Hordes of tiny fish
Nibble at the strands
Dark marmalade feathers
Undulating seductively
Calling all fish
To belong, be part of
A hidden totality
Under the glazed sunlight
Hazarding the shadow
Squeezing through the murk
Feeding our way in
Imagining light
Believing in everything
Eating the darkness
Mouthing the mass
Chemical collages draping the shape
Of a rusting onion
With nothing to say, but
Enjoy your meal.
Some things in life one must not shirk
Heal things that drive the mind bezerk
Relieve a long time personal quirk
Arising, past deep shadows lurk
Creates a doleful hazy murk
Dig deep to find a joyful perk
With daily prayer to make self love work
It feels muted.
Like a bubbling ache, miming the mince of my patronising murk.
The peevish petulance of my prejudice prompts an abandoned frugality so thinned to a destined demise.
Unlaced.
Untied.
Undone.
A portal so honed to the residual refine of my extinction.
The sterling silver glints off the ashen sheds of my abandoned flesh; she looks like a platter.
Each serving an amortisation to the segments of my pestilent seethe.
Every atom of her making nurtures a barbaric famine to the fester of her feud.
Each larceny a sacrificial suckle for the prosperity of her condemn.
I feel my ruins spewing in a sovereign decay of a cataclysm so heinous in its destruction.
So sinister in its devaluation.
So predatory in its death.
It feels muted; all my days blending one.
All my days blending into the countdown to my censure.
My day of reckoning.
“The heart has its reasons which reason knows not.” ~ Blaise Pascal
How does your decision process work,
extracting clarity and a course of action from the murk?
I'm sure that, for you, it works out fine,
insofar as your methodology is different from mine.
I begin by pondering my choices,
but find inside my head there are two voices.
I scratch my head, and begin to reflect,
asking myself which is most morally correct.
When all is said and done,
which hurts others least, and which is best for number one?
What is the reward? What risk would be incurred?
What is the probability of the result that is preferred?
I make a list of cons and pros,
and assign weights to each of those,
and after hours, days, and weeks of pondering,
I'm still at a loss to solve my "quandering".
Then, I instantly do what I knew I'd do all along,
and find that my decision was all wrong.
Appa, your hands covered in hard work,
Even when life feels of murk.
His love of us is infinite even when life get tough,
Working evey day, giving us enough.
A man, who was once a boy of war,
He faced what his country outside the door.
Me and my brothers see him as a saviour,
Guiding with strength and good behaviour.
Even when the world seemed blind,
His care was always right behind.
Through every storm and every scare,
I know he’s always there to share.
My Appa gives my heart a piece of peace,
A love that makes all troubles cease.
With the heart of a brave tiger,
He lifts me up, a guiding rider.
Strong and brave like Muruga,
His life unfolds like an epic saga.
With courage like Shiva, my guide and achiever,
My Appa stands strong, a true believer.
My Appa, my guide, my strength and light,
Like a raja, he stands brave in every fight.
Through every storm, my Appa leads the way,
His love and care never go astray.
and if my heart is flawed ~
a muse-less manipulator,
it is because
it has known the murk
where nymphaea drift
through green grief
of algae blooms,
yet still m e l t s
in mauve muteness
to feel love’s rhythm
in merciful melancholy,
whilst the air
ripples like fractured light
on a liquid edge
dreaming,
drawing
somewhere
between silence and sacredness,
as mind mimics migrating birds
blissfully bruised
but never broken...
for I am the essence
of an aquatic-blossom ~
soft yet strong ~
patience my pulse
kindness my dignified design,
when coldness finds
its cruel coherence...
O beloved,
feel me
beyond the sighing pond-mists.
I am your mirror
in shallow reflections,
interpreting your
quivering quietness
into unbreakable
laces of light
that float and breathe
as mindfulness
frames the placid pixels
in oil pigments ~
an aura of an artist
can refine to redefine,
where lilies linger
and the water reminisces
its own sun's
luminous f l o w ...
a Magic 9 poem
Dad was belligerent like a mad Irish bull
from drinking the whiskey with his friends after work,
with him there was no cotton wool,
we had to learn early to just stand him down;
don't you dare cower he'd think you a fool,
toe-to-toe we would face him without any fear,
and so Dad taught us fearless gives power to pull
bullies into their places of murk,
So I say: Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”*
* Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
The twigs of March drip,
and dangle ~ late in the day birdsong returns.
Pinched veins leach through uncurling buds,
sap thickens needle
frond and stalk.
Earthworms form oracle rings,
that rise up
from the mud to nurse the wet soil.
