Long Embalmed Poems
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On a shard stretched of incomprehensible narrow, tight and wide,
a silent strident laugh I often forbade-allowed myself,
it's the ordered chaos indescribable, the howling clang
of hermit tear struck in a shattered version,
habitual miracle of screaming silence, poor wealth,
fulfilled-unfulfilled love in the sweet cruel pain,
embalmed wound of your gentle-cruel smile, deep-smooth,
chasm full of filling, lady-lord, speak silently,
divinely mortal, thus unfulfilled-complete, mute song
of swan terribly gentle, of angel broken-whole,
white-black of the cursed one blessed in forgetting-remembrance...
I long without longing, dying alive, lucid foolish thoughts,
perpendicular parallel equations, humble pride of ladies
rubicund-pallid, prostituted icons holy-profaned,
fierce cold embraced I feel in ribs empty full,
our loves lonely-together, I have spring-summer
frozen-inflamed, satisfied hunger for warm winter,
autumns with dry rains of sleet falling upward,
that fly-frozen calm torrents toward fields
hermit-populated, our stars extinguished-lit,
sky-earth, living death from the empty-full mind,
your caress burning-cold, my life confirms-denies!
Dear 2024,
I hope this poetic vow
wouldn’t be shunned,
as I block negativity
from my phone,
like my bitter exes.
And forgive my sense
of humor that
resembles sour grapes,
like a dash of salt
and pepper sprinkled
on top of old drapes.
Perhaps, as this
year bids adieu,
I’ll find the right
ingredient to concoct
sparkling wine infused
with giggles that
age like
chucklesome limericks,
as I fine-tune the
empty spaces
of my scribbled
pages with hilarity.
I’ll learn to laugh a
little louder and hope
the ebb of every
comical tale can flow.
Maybe a stricter
chocolate diet would
help me see the
sweeter side of
powdered comedians,
sharpening my wit
as endorphins enhance
my ability to spot
the depth of puns
punctuated
with bizarre tones.
And as December rain
drizzles in symphony
of the darkness
my quill flaunts,
pardon these
peculiar metaphors,
I’ll raise a glass
of crocodile tears,
a toast for
more concise poetry,
and faces I’ve phased,
that I’ll no longer
vent about in vain verses.
Cheers to the
festival lights
on wheel of laughter,
may the florescence
forever flicker as
souvenirs of amusement.
I’ll dance into the
rising sun of a new year,
in an odyssey adorned
with shimmering dreams
embalmed in
tickling mint leaves.
A lady of a certain age whose life you think you really know
she lives her life with secrets and some of these appear below
On the surface she is brusque and rather bumptious, never smiles
but deep inside her broken heart cannot be reconciled
Her true love died when she was young, so cruelly taken away
He was murdered by a psychopath on a beautiful summer day
Could not accept that he had gone her life came to a standstill
She built a wall around herself, as her soul cascaded downhill
Her bottom drawer was overflowing full of her wedding trousseau
So crazed with grief, could not let go, she created a ghoulish tableau
The world saw her as a grumpy old dear, living alone; she was no one to fear
Down in her cellar an elderly fella, insane, inane, no one knew he was here
Imprisoned all those years ago she vowed she’d never let him go,
The psychopath he took an axe and killed the man that she’d loved so
Each day he survives barely alive; chained like an animal no life in his eyes
Each day she watches, no feelings inside, struggling to keep this monster alive
Upstairs a body expertly embalmed, her lover, her soulmate, appears unharmed
Years go by there’s no solution, for what she has done there will be retribution
Now living a life full of secrets and lies, so gruesome she cannot reveal
Until her time comes and she joins her beloved, such images she must conceal
25th December 2018
Contest: Secrets
Sponsor: Faraz Ajmal
5th placement
Jan19 2020
Sponsor: Brian Strand
1st placement
Contest: Hello darkness my old friend
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
4th November 2020
A ride down dark December streets,
All white and thick with snowy drifts,
And for a passing moment all the world
Is still beneath deep Winter’s icy shroud
And in the calm where my soul finds repose,
I feel a mix of longing and of dread,
Half-wishing to be covered and forgot,
And fade away below the frigid sky
I hear her whisper darkly in the night,
Inviting me to lie forever there,
Upon her frozen bed embalmed in white,
So softly wrapped in cold and icy sheets
But soon I see her voice is just the wind,
And her caress is but the falling snow,
As I begin to head for heat and home,
And shiver on the way to warm my bones.
