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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
Blue Iris,
Grimoire gondolas steal unbound human yawns,
Each Charon poised with sallow spear along the River:
Austere laughter of headless boughs
sipping grave-scented spiritual kisses.
Gruel to Drinking Fear you do coerce,
Till evil flees the dawn within its hearse.
I shall not warn my successors, no—instead
I shall laugh
A Godless laugh
From this unlit, inward tower
At the Thoms ever drawn to a fog-rent
Harbor of Lights,
Forever in flight
t’wards a searing promise:
“The shadow of your smile when you are gone.”
Softly flows
The Months; cadence down
The end of Years,
All Great Whites closely duty-bound
Gleaned russet stress and tears.
All I do
As gardens do
As zephyr hewn
Is wash my hands
I watch my hands
Just watch them grow—
Closing impossible crimes
By the cold March of Time.
Shall I catastrophe? I shall wasp anew
Geronimo! hellbent swoons: withered Eye see U:
A veldt vision on this peace of death
That singes arrows unto my breast,
Non-quietus—not of suede nor hawthorn
That singing! Unveiled Vistas Reborn.
The summer breeze made chill wastrel flames,
E'en herrings dappled across minstrel viridian
All bearing my name.
Subtlety
Is your root, surely as I inhale the palpitations
Of this noxious City so small
Yet so grand in its delusion.
Rachel or Leah? Suffice it (and damn it, too), at least Jacob’s subtle darkness
Invited crystal warmth to dine on elegant raindrops. At Life I laugh,
And Life laughs long, dreamy along kestrel seams. I dine
On sweet air.
Despised dream origin.
Quickly, quickly, awaken me—unwrap
Your blessed hearths, creature,
And begone—I despise
Your balance of whimsy; I despise
All of your beauty.
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2016
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
I stoked every fire echoing into the mouth of arthritis?
A rhyming balm develops epileptic quasar fear?
If so, will he enter arbitration “Sold Out”?
Sleep wills She to cocoon beside you, Artemis?
Resplendent fallow flowers ecstasy coriander?
Do we sate the moons of Jupiter?
Funnel Now beyond we murks dilating clouds gyrating?
I need love like our drama needs psychosis?
You remind it to aero, dowager, misty care that casts off where?
Are they splicing cylindrical a lone fire there?
Will baby’s breath copula and inhale the death throes’ stare?
Does it resist and pre-exist and alter this “it's fair”?
She shall unwittingly play Duo, and I the tambourine savior?
Commit dune larks command speech donkey knives fine dream eyeing?
You know how to reveal this delicious Necronomicon?
For the efficient haven't need of heat?
That crack in her skull’s provisionally neat?
If only a soapy mouth were The Key to the ATM Machine?
Did they witness the machination of roses pinwheel like Gene Kelly?
Can a joke slit a garrulous throat?
Do somnolent cars fill up on dark shofars?
How do caravans we collate solace in that Field of Mine?
If they nod will it She while on this turn, southbound daffodil urn?
Are we fish Absalom?
Crib conspirators he marshes in poison?
Anachronic foils arsenic royales docile incomplete Iliad catacombs?
Burning salad oceans?
And if only he and this nickel could…fight?
Wishing jamboree sipped on this wood and night?
This toe of Talos—all that’s palindrome—he will ignite?
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
1. Non-fiction
The bathroom faucet gushes nectar
drowns my hands in never-laughter,
"Sorry" is a specter
when you told me "0" I felt disgusting,
hopelessly deluded,
naked.
Last night I dreamed
that New York City was nuked,
another Twin Towers Lost,
everyone radiated.
But then I dreamed of you,
in a tight blue dress,
glaring,
cute pout,
"Is this right?" you asked
as you flawlessly played
Beethoven's "The Tempest."
I smiled. "Perfect."
I hardly smile these days.
2. Satisfaction
Deflection of your image is essential.
The closer I get, the more
those spiders right there
don't you see them
slipping on the stucco wall?
They remember the feeling
that satisfaction brings
of outsmarting us all
as the sky reflected in my fingernail
is a storyteller of love's plastic rings.
Is it summer yet?
This doesn't feel
adventurous, heart-warming,
sunsets, beaches,
grandfather, innocent crush,
my eyes in sugar rush,
and the books that told me much
so that I could die one day in your hush.
3. A Loss of Inspiration
Midnight's soon, the day's been wasted
thinking of worlds aside from This,
the walls' three dents from my broken fist
and the postcard she forgot she posted
in this odd room I fill
with jackets, wisdom, thrill,
come sundown I rush into wishes
that my jealousy could be just,
yet it's "brand-new in a landfill"
restoring your horrified webcam look.
