hunting the Rue Saint-Honoré
leaves me no breath
when women brawl for fashion
with warrants of gold
we become lions
every eye looks
taking hunter's aim
in piteous chase
the hares we hunt
are the new, the hot, the exclusive
not the lower marked
cry havoc
for animals heave fewer groans
only wars, revolt and poisons
attend more frightful chaos
one could come to hurt
but fault no villains
that is not our hunting language
we are confederates in chase
seeking the swaggers of success
.
.
A song for this:
Baby You're a Superstar by Mark Roberts, Paul Fletcher, Patrick Sturrock, Emily Taylor & Dan Whitfield
Red lips are not ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ kissed by the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ dead.
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ their love pure.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ eyes ¦¦¦¦ lure
When I behold eyes blinded in ¦¦¦ stead!
Your ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ exquisite ¦¦¦¦ limbs knife-skewed,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ rolling there
Where God seems ¦¦¦ to care;
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ Love they bear
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ in death's extreme decrepitude.
Your voice sings ¦¦¦ so soft, --
Though ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ murmuring through raftered loft, --
Your ¦¦¦¦ voice is ¦¦¦ dear,
Gentle, and ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ clear,
As theirs whom none ¦¦¦ hear
¦¦¦ earth ¦¦¦ stopped ¦¦¦¦¦ piteous mouths that coughed.
Heart, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Nor large, nor full ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ made great with shot;
¦¦¦ though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
¦¦¦¦¦ you may weep, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ touch them not.
(Blackout of Greater Love by Wilfred Owen)
For The Brave
Rush quickly to me my sarcastic wit,
My heart's weak battlements are under siege;
For the world torments me as it sees fit,
Unrelenting to thee my faithful liege.
Bring sharpest of words to aid in my war,
That the loss of so piteous a life
May be reflected in its final score
To say bravery housed within was rife.
O Muses armor, truest pen to hand,
The stage is set and curtain call is nigh;
Before blood spills upon this dying land,
My words on wings must climb into the sky.
Before my words become a faded thought...
I'll shed the tear for which I've bravely fought.
The mortal extraction of your consciousness.
Each word hums through my blood, the slaps of silvers coaxing the cries of my crimson.
A label of eternity, meandered into the muster of your grime, breathing my bond to life.
The bond of my cease.
The bond of my desire.
The bond of my boon.
The serenity of your essence sprouts my veins; a constant bourgeon to the yield of my being.
I am bound to the tranquillity of your solitude.
Each kiss a desperate gasp for something but the void of my arteries.
Each kiss a piteous offering for something but the eternity of my devotion.
Each kiss an awaited bequest for something other than the relict of my bloodline.
I am yours.
A previous assertion to the testimony of your love.
A current avowal to the testimony of your pledge.
A future declaration to the testimony of your tenure.
Belonging is a concept etched into the dejection of my skin; a belonging embedded within each breath, sending way to the rock of my revolve.
I love you.
Though, three syllables will never be enough to articulate the exploitation of my dread, forever marred within the lines of my shambles.
Yet, even then,
I love you, my moon.
Boredom shapes the gambler’s curse—
a chafing itch burrows the skin,
and promises of bounties full
draws loss and piteous hunger in.
It wagers not on sense but need,
all wisdom choked at galloping speed-
that trades frail patience in a pulse,
mistaking want for feckless greed.
Tidal leaps the wave, a beast enraged
the shifting boards ,a sweep of losses tilt-
that stilts no longer shudderproof engaged
foundations fall and nothing left but guilt.
The naïve life possessed by the power of craving,
turns into an inanimate object, utterly inert.
The buoyant being, unsuspecting and unblemished,
captured by the vicious clutch of cunning yearning,
rolls in remorse like the fallen gems of longing garland,
the fragile string of innocence ruefully ruptured.
The sordid senses sheathed by spiteful insolence
don’t for a moment repent the presence
in the fleeting mind the obstinate obsession
of nurturing the ephemeral debased desire
in the swathing shades of garish grey,
decimating the radiance of the sapphire spirit
of its credulous possession disowned.
For the body and mind ravaged
by the vile strike of Black Excalibur of severance
life is no longer a charismatic concept.
The piteous ruins of the broken heart pile up in futility
at the threshold of despair in the debris of disdain.
Free from the captivity of depraved love,
the agonized heart pines to rejuvenate,
hopes to find the secret of solace for the desolate soul,
waiting for the time to rise re-invented
from the wreckage of self-worth.
Slithering and Creeping Along the Moonlit Path
Where Dark Desires Permeates the Hidden Caverns of My Heart
An Enchanted Road, A Supplicant Ritualist Journey
Beyond the Seas of Perpetual Agony
Confronting Sinister Vices In the Canyon of Piteous Wails
Seeking The Crossroads of Equilibrium Where Virtue Prevails
This Path Navigates the Depths of My Soul Harbor
Abode to My Grotesque Daemons Balanced by Angels of Blissful Splendor
Goddess Luna, Witness to Submission and Surrender
Mystical Luminary With Her Reflective Glow
Reveals the Doorway Pillars of Emerald and Gold, Arch of Ivy Hanging Low
Precept by Precept Steps on the Battened Cobbled Stone Road
Paved with Desire, Despair and Hope Inward Pilgrimage To the Moon Sage's Abode
For I Am a Wanderer of The Dark Night, Purposely Endowed
Untangling Threads to Complete My Soul's Contract I Vowed!