Wonder's Mother, Misery
Digging up the philosophical topic:
Disputing bliss as the ultimate state.
Argues that striving for worthy causes
is crucial to satisfaction.
Told as a narrative:
I settle for serenity before empathy emerges.
Fortune arrives! Freedom's apostle forsakes anguish
Gifted infinite Bliss, my solace destined deservedly
Stream of clarity meanders a universal language
Friction's absence nestles purity imperviously
Embalmed in Calm's acclaimed lake, swan flossed
Rythemical ripples push potent satisfaction
Praises recited by besotted Constancy credulous
echo honey hive hums of hexagonal exaction
Departing debaucherous City vividly abhorred
Putrid brutality writhes with tired rivalries
Beanstalk brings salvation, stem thrust forward
Garnered ease guarantees Eden's glories
Possessive Bliss demands spellbound devotion
Heaven threatened if Bliss discerns disloyalty
Clouds combine to combat empathy's erosion
Chastise my facile option of blind buoyancy
Fog's fugitives scowl at my serenity tenuous
Big top brandishing condemns complacency
Stampede creatures wet sterile to spectacle
Aloof cautions, storm's rampage prophesied
Thunder's scorn in boisterous cloud growls,
" Are your horizons devoid of curiousity?"
Lightning despises consolation Bliss allows
" Ventures usher insight, mishaps carve tenacity. "
My plaintive protest, " Bliss gives reality reprieve."
Vehement gust howls, " Glassy serenity smothers"
Truth edits template, discards denial' s dry leaves
" Necessary Misery is Wonder's Mother."
"Wonder's discoveries honour researchers who develop them
Trials and triumph craft tapestry immaculately woven
Showcased esteem denies distinction endless spectrum
Taunting tranquility extends pledges inevitably broken."
Narcotic Bliss persuades with privilege of inaction
Compassion scaffolds resilience duly collected
Pragmatic rain alerts to a pertinent maxim
Intrigue's face created by Misery's descendant
July 2020
The Inverted Dial of Your Slender Eternity
you, my beloved, are the target of a deity transparent as vapor,
who has decreed that your frail body, divine frailty itself,
should be filled gradually with all my interior mountains,
to offer the sigh, inhaling once again a breath,
oxygen from the HEAVENS, with tissues of arteries and veins intertwined,
sculpting my emotions fragile as honey, between strange verses,
on the path toward a moment, embalmed with thousands of perfumed years,
of an ATOMIC clock, close to the burning thirst of summer,
that is in a total rotation, somehow DECIPHERABLE with difficulty,
from the board of the SOLAR disk of seconds and hours:
all numbers in their place, but inscribed totally, BACKWARDS!
I write morning after morning, above your eyelashes,
black poems on white eyelids, your mute alphabet,
with ink from frozen blood, from tears burned by cold fire,
on the invisible map of your dreams without sleep, without waking,
where time flows backward like a river from future into past,
and where the dead breathe harder than the living of the present,
and you, my beloved slender as a blade of divine knife,
cut my heart into transparent slices, to see through them the light,
that black light from the center of the extinguished sun, the ignited one,
that illuminates our darkness, blinded by too much seeing...
and I beg you, continue to sculpt mountains in my naked chest,
until I'll be full of so much emptiness, heavy from so much void,
until I'll fall upward, toward the bottom of the deep sky,
toward the roots of stars planted in the cosmic ground above,
where everything is exactly inverted from what seems to be completely backwards,
where the ATOMIC clock beats its heart of warm organic metal,
counting the seconds that no longer are, that will have always been,
on that SOLAR dial written in ciphers of luminous shadow,
all hours simultaneous, all minutes in the same eternal now,
all of them, numbered, but written exactly, INVERTED as in the shattered mirror!
To bear with aplomb an existential
need to grieve unpurposed loss is unkind.
Enmesh in secret space and tragic thrall,
silver threads of death's hairsbreadth, small in mind...
So much improper placement now needed
to board up hidden pain's implosive thuds-
Footfalls on heart's walls now go unheeded.
And a slippery slope's where emotion's mud
drowns and buries sorrow's shuddered spats.
