[*Hendecasyllable: line of verse containing 11 syllables with stanzas with repeated end words and a five line envoi that concludes the ballade.]*
Look as… “a crimson sky breaks the distant shore”
Signaling I will see my fair home no more
the ship drifts into shadows far from yon shore
And soon the sky is dark night, crimson no more
The vastness of an indigo sky I'm sure,
will leave my soul lonely alite nevermore
The dusting of pinprick lights are ever sure
guiding all lost ones to find their way once more
Again, crimson sky breaks on a distant shore
A foreign land I have never seen before
But skies remain the same over every shore
Connecting souls across oceans of befores
Envoi:
As long as skies remain, with stars to proclaim
I am here at home, even though not the same
Now knowing, no matter where we are going
We do all see the same vast canvas of yore
Yes, the same crimson sky breaks the distant shore.
Categories:
alite, boat, home, journey,
Form: Verse
January’s snow flows stealthfully through my fifth-floor apartment window, flung wide open to welcome in the new year. The half-drawn curtains bellow with brisk salt air blowing in from the North Sea. A distant foghorn groans in a resigned, forlorn resonance, guiding ships braving the churning, ice-slushy waters as church bells strike twelve stately brassy tones.
This night I stand alone and content, a rich cup of espresso in my hand. Eschewing nostalgia and perhaps too sober of thought, I prefer my pleasures to be of the vicarious variety. Beneath me I take in the muted ambers and oranges spread out from the four cafes, out past the cobblestone road, glistening as snowflakes alite. Young couples drinking, glasses clinking, hug, kiss and revel, strolling out from the cafes. Some indulge in a traditional waltz, before the speaker blares more modern fare. Waves of laughter and singing ebb and flow as I turn and head toward my bed and blessed sleep.
Again the foghorn blares mournfully, like a tuba vainly pleading to be united with a long-lost orchestra.
Categories:
alite, character, perspective,
Form: Prose
just thinking … that emotion is the new reason
unadulterated feeling removed from the brink of
a showcase of intuition relieved and narrated by
the heart at the threshold of sentiment and passion
conscience on the royal road to magic sensations
when the hyena of analysis morphs into a dolphin
a unicorn pokes the terrified bubble of the mind
and driftwood flies to the tune of a universal soul
recycled trash dissolves the mental heap of tips
of an iceberg polar bears and penguins transcend
madness as cure for insanity and crazy bedlam
if you discard the straightjacket of conjecture
refute the shackles prise open trapdoor’s springs
refuse to mediate between prescriptions and levitation
encourage the sleeping giant to rise to the challenge
stop to engage with a dangerous theatre of rationale
when bells and whistles chime and synapses jingle
and an inner pied piper heals the rat race of cogitation
the cogs of internal hamster wheels come off the trolley
spin on an axis of intuition and alite from just thinking
30th December 2020
Categories:
alite, anti bullying,
Form: Free verse
broken down deeper than a trench,
torn and ripped from feeling,
numb and frozen cold,
alive, yet barely breathing,
screaming, yelling, yet wont escape those lungs,
slowly the kerosine pours through your teeth, soon infects the body,
so set her alite, she'll take her last breath,
she screams: set me free, ****in just cremate me,
Down to every last drip, put me out of this pathetic bliss,
wont hurt except a minute, then slowly fade away;
Never fear hurt again, you see,
cause to hurt a body must be living;
breaking down every inch of her body,
burning and aching, as time counts itself,
first quickly becomes second and third degree burns,
laying half alive,
decomposing is all she knows,
bones break and shatter,
marrow turns black, then all over her suddenly cracks
her heart stops, as if there's no life,
only ashes to reminisce upon,
set them alite also,
she said no trace of her left,
gone as if she never even appeard,
becomes a figment of imagination,
dont bother thinking of her,
her existance has disapeared
Categories:
alite, death, life, sad, me,
Form: Epic
Standing on the loma
My eyes into the source of the wind,
My eyes alite upon a song
The birds had done it long,
For the pounding roll of ocean waves
Did a tattoo accompaniment of practiced eons.
Categories:
alite, nature,
Form: Free verse