Hanging hope on garden roses
Licking love from silver spoons
On the run in tundras frozen
Throwing howls at the moon
No true way to leave the castle
Though you came here on your own
Sometimes you are a prisoner
Sometimes you’re on the throne
Though his rugged mange offends you
His venom’s nothing new
Still he keeps you close to him
Beauty is a beast too
Oh, my wondrous winter rose!
I live to see you bloom in all your charming chilling grace.
Awaiting your pearly presence to embellish my arctic stance stilled in mystic motion,
where my frosted saccharine soul craves only your ethereal embrace to cast a spell of life.
Although distance divulges myriad of yearnings in vacant vermillion veins,
yet I am willing to weave scintillating seconds in a rosary of tears upon my eyelashes,
till I see you glistening at the edge of every silver splashed storm.
I long to press velvety warmth to your glacial glazed petals with my devoted touch,
as I know how I can comfort pink pastels present somewhere deep in your snow-kissed soul.
Lost and found in each other's gaze,
you and I would tango upon twilight tinted tundras for winters to come.
I dream of us together wrapped under the blanket of icy indigo nights,
where our jasmine scented saga would hymn in our rhyming dewy breaths pouring in majestic monophony.
When the doodle
of the people opine
and the piss spore
squeeze,
there will be fields and tundras
in the deep hollow of
moonlight winery ...
Scope of voids
the crazy ones will say;
Reproaches from satires,
will say the maindenhair ...
But from the bottom of the galleys
veracity will arise
of the few
and the amplitude like microbes
will be reborn ...
Then it will be a new drought,
will govern the atypical;
with the goths, the dievas
without the Gentiles.
No one else will live
this pantomime, everyone
will see solicitude
express in life
on edges ...
where man
seldom trespasses
silence prevails
through solitary tundras
and wastelands
its preeminence resounds
Oct. 7, 2020
I find myself from gales and tundras freed
Til I am made to weather stormy folk
Whose blizzard presence suffocates my pleads-
Their fiery embers turn my trees to smoke.
Still other people strike me as so bland,
Our desert conversations leave me parched;
I long to plant seeds on their barren land
And go on hikes, instead of boredly march.
But you, my darling, are the finest sea
Aglow in scarlet light of sunset eyes
The meadow of your being wakens me
As I dance underneath love’s lively skies.
In your oasis, I find all I need
I find myself from gales and tundras freed.
I was reading a dead man`s newspaper
on the first train home
Through the ink I read his spirit
walking highways lost
His life lines were carved
into the space of my palms
His eyes were
tundras
of emptiness
as his heart sank
deeper
against my skin
He reminded me
of hope
He reminded me
of all things
human
Dead bird
floats the sea
Starts
to sing
in lethardic sunlight
This train has never left me since
My tortured weary body aches,
While my minds bright embers aglow,
The songbirds of sorrow awaits,
Reaping dark empty seeds I sow.
Lost traversing aimlessly through,
The lush spring prairies full of life,
I seem to unknowingly choose,
Desolate vast tundras of ice.
A colorless empty wasteland,
Slows down my once wondrous journey,
Turning my hueless eyes face down,
Numbing the thoughts that concern me.
Devaluating precious time,
And prioritizing my pain,
Has left self-loathing in my prime,
With a pessimistic disdain.
I have known that for survival,
Trapped within this frigid glacial world,
Atonement flourished revival,
Sent within a single warm word.
Precipitous licking fire,
It's flares echo from up above,
Precipitates the muck and mire,
To precipitation of love.
In many colours I come and many places inhabit
when in South America crabs are my favourite
I chase them with great glee and delicately
Their flesh pick out of their shells and pincers
Come to Africa, when I reside here I have bat ears
that swivel around as I listen for my prey
a tasty rabbit, a guinea fowl even just a mouse
I hide any excess and return to dine in leisure
When living in Russia I am silver in colour
a thick pelt and bushy tail which I display
with such great pride to attract the vixens
then in a matter of weeks new cubs join me
England not quite so cool here the hunt
dogs baying for my blood as I am chased
uphill and down dale, cunningly I head downstream
then hide up in some trees, yes I can climb them
Arctic is where I the Alopex live with my tiny ears
to help me not to lose too much heat in the snowy Tundras
here I eat whatever I can even a fish when it's salmon run
with my vixen we share the raising of four to eleven cubs
Known world wide as cunning and sly, I am a survivor
overcoming different adversities as they arise
Reynard is the name most men know and curse me by
especially if I have raided their chicken coops
Emergence
Out of darkness and ice
Freezing mountain caverns held tight
Elemental crystals bound up light
No running water or cool stream's breathe
Planet was barren, sea water still
Starlight broke through, as galaxies changed
It was just me and you
Potential and empty form
We were there with our starry hair
Filling glops of rain as they came
Plundering through the tundras
Out of energy rearranged
Tall trees climbed to their peaks
Nothing then was the same
Species bred insane
It was all a new game
Vertebrae and brain, the path to see
Monkeys gathered closely, singing tree melodies!
No blues were shattering the peace
Monkeys breeding furiously
Having a passionate shopping spree
And look what came to be
An upright heart!, countering
Nature's grace
An ape man heart lifted skyward
To contemplate the way
Buried subconsciously, dizzying sound
Teased the walking ape
With fireplace dreams, morphing skull rocks
Paint across the sky and palms
At every deadly cost!
Caves and plains were scattered
Splattered through the shaman desert
All else is history
Where am I to run, when I get afraid,
The moon bursts in a hundred flames when I finaly escape.
Sprinting fast as lightning, falling hard as rain,
Nothing ever seems to help to purify this pain.
A thousand hearts will break, every single day,
Is it bad for me to view the world in such a way?
Plowing through the tundras of our unforgotten past,
Waiting for the sun's bright rays to melt the snow at last.
See I do not appreciate theleaves hiding the ground,
It represents the purest truth that shant ever be found.
If love is what yearn for, you'll have to climb a bit,
For love awaits on top of mountains,on the very tip.
Finding your life's meaning is not an easy task,
But if you follow what you love you'll teaar off lie's great mask.
So keep on trying don't give up i guess and I suppose,
Follow love and you will see life bloom into a rose.
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