Hecate Whispers Songs My Shadows Sing
Of Liberation, Perfection, Growth and Healing.
-----------------------------------------
The drone of birds in war offensive
hear the drone of war
pity the birds, amassing
way out there someplace,
they'll be back in droves to drone
the piteous drum of war
Whispers of fingers an apparitions touch
took residence inside my mirrored bones
frantic rationale is a skeletal destination
crunchy landing of hard fossil dust
This sad beast of remains stands low in the sag
dry tears of sand drips down to mandible mayhem
its remnant clothing, phalanges hanging in defeat
while random flutist sings it's hollow tune
Fleshly hand, the kindly reach gazes in piteous questioning
living site navigates the reflecting path
the maze door answered with a riddles remedy
the skulls slow lift, the femurs rise, the mirrored ripples open
I vow to you our country, all earthly things below
to cleanse what we as humans have done to nature's show.
Our rivers are polluted, and air that creatures breathe.
Discarded waste and effluent now cloak both land and sea.
The climate's been disrupted, affecting food supplies,
and all of God's creation, is raising piteous cries
But there's another country, I've heard of long ago
a garden full of beauty, where nature's free to grow
with seas and skies of freshness, with land that's lush and clean.
We have what God now gives us, to bring back what has been.
So we should be resourceful and with a firm intent
restore our lovely country, to such as we have dreamt.
Tune: Thaxted
This beautifully designed
Spring, star-studded night.
Alive within these brave souls
Of courage, truly, a breathless,
Singular, moving delight!
I am not here to be an advocate
Only for me, a most piteous plea!
Yelping, as a child,pay attention to me.
But to also support oppressed
others, so far across the sea!
Kiiled with bloody, enthusiastic,
Antediluvian treachery!
Provincial~ oh, this I am not!
May freedom be, bravely begot.
Internationally, born thoughts,
Keep my soul high in flight aloft!
My soul tonight with immense
celebration, in ecstasy, caught!
4/19/2024
Deluged with the nostalgic era of you,
Your lush verdant scent lining
Wistful sentiments upon idle reflections
Scattered in fragments and fine dustings, as
I acquaint myself with futile intricacies—
Devoted to your unwritten absence,
Wandering in a haze of misty wastelands,
While you eternalize your presence in our
Heart of hearts and in the
Cavernous corners of our souls, with the
Delicate air of you—spilling your love—
Memorializing the tidings you’ve nurtured,
Within our once piteous existence,
Endlessly rising in honor of you.
"From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,
A pair of star cross'd lovers take their life,
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents' strife."
— Prologue, Romeo and Juliet
As teens, they were told you’re too young
Time passed and they both were married
Another vowed they were among
Lovers who stole hearts once buried
Time passed and they both were married
Like this might mend the wounds within
Lovers who stole hearts once buried
Bygones could tell of pain that’s been
Like this might mend the wounds within
Where battles left them so forlorn
Bygones could tell of pain that’s been
As they stayed in darkness to mourn
Where battles left them so forlorn
Star-crossed lovers - hear hearts breaking
As they stayed in darkness to mourn
The feelings felt were earthshaking
Star-crossed lovers - hear hearts breaking
Another vowed they were among
The feelings felt were earthshaking
As teens, they were told you’re too young
There were many years of subjugation to this enigma of visions of tragedies.
She conceded that it was to her advantage to charge modest fees.
World War II and romance brought anxious lovers and soldiers to her door.
It wasn't long before popularity and prosperity began to soar.
There came a time when she became weighed with the yoke of oppression.
When her inner sensitivity clashed with her inner aggression.
She was plagued with many dark visions of her mother's struggle with cancer.
She was lost in grief and anguish of not being able to save her.
She set a course of never having children and lovers.
She locks herself away from personal relationships with others.
She felt paralyzed with a sense of exile.
She was not happy for a long while.
She wanted to be free from piteous tragedies and be normal.
She realized to be free she would have to burn her hands that open the portal.
January 24, 2023
He was in love, deep, romantic love.
She was standoffish, aloof, above,
no need for pointless ideas thereof.
It was forbidden, like fox and dove.
His clay a gritty earthy mixture.
Hers a sweet creamy marble picture
of comfort, a permanent fixture.
His secret love a proscribed stricture.
So he sat at her feet each long day
writing the love words he could not say.
He greatly feared from her side to stray
lest someone come and take her away.
He searched for the same magic by night
that brought him to life and gave him sight.
Hoping that her stone wings would take flight
and sweep them from this piteous plight.
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