d never noticed a lackluster glow
in the heart of your blood.
You’d never known it until he.
Only until he filled you,
your emptiest canvas,
with all the falsified colours,
only then did you know.
This Time
My hand creeps,
Leaps like a spider.
Uncurling, unfurling its length,
Careful tracing of your head,
Embracing you entirely.
No stopping and starting.
No time.
Oh, we could be...
And you could be...
This delicate lust still isn’t love
Oh, how it should be...
My body wilts,
Spills over with magma
Erupting, erupting into you
The dormancy of my mind
To you, I am inclined
To settle for lovelessness
This time
Oh, we could be...
And you could be...
This delicate lust still isn’t love
But how it should be...
This time.
Train
If death was a train
I’d sit in the back
Watching life go by
My feet dangling over
Escaping the life
I’d be a wanderer
Built by chance
By my mother
I’d ride my way away
If I had a brain
My intellect is numbed
By dialect’s pain
Locomotive lust
Takes me away
Whistling new songs
To progress the day
Facing the sunset
From forward angles
The train will stop
When life untangles
If death was a train
I’d shovel the coal
Continual voyage
To find my soul
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