Feelings embalmed in cold- hearted reasons,
Tears' release now has no welcoming mat.
"For the best." Covers death in all seasons.
And yet grief's instinctive power to heal
becomes more powerful with freedom to feel...
20/09/2017
Each moment, like life itself, is a pleasant knock,
This, like the spring surprises, unlocks each time clock;
And unpacks puzzling feelings like Pandora box,
Making me take hold of my lifeboat like a cox...
Knocks are manifold like milkman knock and postman's
Policeman knock stops my heart like a lanced glance;
Knock of freedom flows flawless, like dew on a rose,
And lover's knock at darling's heart no limit knows...
Once I dreamt as though got knocked by an ambulance,
Lying as a corpse cursed to dead ambiance;
Grave dug; coffin decorated; body embalmed,
When I woke I found the whole story flaw-bombarded...
Life is like rugby, full of knocks, knockouts, knockdowns
Rubbing shoulders creates breakdowns and shakedowns;
Knock of hate can sound sometimes like knock of pure love,
Resonance of knock within does love's union shove...
Divine knock, often, beats in the heart like sea waves,
Erupting number of thoughts like volcano caves;
When avoid it clings like iron on the magnet,
I entangle within, like fish in a dragnet...
Knocks must be, like all events, viewed objectively,
In them, are hidden meanings so collectively;
If each knock leads to a call of divinity,
Earthly life can turn into divine dignity...
14 September 2021
''K'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Frozen stars in the shadows of changing seasons, the pain of love engraved in acrylic gold
Swirls through the sunlight, draped in somber mists, the echo of endless memories
Of a timeless love story, I feel the frozen sigh of a suffering sunset
While the warm mustard dew of shifting fog gently caresses the sapphire fringes of silent seas
Singing sober melodies on the rain-kissed horizon, heavy with onyx tears of anguish
Like a black rose wilting, mourning in a mahogany coffin, locked with painful memories
Embalmed in shades of hailstorms, somewhere between split gusts and winds of sorrow
The dismal sunflower remains captive, a dusty souvenir with the grayish green of a shattered September
For every autumn hides a story, lost among the dark sights of dripping leaves
And I will always bloom from an opaque mirage, listening to the forest fading, whispering sad odes
To the melancholic wind, feeling time flow through my veins like a river of regrets
Memories melt into colors of fermented must, and my thoughts wander through labyrinths of fog
In this symphony of sadness, words dance on the knife edges of my troubled conscience
Drops of nostalgia trickle down the windows of the soul, reflecting a past that no longer exists
And I, a captive spectator in my own mind, watch as the fabric of reality unravels
Leaving behind only echoes of a love that once was, now lost in the waves of time
Thus, I float through the sea of melancholy, clinging to fragments of memories like lifebuoys
As the horizon drifts further away, and I sink into the depths of my own consciousness
Where frozen stars and wilted roses form constellations of an inner universe
Pulsating to the rhythm of a broken heart, but one that still beats, still hopes, still dreams of eternity.
All that ever was is all that ever will be
and its pass of years washed to the sea.
O’ death is woe, and I am as I feared
alone beside the Estuary of the Dead.
Hear the pitch and hum of nest and hive,
the winged sea wolves its depths to dive -
spirits and demons in my head recite
on the banks of Lucas Creek at first light.
In its silent wake rising wetlands swell
and gravediggers heap clay in the quell.
Waitemata tides at the rivermouth gate
will bury its mudflats under its weight.
I hear soft tones of old tui's silvery trill
out of the pine forest's late autumn chill -
ruminate at peace by the tranquil wave
sat crouched upon your bone filled grave.
Embalmed is the air with the May flower
and dark clouds gather my memorial hour.
Allow me my idle bluster and in it abide
for verily it comes and goes with the tide.
Sometimes I wonder at the fates of men
at the point of death upon this quiet fen -
are my slings and arrows my fate to be
and alas all my triumphs a pyrrhic victory?
There's a sign that reads "Eternity Ahead"
where many are called and many are led.
I will look out on these upper harbours
when I too am resting with my fathers.
What mortal stars have this realm shone
and yet some burn out but still shine on.
But to all who pass its last one way bend
the road to Schnapper Rock is a dead end!
Written: May 1992