Since you've gone and my love has died,
this pen's bloodstains have been my pride.
4. Medicine
Maybe you don't realize
you've crushed that tiny bug.
His funeral will not be held,
not until the walls cover their ears,
and blood diamonds ask for fears.
A refill
and a terror,
I can only see your purple sweater
bending once for all my vice;
Maroon Dream City is waiting for us.
These med heavens.
So addicting
until I relapsed into your eyes,
I'm still sick of it all:
the horizon never reached
and darkness perched and ready.
Stop confusing me already.
5. Hideout
Hey, why did
I miss you
Your smile from last June
And no girl will ever
I wonder
I wonder
Slow down, run me over
And laaaugh
Come walk beside this faster incompletion
On a chilly night of sirens
Hey, why did
And my head pounds from lack of
Hey, if I were to go forever
Come to me in my hideout
and I'll kiss your scream
with eternity.
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
I.
What a darkness it is,
that as the planets rotate miracles
with cosmic power bestowed,
The Fall of Lightbringer
deadens the bleeding branches in Spring
as a requiem masked by your skin
paints onto the sun in a cloudless sky
The Stranger.
II.
What a darkness it is
when laughter lark detonates atom bombs in your heart
and you join me in my scarlet fever,
gazing thoughtlessly at a rainbow stream
of cars holding minds that also fear tomorrow
and are synced with Soundtracks for the Blind
underneath the sun in a cloudless sky
in April.
III.
What a darkness it is,
melting chocolate promises on concrete;
the promises of Locke Cole I cannot keep
streaming from a destitute human Roc
crippled beyond silencing waves in starless space,
smashing the guitar, he cannot fake it anymore
from a bleached sun in a cloudless sky
on Cape May.
IV.
What a darkness it is
to manually delete from your cyberspace
the immortal morning dew of a once eternal friendship,
for we all know that those imprinted souls linger
in our own, impossibly carved into reaches metaphysical,
especially when your favorites coalesce, reminders constantly
following like the sun in a cloudless sky
to nowhere
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
To all known shades, O virtuous Hinds,
With peerless hunger of a sordid kind:
Cover your ears. Cover
Your spirit.
Do not
Put the watered pot beneath the sun, that neutral sun
That struggles not to save you, but shall come undone,
Unraveling some haunting memory
You cannot help but don
Like your favorite sweater unsewn, not forgotten,
For it was you who was rotten.
Do Not Enter.
Like me, you chuckled. Yes, who are they
To force us away? Who are they, indeed.
I shall make a deal with you, friend:
In my hand is the answer why you mustn't descend.
Valhalla…Valhalla…I stood without weapon.
And then…no.
Our hands have not yet converged for shake,
So why do you recoil?
Is it truly, truly, and marv'lously apparent
that the Spleen lives in my soil?
The sea gallons
Through a funnel.
The funnel
in the Tunnel of Love
in the Tunnel of William
in the Tunnel of dark matter;
A face stuck in the mirror shall shatter.
Emerald City. Do Not Enter.
Do
You Understand?
For as the hands of an evil flower give a soundless scream
I reach for the shaving cream—
Nick my neck. I wish to own that neck.
Stand right here without a trace, come through my eyes,
and now, Dear Wise: Do You
Dance? Where art thou lance? And my stance:
I fear that I cannot perform advanced
A flying trapeze peripheral hand-stand.
Curiously down on a fresh wick,
Curiouser and Curiouser
Is the world's smile—but who shall be there
To see only the smile
And not the body
Smiling?
The Ice after the Fire
Syncopating?
I shall wonder and ache, pale and queasy...
I shall hear Reap wed to Infinity oblique for us
The sabers slake to sell my musk
The sun glides into the room
My room
Lacking light,
Backsliding sunlight from a desire-glot,
Though Desire has served me well.
About as well
As a tumble down three old flights of stairs,
whence I've chuckled into a box of airs,
asking, O, Where?
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2016
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
Pretenders in the mouth like lemons.
Hamartia.
Is wishing
Denying?
Do I
Deny You?
A dirge by the pier
is the darkness I hear
when You are not here,
when I tell myself
I will always fear.
Yet You visit, still,
my lightless room
and the Breath of Life
permeates perfectly...
You're a monarch when it rains,
yet I cannot believe
that through Your Windowpane
You conceive
me
in my grievous hive mind You conceive
me
at Your side
eternally.
