An Apple

Apple of my eye, Eve incarnate
from rib of man's first child,
temptress tempted, fate incurred,
gods and angels crowd around
this Tigris grove, fiery breath,
songs of Seraphim, dimly audible,
in the rushing of the leaves,
the creaking of the tree,
bulging with the weight
of that ominous fruit,
the rushes in the river,
the sun's loud rays,
the words spoken
for the very first time,
and at evening,
that gaze upwards
to that silver pregnant moon,
rising and rising
for the very first time.

The Mark


Slither a-sliver of sleepy self,
dreams wake up to life renewed,
all overturning inside lovelessness,
like leaves of autumnal hue disperse.

Trees line the fringe of last refuge,
bones and skin keep in the storm,
cattish shrieks light up the night,
as alley life steps to the mark.

Memoire

Haze, surrounded by grey garlands of steamy thought,
Unwrapped into unfolding weavelets,
Turmoil and mayhem abound,
As in Pandora opening a treasure trove of woe.

Serene unquestions ask of themselves
Nothing so outstretched as time lost,
Perceived in agongy,
Or thronged in abject pain.

Walk though a wooded glen,
Smile though a furrowed pang,
Talk with a smooth whisper,
And never ever forget!

Looking Back

Walked through a green,
a copse of thoughts assembled
by ancient spectres,
forever lurking,
just out of reach.

Sang a song of hope,
for the trees and reeds,
lining the river,
where once I swam
when still a boy.

Loved a life,
lived in and out of time,
reaching for so much,
stumbling along the way
into my own sense of me.

Sky Disc

Eye, hung on a pin,
high above a smouldering,
ancient world,
sees all, knows all,
saw us before we came into being.
This solemn vizor may yet smile
upon little feeble ways,
displays of petty anger,
wars, hurt and more.
Placate it, lest there be wrath forecoming,
greet its rising complexion,
each and every day.

Teardrop

Sleek, forget me not,
to slide down a shapely cheek,
and look up one more time,
at eye curved in solitude,
passion crumbled,
night embraced.

Lines


Fox-like gloves left on the lawn
summer smiles a tender yawn

Velvet grass, damp with due
all the world left to pursue

A word, a gesture; anything.

Status Quo

In the gentle morning, I see
All around concentrated
In the tiniest droplet of steam
Sullenly sliding down the side
Of an over-boiling kettle.
No fear, no sweat;
Just one more day of
Living with myself.

Here I stand
Upon the line
Between then and now,
Fairly fearless, yet motionless too,
Speech evaporated,
Thoughts scurrying off,
And me still here,
And another day,
Of me with me.

Fondness

A whisper in mad morning,
earnest flutterings of an unquiet mind,
forever nearer to what I perceive as glee,
untold memories, linger within.

Soft silver afternoon,
dispensed my former gloom
revived by aeons of not-quite-belonging here,
and thoughts induced of what might have been.

A slinking sense of fondness
for all that was, and myself included,
pervades my inner sanctum now,
and no crow appears too dark,
no heart shows up too scarlet,
as all is as all should be.

Gold

Where is that centre of all belonging, and more?
Is it in the stillness perceived in the midst of tragedy,
Blissful incantations of divine sanctuary received,
Oceans of turmoil and remnants of feelings,
All washed away in the flick of a tear-stained lash?

Nostalgic Forecast

I walk ablaze in a whirlwind dream
unable to focus on inner mayhem,
Words unravel into tangled webs,
sustain a sense of still-born fear.
Well within the spring inside,
feelings, notions roar.
I wish to sever heart from mind,
and pass through that dark door.

Silence fills a stark-white room
with nothing but remembrance.

Statutory Muse

World unfold a tearful eye
Over seas of tranquil glee

Further up ahead I glance
Something I had longed to see

Clouds that smile upon my face
Fondness from on high

All the signs still to retrace
My soul must crave to fly.

Stellar Faze

World weary untold tapestries of stars surround
Eagerish eyes, too soft for confrontation
Delirium bound for agony enhanced
By all of my life that went before.

I take a tablet of my own making
And forego the privilege of breathing out
All that I contain remains within
My soul to perish, yet proves devout.

One stellar dream to unravel itself
One hope to descend upon me gently

I faze out and in,
And out.