Long Frigid Poems
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Gazes like those Persian spears full in flight,
Thrust on us to see the tales in those brown eyes,
Shimmers, like powdered silver beneath sunlight,
Are the paragraphs and verse-s of her life.
Joyous to behold, yet more than I can praise,
Alike a constellation within a face.
Did part of the universe fall down to earth,
To wield breath in whom I behold in your self?
Or are you instead our maker's first template,
That left the heavens and on earth found a place?
The seeming absence of everyone - and so,
In each moment that your eyes, to me, would throw -
Those Persian spears full in flight and craft,
To stir this bloke who like so had loved a lass.
Like so had loved, like so, started with a craze,
But from whence we met died down after each day,
Until all that lay left was me in ''fetters'',
Soul and body - so was scourged; who let her.
I would pretermit this ardour, thee, fair one,
As this time my broken mind would let one choice.
You're still beautiful, still more than I can praise,
But 'bout your fervour? Please look another way.
THE DEPTH OF DEATH
In the flowing darkness of liquefied night
I see me sinking with my gasping essence,
your silhouette on shore goes out of sight.
I hear the bell tolls for me faint and distant,
the music on life’s violin stops in an instant
in the time transcending depth of silence.
When my time flows to the still eternal past
invisible cold grip takes away my last breath
from my frigid body waiting to turn to dust
dark air of grave gives divine touch in disguise.
Serenading in infinite solitude my soul will rise
from the fathomless unknown depth of death.
December 31, 2018
I am thawing out
The winter freeze melts like butter
From the heart
With purpose poised and sung hard
From the mettle of my thoughts
Resltess as they are
This thick impassioned tar
Out spouts the plans and desires
Out grows the forbearers of time
Out and threaded, lived and tethered.
Find and feed and fall for others.
On this blistered, frigid Christmas,
Move and make your wishes welt
As worn and weary as they are.
Restless as they are
Make loose the mind's murky tar.
And start a new fire for all to see.
Make it burn bright into the night
Against the maple of the trees,
Against the faces of belief.
I turned ten two days ago,
I blew out the candles with a heavy sigh.
You were born today,
Still.
Your lips inherited
The reddest hue of cardinal feathers,
Your rice paper skin
Pale and soft, fresh as silken snow.
I never knew what your eyes looked like
They never opened
Infinite iris colors
Never to be discovered
When I held you in my arms,
The guiding hand of God
drifted away
I gave the coldest of shoulders I suppose.
I looked outside the hospital window,
A frigid breeze made
The trees sway with unease
But all the leaves stayed in place.
A confetti of dust drifted
In the air conditioned hospital room
And time yet stood still
On my brother's only birthday.
Somewhere from the deep dark and mazy cave
The painful cry of a wretch is incessantly heard
The booming,surging noise in the changing wave
That reaches everywhere in whirls and is stirred;
The frigid peace crusts the fazed soul, so sore ;
And in chaotic disorder,despite its awning decor
The unborn child of civilisation is in utter threat-
Squeezed between birth and growth ,in intense
Awe, and uncertain as the wicked anger is all set
To destroy, devour and leave in smoke dense ;
All the sweet and neat things for love and gain
Made, have but come to be treated with disdain
Skyscrapers and huge domes, like citadels tall,
And forts, palaces or mansions matchless ever,
Tracts for sport and fun and the communion hall
Are but pulled down to dust with mocking power
Built with nobility and lofty embellishment dear
Yet short of grace, magnanimity and soul clear
Like a naive praying child,the mind with a frown
Asks at large , and repeats often the quest:
Why build at all when you intend to bring down
To evince that things exist only at Ego's behest!
The world so rich and wonderful doth only need
Love, harmony and peace for the order to breed
All that the crust and its inmost offers do yield
Are the sole claims of the sapiens very strange,
Who now know that from the sword and shield
To the magical burning weapons of any range,
Is much easier than making a kid's game toy
To truly send chill down the backbone to annoy
The never stopping spheres will glance again
Similar chops, splinters and the countless kill
With the ceaseless flow of the liquid in red stain;
Will the infant within grow up to it's nativity in full
And find the fruitful load of culture for it to carry
On to posterity the divine gift of honey and cherry?
Written: November 14, 2023
_______________________________________________
We ventured into everlasting words
Cast-off Calix of clear canvas
Each concept basks in sunlight,
Our souls are depicted in blood
Our views overlap on each page
Blooms in the orchard are sprouting.
Our fingers flutter across the keys
In this seductive word melody,
We morph into the cynosure
Forthwith faraway frigid fiefdom,
But now, just via our whispered secrets
Our spirits may finally breathe here.
Words are written in ink on a nebulous canvas.
Skillfully crafted tapestry of throe emotions
Such a syllable is a solemn stroke,
Stripes serve as strokes of sorrow
Where canorous whispers are the norm,
We design a vivacious home for hearts
The quixotic drawing is finally full of life
Our words earn such a glorious graphic
A saffron sun caresses each letter
With kindness and gentleness.
In a world of amaranthine ambition
We decry quiddity in syntax,
A haven for the pellucid and broken
An oasis amid a shattered sphere
With every hushed revelation
Repairs and revamps are what we do best,
Weaving countless love tales.