You're a healing Psalm unsold;
one timeless Video;
You command the bass and volume,
and never does it fawn You,
on the Stare-ee-oh
as violet beach radio waves
yield black lung therapy
outside Your Window of Living Stars,
far beyond these gray droplets of Now; shards of glass
that threaten our lifeblood
and pummel our lives,
Pummel our lives like:
"Dangle hearths of cooling firelight before my eyes;
dangle the gun out of reach: your demise,
for I advise
how you cut off my tongue.
It is a gift
till it screams in your hands:
'It is time again to boomerang
a black whale! an actor's life!
a wife awaits
below,
the wife is
Below,
welcoming Icarus.'"
Then when it rains,
I pour,
defeated along the shore,
believing that I am alone,
forgetting what once was evermore
beyond my second heart,
this deceitful heart
that is a fool forever
without Your Music,
the Music that gave way to the heart
of the deepest connection I'd ever known
untouchable absolute unhindered wild
wild wildebeest of the Silver Forest
wild Beauty taming cyclones
staying the hand of storms
North Sea uproar quieted...
You are the Muse of my jungle
as a sunrise kissing
the lightning-charred tree;
the One who sits and stares, sits and stares...
whispers lovely tufts of care:
"A well sprang forth of your indigo eye,
As winter's ballad above our sky
Hums cooling round as diamond sound
Alights and sighs when evil dies.
Across the Lake of Acquiescence,
Duty-bound in Hill's a Pleasance
Known to all and to ourselves:
A Gilded Fire's jubilance delves."
Here is the weather: it is physical.
Here is the symphony: it is spiritual.
Of the latter
You are forever,
and always will Your existence
stave off and laugh
at the hand of Reap,
And bring The Smile
to this soldier's
broken mirror face,
so that he may always proclaim:
"You're a Monarch when it Rains.
If I held the key at one time,
I was blind to the ant and her ways.
If I claim an olden grimoire sublime,
I am the sleaze in my wretched groove haze.
East-west gleaming amber gaze
reveals Heaven."
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
Listen
To the fools. Wisdom escapes from their mouths
Embroidered with the spiritual puke vodka endows.
Through the dead floorboards beneath me
I listen
To the parties rife with dubstep and dumbness.
Through the dead floorboards beneath me
As a specter
Arises wedding bells,
The adoration of lovely belles
That smile The Smile
of an olden journey
With translucent teal hills that stretch their humps out far
For your wanderlust; sunsets
of sublime, deepest orange,
Cherished candles, then dew flames waving 'Hello' on passerby sills,
Wooden cottages adorned with gingerbread safety and
Respected elderly smiles
All wafting along the piping Cake of Truth.
The Pied Piper's only victory is You.
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn:
Amare Amare Amare, Veni ad me, Veni ad me.
Non quidem?
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
I have seen your shadow diverge from your face
And hatred consumed me subtle.
I suppose in Earth's languid maw
You snicker at the pox of language;
Miracle depths align as you fix today's sandwich
In anguish
Of the love you shall never have, you’ve lost your chance
in the mirror. We’ve shattered in the mirror and lost it,
Laughing as we realized all along
That I, I was the butt of the world's joke.
I shall go out to sea and fly with the ravens,
But alas,
This fool desires only one known haven:
Wishing well—wish upon a star—
The candles of my few birthday cakes
Never did have such volens potestatum.
Amare Amare Somnium Somnium
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2016
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
I was content to shut the blinds
on the nightingale,
to watch the hollow condo rise up
like a neon blue dragon blossom
to take remote control
of my brick & concrete birthplace.
I thought a Houdini act was needed,
so much greed and weddings in melting pots
swirling the dream pot of my old soul
made new with liquor's release
into an even colder prison.
Until you.
Why do you melt me?
You belong to another future,
I to snow-laden sins yielding solitude,
yet from the depths of arctic winds
you resurrect Victor's vim and vigor,
spark his heart like a first true love,
simple ebullience a hottest promise
that his intended burial's dead at last.
Why do you melt me?
The answer never greets this tree,
though when we speak and I am grieving,
it takes strong force to hide the feeling
rocketing up into golden space;
I drank the ichor--tea for two--
on a windy day when I met you.
Have I found my Lady Tiger?
Have I found my oxygen?
Have I found pure warmth for him
that stays and tames the lion's den?
Don't look at me with those eyes,
because if I truly wanted to die,
I'd love you most with all my ghosts
and let you slay this giant mind.
Why did you melt me?
I wish you'd left me in the ozone
shooting up my veins with fake heavens.
