Tag: max meunier

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Reverie

my longing for thee
hast spanned the ages
formed whence mine eyes
felleth ‘pon the first star
heaven e’er hungeth before me

in the dawn of incarnations
dormant layeth mine heart’s behest
driven by duress tormenting
sated only by thy touch

happenstance at times denied us
sorrow then spurred conflagration
all consumed by thine impelling
left bereft skies turned to ruin

in reverie with ardor singeth
harmonies of our reunion
by the virtue of this plight
we walketh ’til the sun’s retire

 

[image credit: František Kobliha]

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Momentary Introspection

perhaps i need a pointed slap in the face
rambling on in these fits of dolor
shameful displays of vulgar isolationist privilege
my natural state is one of positivity and emotional support
found when i consider others
but once i turn the looking glass inward
my world turns on its head
its dormant horrors readily fall from my cryptic thoughts
despite my adamant belief
that i am of a circumstance no worse than others
in fact, i live by the belief
that other’s plights eclipse my own
i feel like such a wretched child
parading about in all my pain
which might serve to allay my suffering
but i do fear i’ve crossed the line
this is not a plea nor pander
it is a fleeting flight of ponder
likely, soon found tucked away
obscured by thoughts effusive

 

[image credit:  John Bauer]

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Pointed Lessons

the abstract tapestry of thought and emotion
sifting through memories
persisting beyond the toll of midnight

a surreality poignance fraught
amidst your fabled absence

through context into lucid light
those wayward flecks take flight

seeing now
the urgency defining bated breath

hindsight is a bird unbounded
heaven’s haste begets unheeding

by the merit of its taste
left on the tongue in lingering

how is it that voices lacking tangible disclosure
visibly vociferate through vales
our verities unseen

only to be vetted in the aftermath
of fate’s denouement

moments later, vested virtues
forsaken anew

by the nighest conscious duress
of my conscience’s affording

i will honor your bestowing
in the bastion of my breast

pray not let these pointed lessons fall
when life resumes its pique

[image credit: Edouard Goerg]

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When Today Found Me

and it was today

not knowing its meaning
not knowing why

i know that i love you.

that nothing remains

in this nomad’s world

for hands to behold

but the fleeting whispers
through eyes spent

desiccant.

i watch
immured in solitude

when laymen’s hours prohibit

with all they dared to disregard.

i struggle to make out a face
its features framed of faint obscure

ne’er could i mistake
that feeling

the comfort of your company

forever, it resides within me.

with naught but useless
power of flesh

i flounder in this hopeless muster

holding onto dust
the taste of rust upon my quivered lip

all that i do humbly ask
would you now hear this utterance

“just one simple sentiment, i miss you.”.

through these memories, i bleed
into somatic nights of static

’til our stars again align

go now

ravage every sky
that stings with freedom
whence sought of your heart’s requite

[image credit: Sadanobu Hasegawa IV]

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Pathos of Recalcitrance

of course i lie
i’m only human

that aside, one sick of liars
i can justify my libel
yours, i dare not ponder freely

far beyond this ten-foot pole

your willful words of skillful squander
dangle at aberrant angles
fraught with such finagled ire

were that i could only trust you
unlike me, your ship has sailed
destined for abhorrent harbor
drowned in ardor so reviled

solely, to the death, indignant
figments framed as picture-perfect
truth absconded, lost in the morass

endless grabs for abstract fragments
stabbing blindly at the dark
puzzles pieced extemporarily
tenuously strung as art

how you manage without tire
mystifies the misled mind
wandering through gaslit tunnels

taciturn, you spurn the last
this pathos of recalcitrance
sits pithless to the bitter end

[image credit: J.W. Fores]

