Unexpectedly
inspired by a Péladan jeremiad,
the red moon laughs at the sea
and the possum-ness of the possum;
Churlish blood rays remain
a never never world utterance of the jungle,
Every lupercalian dragonfly
conspires with brooding
red hibiscus flowers;
On a night like this,
all creation winces and endures
before melting into a black water mirage
of broken feverish brush strokes
and fruit bats in a mangrove swamp.
Take my soul and set it free
Am not asking for perpetuity or eternity
Even just one second would be enough
For I crave freedom , freedom & freedom
For I am painted to be an independent work of art
A masterpiece. A reason for apocalypse. Not a rising star but a pulsar , a nebula promising catastrophe
For just a moment let all that sink in
The world around you no more exists
Afterall in the end it's just
A perfect illusion
A love story of jeremiad
And then among cluster of stars , metaphorical moons (flowers)
Poetry , paper & ink
You will find solace , authenticity &
Eternal happiness.
Alas! O woe! Jeremy, Jeremy,
Will gloom make you your own worst enemy?
Now is the time to recall your own name,
which was once shared by a prophet of fame.
He purchased a plot in the besieged Holy Land
though soon it would fall to the enemy's hand.
Though suffering sorely in a foul and dark mire
from his noble mission he refused to retire.
He never gave way to cruel Babylon;
the resolute prophet just carried on.
When the way ahead is painful and long
turn lamentation into a great song.
The Death of My Child
jeremiad
jeremiad
jeremiad;
an ocean of tears
of misery:
the mother's 9 months product
has sadly fallen
a shocking loss
a lost fruit
when future plans glitters
but death does not permit
a big shame to the life hope
shaken heart to drop blood
blood of pain and failure
struggle to acccept
beyond depression
life test
life challenge
weak-human response
a deep lament
a forever cry.
Drencho POET Loads.
Fiery Jeremiad Though Jeremiah lamented for the people The people who did not repent will lament far worse He treads the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God.
Still the green tolling hope
Like Bedward's jeremiad
Or Garvey's trope
Is something to tell about
Still it drinks sun's fire
And from this alone
Makes bread and water
A man find
On rare fruit trees
Searching among strange ornamentals
Still deep roots bind the soil
Against erosion
Thank God there is little rain
And still the green
Of pastures and forestland
Binds my heart
To the old native land
A crimson dragon-
fly, Why! never seen one of
those before, here; - my
Beach, these febriled oh-
pressive days, re-bleaching to
a 14Mil-Shill
only "Ernst & Friends"
only know; so I meande
this other, other
tres Yoga place, Ma-
ma & young Swan - Proustian? -
decide to shore, so
smooth, they, as if guide,
tethered below, two Windfanned-
down SnowFeathers, as
from a chapeau, no!
degage` "Dolly Varden"
offered-over for
simple frags of the
bread at hand, some too in a
tossing-up for the
diminutive red-
bill Moorehen in the pecking
water, as hungry
mosqa do their thing
euchre - chancing - flitting a
pluck voracity
against their Lives, this
yet another sad tingle...
and in a new bluff
I fauxstrut from the
Love we breathed... this, another
SatHerday-Sunday.
The first time I met you
I loved you.
You took me with you to
a field of paper flowers.
We laughed an played
all day.
But nanny came and said
it was time to go inside.
The sun faded, the field
turned to ashes and
my love diminished.
You saw the world but
never breathed it's pure
air.
You left me standing
on that front porch
to wonder what will
come.
The world misses you,
baby.
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