Night creepers, scattered and unsheltered
On gelid, squiggled grounds litted by moonlight and painted
Voracious appetite of the long told-tale of suckers
Esurient schemiels relishing, twitching on leaves and trees of dream-catchers
Mimicking voices of beasts in echoing bills
Bereaving the lost ark of blaring mills
Emblems etched on walls and covered stones
Roving on wheels and winds of collar bones
Blessed art thou that believes, kneel before Thee
Morn and night our eynes unfolded on Thee
Lest we stagger or plop by the wile trap
To Thee we knock, drop the badger unwrapped
Creeds from thou embark, twitches of deeds shift
Habitus from wails and torment we drift
Hands of stone we glorify images
Images of beasts festoon above thy sages
Afore icons loss of might comes thy judgement
Erelong nay beliefs or mooncalfs will lament
Betwixt good and evil crumpets disport
Eke esurient gudgeons hence thirst and port
Orison, not purfles orts for prithee
Maugre poshes, naught comes higher than Thee
Night air shivers in restless repose
To pallid dreams of dorment desire
Creaking groans of lost souls moan
Some poor tortured thing may haunt
Besieged by phantasmagoric demons
Lest blood deceive pernicious tales
Crumbling corridors hear chants that echo
Midst gossamer embraces that flicker intent
Bibles smoulder their pitiful surrender
An effigy of crucified Christ beholds
Soulless eyes invite submission
Cradling esurient sanguine lust
Shrouds cascade in flowing tatters
Whispers waft upon dank air
Inviting fleeting prayers murmered
A weeping tear on cheek to bare
Crucifix clutched with growing fervour
Defends this depraved decadent dance
Beguiled in spidery webs uncertain
A purifying presence subdues perchance
Screams descend as fiery infernos
Like dancing flame to spiralling moth
Ash cascades as falling snowflakes
Melting like the morning frost
© Arcana
Betimes in the noiseless, scary night;
Whenne the Moon and the Stars winkle not as bright'.
Thy child, O My Lord! Recline beneath thy Firmaments
Whenne the greed to surpass beseech Divine for armaments.
Bless me- Almighty! A drop of thy might,
I 'm blind, my Benefactor! A bit of thy divine sight.
I'm esurient for edification and surreal humanity;
O my deity, for thy modicum omniscience and eternity.
Heed my Father, Regard! Thy henchman's dilapidated
Please cosset haste , He's ruffled and mutilated
Braving myself and praying as the sky is louring
An indigent in your unearthly self; his entity He's scouring.
He envisages too: My Lord! is thee thinkin' Am I true?
Then tell Thy Majesty- if I am not THIS then who?
(Am I)
Gushing willfully through my veins, bruising my heart with its stinging toxin, choking my soul with its callous chains, heaving a hulking load onto my shoulders meant for oxen.
Standing tall and rendering strong, holding a spear, yet wearing no bronze, for its only here to stab you with panic and torment your mind. Frigid, glacial blue eyes and apathetic gaze boring through your soul, opening up your nightmares, laying dormant and whole.
Unlocking your feral troubles, releasing them like a pack of esurient wolves, tearing my happiness and calm into rubble, breaking and shattering my delicate yet protective bubble. Letting fear storm my clear, sunny day, and packing away my joyous and radiant mood, setting off into the dusky, jet black twilight, leaving behind the eye of the storm, and stepping into the gale and bearing the tempest, as I unleash my tears and embrace anxiety with an awkward, uncaring hug.
Over this limpid lagoon, without a church's dome,
no ill-tempered wind coming from the stormy East
can stir up huge waves, it can only scatter mist;
here birds thrive, they call this place their home.
The esurient wrens search for breadcrumbs,
Ella hasn't come yet and they hope she will;
the laughing gulls entrap them as they shrill,
the tiny ones flee and hide in blades of grass.
Where's Ella? She must be dancing with clouds,
there the only spectators are the curious swans;
she swirls against a smooth spectrum of indigo
lighter than her gorgeous eyes that delight Fabio.
Another Fall evening ends to bring back all stillness,
finally the painter with the grey cap rests his hands;
his jaunty painting matches the vividness of the sunset,
Ella runs and joyfully embraces her adored sweetheart.
Written on 1/ 29/ 2016
Logos of a lyric poet
gleans the page, so white. It’s the
esurient exponent of
heart and mind. How I
wish I could be his reader, instead
I choose to write about--
this childish yellow butterfly,
spreading its fragile wings and comes
to listen, intently, the rhythm
of my blood. Hmm, she will
be, surely, noted by me not only for
tonight, but for many years
after that
countless tingles of
skin to skin
will sip the wine of poetry
and commingle, un-agitated,
into my own inner craving.
With bravado, during a bayamo,
A bashful barbudo
with a propensity for dissentiousness
Flits bottomward, toward a sand encrusted crusado
A crusado, mayhap, wellaway once possessed by
A seafaring hildalgo skittering
Over cirulean crests
What wry musing must the esurient bashful
barbudo mull
While it wends it way to the wayworn crusado?
Once and now tantalized, the fearnought barbudo,
Now disappointed over a once thought commestible
Now ponders
An omen? An augur? A delitescent apocalypse--of doom, or
Delight?
Oh, bashful barbudo, unmew this encrusted crusado: expugate it!
Expurgate it form its extant niche
Release its' recondite spectres anon, without cunctation
What tales may it portend with a tactile congress?
Wend not to your shoals yet; shun the skates importuning
Now before a malevolent maelstrom wrests the soothsayer's crusado
Away
Vocabulary: barbudo-species polydactylus virginicus; crusado-Spanish coin;
esurient-hungry,greedy
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