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Florid Moons

fervid doth my heart display
upon the slightest thought of thee
dormant dreams arise anew
when florid moons sing incantations

sordid affectations
of this wastrel’s world disperse to naught
beneath the sheath of shadows
and the solitary quell

knowing all too well
this quietude will fall
by brandished sol
its call belies our silent reverie

ere the dawn bestows its blessing
lonely vows bleed vesper’s veil
plots of untold errant solace
lost amid the hour’s assailing

muted miles of sloe and slumber
hapless, by the sky’s refute
once consumed of aural umbrage
eyes beguiled wept rapturous woe

life in dulled gray street’s meander
sights and sounds of pandered plight
such effusive flights of fluster
never would we find profound

ours is of the hourglass sifted
leave the heedless hordes to wrest
we remain unscathed by fires
hailing from the hell-bound rust

[image credit: James R. Eads]

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Futile Foray

as I lay here, leaden chest
anxious heart, and restive mind
coalescing, once again
into a guilt so dire with dolor

spurred by ever cunning words
crafted with a master’s eye
tailored to assail the conscience
playing on our gravest doubts

fallout from a life forsaken
fodder for such fickle ends
rearranged into enigmas
safely to remain unnamed

trust, ever our grandest ideal
placed amid danger’s embrace
where vain desire to see such virtue
leaves us to our weakest mercy

without faith to guide endeavor
fate begets foregone conclusion
such befitting ends precluding
all that dare not risk the cost

with no greater stakes existing
chasing something most surreal
peeling back the layers limpid
reveals only fears inured

so it seems a futile foray
without which life holds no meaning
falling into false presumption
lest our lives succumb to truth

 

 

[image credit: Gustave Moreau]

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Before Us

to awaken
into death

is the dream
none dare brandish

listless, heavy-lidded
landslide

in somnolous languor

beholden to the mercy
of a cursed blink

and the blinding
of our blackest truth

laid out
to die
before us

[image credit: Francisco de Goya]

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Scopolamine Politics

politics are a deplorable pastime
comprised of deceit, propaganda, and tyranny
bands of backhanded obsequious sycophants
falsely commanding our homelands through villainy

such disingenuousness is repugnant
a word i purloined from a Garbage Pail Kid
that those so disgraceful could be so indignant
in light of the scandalous things that they did

and they did, you better believe that shit’s true
and like pawns we allow it through cognitive bias
it sickens me to imagine me and you
enabling all these notorious liars

but they are proactive in their preparation
by keeping the public sect preoccupied
with such utterly insignificant refuse
which fools are so feverishly wont to abide

the power they brandish is born of the weakness
that people succumb to which works without fail
beholden to spurious trappings of ego
nefarious plots regularly prevail

meanwhile, as poverty levels are peaking
privileged white men mendaciously collude
sheepishly ploying whilst safely partitioned
the subjects of their subjugation, subdued

with media pandering disinformation
to desperate masses as malleable as clay
susceptible to psychological swaying
while of the impression they have any say!

and then there are those of religious-borne zealotry
doggedly-obstinate, self-righteous drones
so all-consumed by their fervid delusions
they willfully wreak what cannot be atoned

supinely supplying their supplicant services
ready to die in the name of their god
devoted to repopulating the planet
by heedlessly spreading their seed’s bane abroad

religion and politics closely relate
in that they both facilitate social disparity
granting the breadth of wealth, knowledge, and power
to less than one fucking percent of humanity!

if such things sit well with you, be on your way
for i haven’t the time to expend on futility
i won’t commit to conferring with crusaders
hell-bent on exacting hell-borne realities

 

 

[image credit: Unknown]

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Singing Sand

i waft along
this cloud of dust
in empty clement skies

a drusy sun sets
streaks of ruby
citron fire
reach on across the land
like lonely nights
in soft sahara

the mountains gain a shade of haze
as echoing winds whisper
with the stoic cries of crickets
in a muted droning lull

twilight bends
beyond eye’s edge

the deepest blue lapis sets in

contentedness
we once possessed

lies trapped behind the silent veil
no map had e’er descried

through layers of lamenting torment

seething of her phantom cilice

ceaseless

in a listless cause
of indolent demise

[image credit: Bud Duncan]

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