in spite
of mountains
of might
air
bears no impression
for years
we watched
lying rigid
in piqued
anticipation
every time we looked
away
the day had since fallen
even still
do we burn
holes in the ceiling
retraversing every misstep
meet me
where the shadows drift
apart
from who we are
where waning tides
reveal the rift
that weeps
into the stars
wrap me
amid layers
of a long
forgotten kiss
our voices
led astray
upon the solace
of your lips
shake me
to the rhythm
of our innocence
denied
pray not let us
fall
into a conscious
state of lies
for all
this world
has proven
naught
but torment in reprise
and so
we take our leave
as sorrows bleed
for you and i
Powerful expression from sir Nicholas Osborne
silence ever
bleeds eternal
on such
darkened eves
huddled
in the farthest
reach
of hidden
memories
barren conscience
lies below
where
shallow whispers
breathe
brandishing
the burdens
buried ‘neath
a bed of leaves
once
shone verdant
in their glory
now tinged
with decay
tucked
in scattered layers
singed
in tattered
disarray
everything
that mattered
faded
in a distant scene
drifting
into nonexistent
narratives
serene
pages bare
the words
unspoken
waging wars
unseen
wading
in the erstwhile
waters
wrought
with misery
When life doth air too serious
So weary I become
My notions turn nefarious
To whimsy, I succumb
I then proceed to longeth p’ruse
My Frederick’s catalogue
To sate my need for silken rouge
And frilly lace corsage
Of course they must be crotchless
Lest I err a thoughtless cad
And should I dare wend topless
Throw some pasties in the bag
With preference for tassels
‘Tis a hassle otherwise
I might start feeling sassy
Thus, such foresight would suffice
Ne’er I display such imprudence
Hence, I buy in bulk
For countless corsets have i torn
asunder with mine hulk
As proven on the eve
I wast locked out of mine own house
And all the poor old maidens
Swooned as if they’d seen a mouse!
Did grant, I may stand
Two inches just over six feet tall
With brawny build and buns that filleth
Panties with a sprawl
Which tend to draw the ire
Of the gentry’s night patrol
Who seem to never tire
Of cruising past me ever slow
Why then, would anyone
Blame a lad for simply trying
Were I to say I did not look
Hawt in lace I’d be lying!
And thou knowest quite well
This spectacle sings flourishing
Within the theater of thy mind
Where it is now showing
For none dare intermit
The thought of such a rogue delight
Frolicking in flowery peignoirs
All throughout the night
[image credit: Louis Wain]
edging
ever closer
to the air
which will grant
my final breath
until then
i am
wedged
between this
untold boulder
and life
unfolding
somewhere
along this wayward
path
i lost
the sum
of you
in broken
buttons
crumpled
papers
whispers
faintly
promised
to reflections
we once
bared
scattered
over trails
capricious
memories
thread precious
pleas
plotting
their escape
like petty fools
from plighted faith
parched
from implore
upending
thoughts
would mark
the path
that led me
to your vested
heart
when vagrants
sought
the stars
and charted
the descending
hours
of our last
reverie
rapt
in such despair
’til all
that i could
see
were driftless
streaks
of blackness
stripped
amid
the grip
of shame
unearthed
where flashing
shades
of pompeii
stayed
in grim dispart
impressed
upon
the distant
sky
estranged
a world
apart
To truly
Command
The acceptance
Of truth
With willful
Embrace
Of its burden
Of proof
And freedom
To think
With a presence
Of mind
Where no
Precedent
Lies
To boldly opine
Unfettered
Not tethered
To fear’s
Phantom mime
In weather
Tempestuous
Calming and kind
To choose
Paths shone
Virtuous
Of our
Volition
When faced
With the gravest
Of selfless
decisions
To look
Beyond
Boundaries
With sound
Sight
To see
Without our own
Ego’s affliction
We are free
To learn
From mistakes
We must bear
Consequence
Acknowledge
All factors
Of its circumstance
Whilst disregarding
Frivolous
Dalliance
And focusing
Efforts
On things
Relevant
To offer
Oneself
Without pretense
Surrendered
To harbor
No thought
Of contempt
Erring tender
Toward life
Which exists
Outside that
Of our own
Attending
The home
One should ne’er
Shore alone
To listen
So that we
Might then
Understand
The magnitude
Of all fates
Since wrought
By man
To requite
The status
Usurped
By frail men
That brazenly
Preaches
Of false
Creation
Casting such
Shadows
Whose ire
Knows
No bounds
The burden
All women
Are forced
To live
Down
For bearing
The gift
Men would
Deem to revere
Presented
Through patriarchs
Pandering fear
And once
Verity
Avails our
Conscious grasp
Our love
May be worthy
Of woman
At last
Mister Ryan Kelton. My mentor of sorts with a fierce poet’s heart
Rescue 2/6/15
At this distance, I cannot see
What there is to do for you—
No matter how loud the siren-sound,
No matter how quick my pace to your floor,
I know it shall be silence to greet me at the door.
You unravel a carpet of red from your hands;
The well-worn path I tread where the best-laid
Plans have been cast down as ash in the hollow halls.
Here I am—in the midst of the maze you have built to deflect me—
Still, I am drawn on towards you, stung on by intentions
More pure and true than the price you place on your shoulders.
Mister Shaun.
I fantasize of everyday
rediscovering, of countless
moments in-between: observing you
in quiet, from afar, delighting
in intricate motions and in
uninhibited inquisitions. And my mind
wanders to imaginings of inspecting
you, using all
six senses, from the distance
of the length of my nose,
shutting my eyes, as thoughts
suspend themselves like hanging sloths,
while I count sloshes of
my paper-thin heart and listen to them
like waves, crashing into a
crimson shore—one that you
helped to build and nurse to totality.
And I want to tell you
that which my mouth
and words and phrases
couldn’t faithfully
express: the ways by which
you awaken
and invigorate the nondescript and
nascent, carving significance and
wonder from quiet, pedestrian
daily life.
I want to imbue you with the
sense-knowledges of
innumerable, immeasurable ways
by which I admire the youest you
and appreciate silent closenesses,
your soft and gentle glow that
perpetually molds my thoughts, feelings, and
outer and inner realities.
Wading…
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