Best Fortnight Poems
When the
seaside sepulchre
of a kingdom,
without its queen,
is smeared with
screams of lighting,
I wish to crackle
these slivers
of silver shakle,
and devour
that consoling
taste of balsamic
twilight, which
drapes every
ritual of woe with
maleficent vows.
I wonder, if
the thievery of
of my soul, will
enhance the
crawling of
raven sun
or, bestow power
upon the baptised
mannequin,
by slaying those
jealous lilies,
floating in
summery
estuaries of
my stolen destiny.
As these sage flames
fly across the
chambers of
my castle,
petrifying those
puerile promises
of life, I seak to
be an amaranth,
rising beyond
oak skies as
I engulf those
taunting meteors that
enshroud my
solitude and
dethrone every
essence of
false light, that
consumed those
waltzing scents
of my sangria spring.
Has my heart
become a
fickle thorn,
who will keep
bleeding guidance
in moonlight or
shall this
fortnight be
traced by the last
streak of treacherous
bloodline?
Perhaps,
'The Goddess
of Thunder'
is unfurling
those flaming
rose' maidens,
who wish
to splash ebons
of roaring wreath,
across the
woeful vaults of
my ribcage,
which concealed
their silence
in sentinels of
sacrifice.
I don't assert
the want of
swathing myself
in the perfumed
petrichor of
heinous healing,
as I don't want to
quench this
rage that
is carving a
strife to
refuse my
surrender towards
this succumbing
darkness.
" I wish to be
the soul of a marionette's
pearly pupa,
satiated by fiery halo
of chrysalis,
and slowly weaving
silken hymns of
desperate hope,
desiring to emerge
from the emeralds,
that betray every eye... "
Oh Goddess Moon, you induce painters to paint,
the crazed to rave and poets to praise your grace.
How many love affairs have you helped to consummate?
With a woman’s many wiles, you change your shape.
How you beguile, yet never do you vacillate.
You stay your course and never stray!
Like yin to yang, you are to sun a cool and pallid pool,
changing, yet constant in your rule
as you steadfastly move from New to Quarter To Gibbous to Full,
and then you wane . . .
till in Crescent Balsamic you reign -
there to shortly contemplate the wisdom you have gained.
Your fortnight ended, you journey back again.
We all beneath you are an ocean mystically pulled,
heirs to the gifts you weave at the time we are born.
Like our predecessors who learned to heed
your rhythmic sounds as they planted seed,
it would behoove us, with our vast technology,
to stop and study the sky, your teachings there to see!
Such deep, impassioned, love
startles our mortal ways.
Could we possibly have that
same eternal love?
Flowing in our souls and blood,
and being blind, make light of it?
How blessed, how young, how
fortunate,lovers they!
To refuse on this fetid earth to stay.
And of poison did imbibe and hence
dance forever in a moonlit sky.,
Willing to live in eternity, together. oh!
Not a beautiful flower, nor a stunning
sunset, no!
Could keep them here, why, on this so
controlling a place!
Be still this night and you will hear their
enchanting and bubbling laughter..
It whispers in trees, eternally, day and
night, a fortnight and foreverafter.
Poem ~1~
February 14, 2024
I'll never forget the date, the nineteenth of November
It's etched firmly in my mind, and I'll always remember
It was the day that I had my spinal decompression surgery
And hopefully it would put an end to over a year of misery.
I was struggling to walk, and it was depressing for me
And it was especially frustrating for all my close family
I couldn't go cycling or for walks in the countryside
I just wanted to stay at home and from the world hide.
My journey started with physio, but exercise caused me pain
And I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever be the same again
My MRI scan showed trapped nerves at the base of my spine
I opted for surgery and the surgeon reassured me I'd be fine.
I arrived at the hospital and was under the care of a surgeon
A renowned Consultant Spinal Neurosurgeon, Mr Faizul Hassan
They put surgical socks on me, along with a hospital gown
Then a porter arrived at nine o'clock to take me down.
They put a mask on my face and then I went to sleep
And it was a quarter to one when I was woken by a beep
A nurse then asked me if I wanted a drink of water
And I thought I'm having an op, maybe I'll have it later.
But I'd had my operation, and I didn't feel any leg or back pain
I was so relieved I'd had it done and I could live normally again
The porter took me back to ward one and the nurses were there
It is their kindness I'll never forget and their excellent care.
And all the surgeons too who performed my operation
They've given me my life back; for them I'm full of admiration
And all the porters, admin staff and auxiliary nurses too
They all play a vital part in making dreams come true.
I'm recovering at home now and post op I've got slight pain
I'm so glad to have had it done; I have plenty to gain
My three daughters and my wife are now looking after me
And I consider myself lucky to have such a caring family.
