"She reassured me with an unfamiliar line."
Love is a mystery school, yearning for sages
well able to reckon sixes from nines.
True wits should elect sin's disbursements
rather than reflect on love's scenes of rushing bunglers.
Love is sick, blind, unkind. Aren't we cruel?
She chided: brush your flapper, dying blue
between that pair of cheese crackers.
Remove the Devil's Pitchfork from your hair.
Doubling as Dracula, your zeal repealed
by loving an unpersuaded other.
Stay not inconsolable, my weaning one!
She knelt beside me, interpolating my orations.
Entreat for veritable blindness to take better blame.
Apathetic to any flame, resisting even sipping sunshine
interred in the long night of voluminous drapes,
pray for cardiac arrest to efface 1700 hours of shadows.
Perhaps, pray you would love me, and I shall say something of it.
So we were in need of sudden blaze
to seizure the darkens with naked eye
reason your distant shape
and trace origin astray
With bear fields of coal still untouched
bunglers of dirt beneath the frosty hem
as heavens kneels struck by ahead
with brightness - a harrier gaining strength
pouring along the earth droplets of dread
O! how I tend in to your embrace
protectress of orchards – look
the pearls of pain overlay my temples
burning same stigma hooks
emerging like lavenders
with moonlit night
So we were in need of sudden blight
around of half of hundred years
and yet it's not enough
to keep the courage in curious touch
to foment the heat out
of fingertips – as one
learn again all about the life
Portlaoise 05/03/2016
He is one who oftentimes finds himself
on the right side of every
wrong issue
and is always late as he takes short cuts
so he could get there way
ahead of you.
Almost habitually he runs right smack
into the creditor he dreads
to meet
or ends up sweating in a thick raincoat
in an unexpected high
noon heat.
He says he is just marching to the beat
of his own drum that only
he can hear;
he stares at you at him in the mirror,
two cheerful bunglers,
so close, so near.
He's one who often finds himself
on the right side of every wrong issue,
and is predictably late whenever he takes
short cuts just to get there way ahead of you;
quite habitually he runs right smack
into a creepy creditor he dreads to meet,
or ends up sweating in a heavy raincoat
in an abnormally unexpected high noon heat;
he says he's marching to the beat
of his own drums you just can't hear,
and stares at you, you at him in the mirror,
two cheerful bunglers, so close, so near !
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