So let us sustain writing
The panacea of hushed truths,
Where our spirits entwine
And our musings live in perpetuity.
Inscribed on the nexus of history,
We decry solace in this space,
Discovering, deciphering, and divinity,
Secrets that echoed soft susurrus.
Conveyed by the winds of destiny
Show us where hearts can connect
Words have curing and stirring power,
They can ignite the flames of craving
Embrace the power of the pen,
As we pen our muttered secrets.
I sit here alone...wondering...how much longer this...and in hearing
the question a silent icy fear blankets my body...the answer would
come wearing both masks...tragedy...comedy...this is my life. with
freedom comes death...it hangs over me like a Mexican piñata filled
with chocolate covered blades...so each day firmly slipped into
neutral I exist...barely a choice to live...so I ask myself...how
did I get here...the answer comes thundering from up above...
a dead poet speaks...son that is the path you chose at your fork
in the road... you don't argue the truth...you just throw cold water on
your face...no...you step into a frigid shower...cleanse your thoughts
...stand in defeat happy to feel something even if it is just the pain of
your nerve endings screaming...soaking wet and naked is the only life
you presently afford yourself...there is no one to hear your tears...
what little sound they make rolling down your cheeks...they are not
self pitying but rather wanting...of a loss so deep...what in your own
self appreciation defined you...you want back your art...it...that so
often led you back to the promised land...still you are not that hot
headed fool you once were...you will not stand on the mountain only
to shatter the tablets with their ten commandments...a cooler head
prevails...so you think...like a soap opera...these are the days of my
life...I am strong and vibrant...yes I am and I will walk as slowly as I
must towards my light and yes I will come out the other side a better
man for this.
08~01~2015
Armand
I love the cold as I lay beneath my
feather doodah, or chill-out
in my warm down-filled wind cheater.
I love to run through fields of ice and snow
with steam expelling from my mouth
with every each puff and breath.
I love to sip the steamy warm soup
with the cup warming my frigid lips.
For everyday I stave off
the cold embrace of death,
threatening to engulf me.
If I stop trying
and my energy fails,
my warmth will succumb
To the call of the cold,
forever wanting me to relent
and give up.
For to stay alive,
I must burn the food I eat and digest,
bask in the sunshine, sit by the fire,
to keep warm against the chill,
forever sucking heat from me.
The shrill chill encompasses me
with the cold embrace of death.
She speaks in lingo
Like foreigners speak gringo
In all forks of the great America
Around and out of this awesome Africa
She comes online
Doing this shows she recline
On the dawn and night of her words
Designed to have faith of coming birds
That would chirp
Of grace that won't be usurp
For foes to run far from gathering bee
Walking out for daily bread in concord's decree
If the network roll
The ball off the hole
Yet right there stationed tee
Without a proportional appointee
It has actually let
You stay away from bet
Over the doubt here and there
Holding still the beet cut unaware
Learn to loose the belt
Rather than the wandering temper
Between cold and hot thoughts to melt
Yearning down lonely lane grieving distemper
Shall you willingly tint
Your face print of a hint
And leave me to clues up to nine
That quite look good as thoughts twine
That caught me in a net
She knits under my own tent
Without a threat of any sweat
Strategize to ferment my consent
Oh it was pretty cool
Naming the simple tool
Which harbours three in a box
Thoughtfully after it has flummox
The moment grows mum
Through a logic of no medium
Making the flashing lights go dim
Uncontrollably loving to grease and gym
Time don't tell when it's due
Of what momentums ensue
Rehearsing what future shall mime
Comfortably without been tagged a crime
Hope this won't die in mud
And waste away all the blood
Innocent of being a crook legally
But claimed to be one accidentally
Send it to delete the rig
And bother not the sweat that dig
Either unlawfully or lawfully, get rid
The electrons flowing endlessly through grid
Before it touches any fir
And leaves an everlasting slur
Which over time becomes so rigid
Loamy soil won't romance roots being frigid
Later it would
When in the wood
There is so much cold
To make system responses bold
Whenever I log in
And there she is not
I would rather use oil or gin
To make sure I draw getting hot
For my sake
Where truth lies awake
It never seems shaken but still
What a moveable regulatory hill!
"I did not expect death to knock on my door.
Now I keep it securely locked." ~ by poet
I bade the knocker at my door, "Please come in."
The visitor to my home, whoever it might've been
But frigid air left a chilly atmosphere in the room
The hand of fate entered; I heard the voice of doom
I sensed my end was near as it swiftly approached
Across my dwelling's threshold, death encroached
Its icy breath etched frost upon my window panes
Blood seemed to stop flowing within my frail veins
Death's wildling wind pelted its anger on my roof
My fear of it climbed higher as I cowered in reproof
Huddled in a corner, horror mounted and spurred
This room was the chamber where I'd be interred
How foolhardy of me to leave my door unlocked
I shouldn't have bid welcome when death knocked
Every gliding step its darkness took in my direction
subdued my will until I could not raise an objection
Terror compelled me to curse what my fate now bore
I should've run when hearing the knock on my door
Demonic eyes searched mine with a look of disdain
Out the door it flew, but my fright will long remain