In a fortnight I've got to have staples removed from my back
Then my back won't feel so stiff, and I'll soon be back on track
And I've got to take it easy for a few months and watch what I do
No heavy lifting of any kind and in six weeks return for a review.
Written on the 23rd November 2023
Dedicated to all the staff at the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in Birmingham. UK.
The cock hasn't been seen in a fortnight
but it's time
the vagabonds have all but vacated
and the windows boarded up
don't tell me I should wait
when waiting is wasting time
there is thistle in my hair
and the sun has burnt her mark
even coffee's stained the past
looking out through the looking glass
while you're looking in
senses spilt her sin
alongside cracks in the concrete
steam lifts off the loathsome
the heated melts the day
it's about time
the mocking bird dismayed
lost the feel of home
there's just no place left to roam
fo'c·'sle /'fohksel/ noun deriv: forecastle
1. the forward part of a ship below the deck, traditionally used as the crew's living quarters.
2. historical: a raised deck at the front of a ship.
With the equinox illuminating a fortnight of recovery
On pelts spread like Ionian jars left askew,
My flame-keep sparked alight against the doldrums of
Greed. Stagnant and fetid.
My bark beats out a call stretched
Skin-tight over the sea’s virgin core
And sets trust aflame.
Ashes collected into the collated casks and
Corked with animus, Moon Girl pounded on.
Drumming a dirge on the tanner's own flesh.
Pounding the seed of echoing hope.
Pounding the corpus beat of life anew.
Those echoed my own harmony and emptied my ears.
My tunes would now be true and crisp.
My struggle to syncopate the middle eight
Was like on the saltchuck the time before.
Before we crossed the bar,
Breakers chasing, pounding aft of stern.
Now in the glow of the coal oil lamp
Sat The Dane who came to trade.
He mumbled a Chinookian curse and winced.
He sensed my mariner's cred, how I lit my smoke;
Muscle memory and addiction married in my subconscious.
But His eyes would never sense the venomous flow
Of the seabreak distant,
Like hounds baying to the highway of stars
And up to the dunes ran with phosphorescent faces
Fermenting the blackness.
Hell-hounds bounding.
Lungs pounding.
Driving on.
River may lick Disappointment’s shanks
But Drake’s gold remains unfound.
The cavities carved along the capes
Echo an emptied ethos and sapped spirit
Which salal and sage cannot clense.
Walk with me now Sister Ilchee.
Beat your dirge
Along the pock-marked ports of plunder
Laid before the flattened corpse of
Ebbing freedom found.
When the night is filled with questions,
and the sky is a jeweled blanket,
I sit on the deck of my water room,
listening to the waves flirt with stillness,
and the breeze ~ caressing the green of palm leaves ~
in an island of romance, where the heart sings
in sync with the music of nature.
In all that quietness, I see a flying star,
a flicker of golden sparks across the horizon,
and I let my eyes rest , as I breathe unwritten questions...
~ O shooting star, must I wait another fortnight
to catch a glimpse of your blazing bliss?
You need not wait, my shadow stays with you, when the world grows cold and distant..
But am I the only one, healing and hurting,
placing empty promises on your ephemeral essence?
O beloved dreamer, you are not the only one.
But in your thoughts, I hear an aching poem.
How do you see, when the faces I knew, forgot to trace beyond softened smiles?
I am just a meteoroid, leaving a streak of sizzling light ~
I am no wish-maker, but a fragment of divinity, a design of Almighty's grace.
Ah, and in you I see my muse, prompting me to write.
I wonder: why do I not see you in daylight, when the sun sits on its throne?
To see me when all is dark
is like hope sailing in a heaven-sent odyssey.
Lord knows why your silence calls to me~
as if I were a sign of faith…
They say you are anything but a star~
dust and rock, dancing through the air.
Is that true, O glorious glow?
I am everything a dreamer would dream of.
For you, I will be your rhyme and metaphor,
penned within purple pages~
a riddle the ones who do not feel
can never truly comprehend…
Thank you, perhaps , it is in your neon afterglow,
I will thrive as the silhouette of a shooting star...
Tonight, it happened all over again
I was just lying here, when–
it hit me just like before. Only
this time it was more
–intense
As thoughts of you filled my head
suddenly I sat up in bed, and–
it made me so mad
to know
you had me this bad
But, what else could I do?
I'd already tried, everything I knew
and still, I couldn't stop
thinking about you
God, what kind of fool am I?
You've already moved on
You're with another guy
Yet I'm still beating myself up
wondering what, wondering why
Though it only lasted a fortnight
you were the one
who did everything right
Said you knew in your heart,
you'd found love
and wanted to give it a start
But, I held steady
to I wasn't ready. I mean
how could it be?