Iron skies shuffle their skylights.
fermenting airs soften murk
to tepid mists.
Above the hedgerows
a gloom is burying its ghosts,
At last, heedful wombs
are stirring under thicket,
berm and windbreak.
A pebbly scree
crabwalks him within a dunk of fog.
He should not have climbed so early,
should have waited for a clear sky.
Disorientated,
a slogging momentum
keeps boots stumbling upward.
A swirling murk surrounds...
a sheer cliff edge confronts.
Sitting now on cold stones,
the climber waits to be rescued
by his own pale,
heavy breathing
shadow.
Gears to grind, grey grimace?
O ghoulish, gold to get?
Turtle, beneath carapace!
He who sleeps forgets!
The champion of the city?
A far off challenger?
This may not - Well, pity.
O for thee, sound! Sad? Sure...
Soul in care of, portal?
A sword will sort it out?
Heart blood, pump! Pour, poor pill!
Ravine rill runs the rout!
Fire-god, in a stern tall forge.
What there will we see?
Abyssal the chasm gorge!
Flickering flock, thy fee!
Guns atop the atoll?
This strategy worked when?
Downward plunge into thy hole!
O dragon, doom! Death! Den...
Rack of lamb for dinner?
Thy supper's sorely got.
O vampire, vine! The winner?
It couldn't be thee, thought.
Cold thy core, O bonfire?
It never seems to get.
Heaven and Hell, murk and mire!
Pinned down, O my pet!
Tomorrow is the day – the day I dread.
The first of March. Declare the dividend.
I hate a scene but I, by nature’s quirk,
endure the drama, seated on the stage.
I never met a shareholder who said
‘I know you are the CEO. My friend,
we really do appreciate your work.’
Hostility is not so hard to gauge.
Today’s the day it all comes to a head.
A thousand profit-sniffers will attend.
Their eyes will flay me, glaring from the murk,
and though I do my damnedest to assuage
the fury, ‘carbon footprint’s tread’ –
it will not help me. Why do I pretend?
They want more money. Explanations irk.
Their unearned income is the war they wage.
Their eyes and exit signs pulsating red,
No Confidence the motion that they’ve penned,
malicious in the darkness where they lurk,
creators (or the symbols?) of our age.
Before the void happened to me,
you happened, or more precisely your voice
came across oceans
—Fate was feeling kind that day, I imagine,
with your voice she weaved
a lifeline, pulled me back
across black water—
You happened, and the void,
while still there, doesn’t pull anymore.
The murk can no longer devour
when you are twilight, a
soft-lit haven against nihility.
In the lone, moonless night, a polaris—
I reach out with both arms
and no passage plan
—You’d take my hands, wouldn’t you?
Before the void took mine,
I found you.
“Don’t go there – steer away from it!” he said.
“You’ll turn your gaze away (that’s if you’re wise).
The black hole on the screen you’ve got your eyes on,
which seems appealing, floating in the murk,
confers no blessing. Love is just a curse.
Enticing, yes – but when push comes to shove,
the only day you’re free is when you’re dead.”
The bridge fell silent. Starship Enterprise
was stalled outside the thing’s event horizon.
The science officer asked, “Captain Kirk,
why are you singularity-averse?”
“Unlike yourself, Spock, I have been in love.”
I wrote something a while ago
I was mad that you were back
But now I feel myself letting go
It's all numb and the anger I lack
I am giving in to you again
Hold my writes out
And let you tie them
"Why can't you just figure this out"
The thought sparks in my head
And stabs through my heart
The glass shatters and all I see is red
"You can never just face the bad part"
Always need someone to carry you
Never strong enough to just make it through
Weak broken and alone
That's all you will ever be
You beg them so an ear they will loan
You are a burden and add to a load heavy already
I always go back to you
Because it's easier than doing the real 'work'
The idea tempts and I go through
You clouded my thoughts with your senseless murk
Fade into the void,
pale and unseen,
a whisper of silence,
dim murmured echo.
Unheard and unremarked,
an absent fragment,
of drifting haze,
that lingers unseen.
Fragile, easily shattered,
weightless and distant,
an obscure hollow,
of faint gray dust.
Blurred empty thought,
foggy and fractured,
like an unfelt sigh,
flickering invisible in the murk.
O veiled shadow
of former self,
ashen phantom
of better days,
am I but a fleeting shade,
doomed by fate
to wilt and wane,
and fray at the edges,
to shiver and wilt,
until vanishing,
simply disappear?
Not even a glimmer
of self remains.
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