That phenomenal tropical temperature
only tempts the burnished sepulcher.
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
Slinger
Waiting on the day
for the Swallow to transmute the air
between this ether and yours
patterned after an annual bedsheet
and full of a chest
swelling with blood
and a face
as forgotten as chests
buried beneath sea tides,
legendary rainbows wide
over forgetfulness -- subtle forgetfulness --
collecting material for a nest; a grave, sour
maw of disappearing Now
reappearing in your eyes
next to anti-eyes
'ere smilin' hell at this faster incompletion.
Tiptoe.
Mirror
Select. Load? Holster. Stalk? Draw.
"Do you have a moment, Miss Seer? Look what I've drawn."
Bourbon. Ex-mark. Tattoos. Born. Into
This.
Surreal. It Does. Only
Roulette. Hocus Poker. Reaching A Final Frontier
Divvy:
Brown Eyes
Coal Eyes
Wall Sockets
L.
Fire Tides
Genocides
Suit Pockets
Knell.
Slinger
You perceive a safety I count on
as we all fear we will lose
something
crucial? What is ever crucial if already
revenants bustle chameleon beneath city lights perfectly
regarding lights in wonder with other --
revenants.
I will appear before you
suddenly in the park
"Eden!"
you will laugh as though subtle darkness is a magic trick
and those anti-eyes will hide true feelings behind laughter
and I will shudder -- I once wore them, too --
and I will perceive these two sets of eyes before me,
Yours and Not Yours,
who cannot tell that this varsity jacket will soon hide more than
Sin. On your face. Syntax; Synonym; Smiling -- Antonym.
Drawn. Holes. Your face -- too memorable -- too
unforgetful, they dream
Forever Now. Beyond Sleepy Hollows.
Dying by first light,
living beneath your iron sunsets?
Your red roses kissed blooming
out of your neck?
Forever; Us; Chasms,
Angel.
Mirror
Silence. Darkness.
Each Day. Random.
Today? No.
Where
is
He?
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
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Richard H. Dunsany Poem
Influenced by "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" and "The Rape of the Lock," my goal is to write this completely in iambic meter with (mostly?) rhyming couplets. (Though the intro's meter varies, the main parts will all be fourteeners). Entirety is a W.i.P.
_
Presentiment
La femme cependant, de sa bouche de fraise,
En se tordant ainsi qu'un serpent sur la braise,
Et pétrissant ses seins sur le fer de son busc,
Laissait couler ces mots tout imprégnés de musc:
Give a little whistle.
As courtly shrewd and three-parts coy
The Faeries’ wit so subtly ploys.
No finer plaything they shall find
Than scoured, smit, recessive minds.
O see fools slyly murder—in lieu of all Loves lost—
Temptation links the instrument undoing Present’s frost:
Just palm-fit silver, ticking, posing Winter into Flowers,
“Ifs” born on blight, such sinful whims, behest of pthalo hours.
So slake the spirit-fire, till a tawdry light string shows,
Till one last golden sunray unwraps days of ardent coal.
Dear Reader, clasp tight now, always, to this poor, crimson hand,
Our gloam descent, Despot Trulies, down to Hell (or Neverland).
Canto I: D. Henry Allwein meets Blythe Delilah Salah Meriwether
"I shall take my leave into the night, so far and yet so warm,
And swiftly cause these breeches thus, vaingloriousness worn,
To sway with chant, away with 'can’t'! The darkness licks its fur,
Creating every qualm and crest of spittle taciturn."
With Axe of Coup, a mighty hue, embedded in his heart,
Our Allwein 'ere looked in the mirr, laughed queer as though a clout,
His eyes such as a soiled boon, a cracked and sickest earth,
Allied itself with mouth and out was sharpest of the thirst.
Et Cetera possessed his mind, a mountainous cruel hearse,
Yet unlike all the other times, he sold the sordid curse,
Quickened his stride down ancient stair, held untold grudges: Stars,
Entered this craven guttersnipe into the local bar.
"O how the mighty hath fallen!" sang Allwein, gazing ‘round,
"Myself I shall add to thee thus: a fish so violet-drowned!"
Though as he sat and sipped and whooped the folly of his years,
A curious fair, just sitting there, not whisked—cavalier,
Crossed her snares, legs clothed with fire, eyes depths above her peers,
Saw one great chance to play the lyre; to coax the Flagoneer,
With golden prospect: something of ol’ Time come back to hum
That whispers to all men and femme, Them days repeat? ‘Tis done.
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
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