It was all just happening
way too fast for me
Then you said, I hadn't
done anything wrong
That it was just time
to move along, and I
too stupid to know
merely stood there
and watched you go
Now I understand
the pain in your eyes
and why you wept
when we said our good-byes
It's the same pain
my heart has felt
ever since you left
and I haven't dealt
with the fact I love you
and want you back
I know it was my fault,
I realized too late. Now I'm alone
and filled with self-hate. So, I sit here
counting stars in the sky, wondering why
I ever let you leave. When I know how I feel
and I truly believe, what we had was real
These barren walls
Keep me chaste
Vows of silence
Diminish nothing of wanton passions of the past
Days in silence, looking upwards to God
Thoughts linger, to where true love lies
I toil in Gods works
Knees now as rocks
All of Gods floors, so clean
Daily rituals, in quiet do I share
Our virtues preserved, hidden from worldly sins
But I have loved, yes, and long I still do
Illusions of piety, they scare me not
Love stirs goodness, surely no sin
The days of eternal springs
Gardens so fresh, flowers in bloom
Hand in hand, with his intellect and charm
Beauty within, for we dared the philosophical
Arms and legs entwined, deep in thoughts
My professor of life, and thinker to all
He belonged to France
Nobility, and all
We parted in love,
Who sees my tears, behind these walls?
Our reasoning lost to passions turn
He admits not, the love he yearns
His Order condemns, his inquisitive thoughts
He burns what he writes
Heretic or not
A leader of philosophy, a greatness in his time
A fate, that brings upon me guilt
His torture of manhood, he suffered much pain
Questioning his intellect, is love, his very brain
Each to our separate, Abbeys’ of god
Vows of silence, yet the ink flowed
Reliving now, what surely, should have been
A love so great, why considered a sin?
Has not this society, any compassion at all?
Learned I was in Latin and Hebrew
And so with the pen, letters did flow
And from afar, in pain, our love re-lived
Passions in ink, became again exposed
Alas he is older by a fortnight or many
He longed for love, yet he fights from within
His values, his passions, his life’s dedications
His soul has been burned, wounded by time
Ending his years, thinking seduction undone
Redemption shall be waiting, from the heavens above
My love Abelard, my tears you never saw
I was strong, as you gave me the strength to be
And I, was happy, knowing our desires shared
The angels will tell you, your fame will endure
For the greatest of all philosophies
Our love will be
Abelard and Heloise are one of the most celebrated couples of all time, known for their love affair... and for the tragedy that separated them.
Abelard (1079-1142)
Heloise (1101-1164)
'Twas a fortnight fraught with tainted stars;
'Midst mournful tears salting Neptune's sea.
A withered lass swallows internal scars,
'Twixt purist passions removed from thee.
Thoust bravest beloved her soul kept dear;
A buccaneer's quest sculpting pirated pride:
"Seizing Zeus' crown 'neath Poseidon's bier;
A jewel I'll bequeath to thine waiting bride."
Lantern lights flicker past sheltered shores.
Naked thee writhes; nary a vow to don.
Rest not the rues grieved 'pon garish moors -
Whilst honored prayers of thou beau breathes non.
Replete in requiem; Thalassa exhales,
Thine darkened omens proclaimed by thee.
Dying the deaths of thoust betrothed prevails;
Whilst unheard novenas abandons she.
A fortnight chills and the stars grow dim;
Neptune's waters heal whilst God's fingers burn.
A comely maiden torches thy heart for him -
In hope thine's glow reflects lost love's return.
I've focused on this evening
For near a fortnight now
Each element planned to perfection
Every detail intended to wow
I admit that in the past
My efforts have been wanting
To pack my feelings to a single night
At the very least was daunting
But not this time I was proud to say
I would dazzle her every sense
A night complete with all her favorites
Sparing no expense
With a rose in my teeth, two goblets in hand
and attired in a rented tux
She passed me bye, slumped on the couch
and rambled of how her job sucks
I offered some wine, she said "not tonight
This day has left me too tired
I must review these reports, then get some rest
Or tomorrow I'll surely be fired"
As I watched her wearily climb the stairs
I felt a wave of somber dismay
I extinguished all the candle light
and sent the cellist away.
As I gazed at all my wasted effort
I felt an angry rush
She didn't acknowledge the time I had spent
Just left me alone in the hush
As hours passed I realized
My anger was surely misplaced
I remembered that smile she shows only to me
and all of my pain was erased
I went upstairs to check on my sweet.
and give what support I could
If I could reach inside and relieve her stress
God knows I certainly would
Atop our pedal covered bed
In a state of grace she slept
Clutching the poem I had left on her pillow
still soaked with the tears she had wept
I placed a blanket upon her
and wiped away her tear
then closed my eyes to imagine
How to dazzle my love next year.
She sat in the moonlight, her back to the bay,
Absorbed in thoughts of her own destruction.
A fortnight ago she had come to the rock;
At the break in the surf where the eddies pooled -
A night set afire by a bright blue moon.
As the surge crashed the rocks, the mist wet her face;
The dampness of the sea, like a petrichor.
Something other than the real presence of life;
A spirit or embodiment she could feel.
As she leaned into the soft spray of the sea,
She made out his form moving slowly towards her -
Not making a sound, like a leaf in the wind.
Sensing love beyond mortal comprehension,
She was drawn, into his embrace of passion.
Her mind whirled in the rapture of the moment,
As she was drawn ever further to his arms.
Voices like angels echoed on the seashore;
As the Heaven's grew brighter, she kissed his lips
Swaying in the endearment of her pleasure,
Giving a way to an enchantment unheard.
The surf splashed on the soft, wet sands, sending waves,
Over the water's bottom in rounded shapes.
What was unsaid more than spoke volumes that eve,
Eyes though unseen, peered deeply into her heart.
This strange man from perhaps yet another world,
Giving vent to a love, she cannot fathom.
An apparition lovely, yet sinister;
A figment in the night without any form.
Why was it she who stumbled, and found new love;
Was this a ghost of her imagination?
Yet somehow she feels his soft, warm embraces;
Somehow she could sense an omnipotent love.
He is her confidente, soulmate, new age friend;
She could never escape from these bonds so strong.
The sea stings her face, salt sends tears to her eyes.
She faces the moon, sees the smile on his face.
She knows now her destiny - what she must do;
Holding his hand they'll walk as one to the sea.
Pardon ma'am, but I noticed you've been staring at this painting for a while
She is beautiful but has such a melancholy face, it's hard to look away
Her name is Veronique and that's me behind her, the little canary
She's been my sorrowful mistress now for almost two hundred years
When the artist painted her she was wearing a subtle smile but then
Gabriel told her he had to leave for a fortnight and promised to return
He vowed to finish this canvas, painting her smile back on again
but thousands of fortnights and volumes of her tears have come and gone
no sign of Gabriel, so my Lady sits and stares wistfully, remembering him
She touches the bow of her violin but hasn't played since the day he left
I hear her weep late at night when she reads the poem he left for her
The edges of the page are torn and tattered, tear stained parchment
but Veronique reads it night after night then holds it against her heart
He wrote in extravagant hand the words, now on yellowed page:
Thou fill'st my heart with love
More than any winged birds
Could fill the heavens above
Thou art the chalice of my soul
The cup from which I drink
My warmth when I grow cold
Thou art nectar of my desire
Thou art the spark of my fire
Those are words any fair maiden would swoon to have written for her
She still holds hope that her Gabriel will return but I worry about her
She keeps repeating the words he wrote on the back of this painting:
My Veronique ~
Goddess with cinnabar tresses in green velvet dresses
I've told you her name and mine is Cyros. May I ask yours?
A subtle smile crossed her lips, her skin pale and wrinkled with age
This lovely woman with touches of cinnabar in her grayed tresses
Stood with charm and grace. She curtsied in her green velvet dress
In whispered voice said, "Cyros, I am Madame Veronique Rossetti"
Painting: Veronica Veronese Artist: Dante Gabriel Rossetti
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
6th of May, 2016 Within A Gilded Frame Contest
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
He stares at his liquor bottle, and remembers the time
he sacrificed his life to the ocean depths;
a dolphin steadily rushed him to the shallows,
then allowed the evening currents to carry him to the shores.
That night he erased the X he had put on his calendar;
the day he was to die.
A few weeks back, he had tied a noose round his neck;
he let go the chair, only for the rope to cut.
"Am I cursed?!" he shouted.
He wondered whether Fate kept him alive,
to let him chew on the memories of his Ex,
which hurt like hell.
One fortnight, he even ate a lot of peanuts,
forgetting that it’s only in his dreams he was seriously
allergic to them.
He’s really eager to die,
but death is always shying away from him;
existence is a riddle he isn’t in the mood to respond to….
Date of Entry: 25/08/2017
Someone had left a scarf from South Africa.
It was on the table - a square one.
A lion was looking out from it,
its teeth on show.
My plane hadn't left yet,
so my eyes were drawn to lion eyes,
and how it stared at me -
a visitor.
I had loved my holiday...
Why does a fortnight go like lightning?
I was a stranger all that time...
The lion knew.
It had been made in South Africa
on a loom in someone's bedroom,
but its eyes were the eyes of a real lion.
It wanted me to go.
---------------------------------------------
4/3/2017
Contest - A STUNNER 2017
Sponsor - Line Gauthier
2nd place win