Portfolio

 

 

It is with a warm thank you that I present these excerpts for your consideration and ask that you cast your thoughts to when you - just one time - decided that the risk of your self was worth it, for I truly have seen how exquisite a person can be. I am so assured that, if you appreciate the Work I present for the world's consideration, I would be honoured to here from you.

 

From "Drifted"

 

Your perfumed voice, spectral lips that part,

Softly through shivering woodlands;

The torture of the eyes, tears upon the tapis,

With you rising from the fibres like mourning mist;

The feeble frame, ghost-limbs which shudder,

Delicate in the breezes that disturb the vapours.

 

From "Faith"

3.

Amerigo Vespucci, galleon skirting the wake,

Stores crumpling in to barren wombs,

Young hands desiccating in spray, sere flowers of autumn,

Drawing scabbards, plots in the thirsty hold;

Suddenly, though, the prow jolted, the land always was there.

 

From "Love You?"

 

I must then hurt always, doubting if again ever you will say,

Unable to understand you, save to love,

To be diminished without you;

For you, I made well known: I want to love you,

To lose my eloquence when you just swallow a cry.

 

From "November"

 

Barely a calendar visible for the overlaid grey

It is a statement of purpose--Arrogance breath through the dirt of gossamer sheets.

 

If, by chance, there is a God, He or She scorns the creatures indulging in the stupidity of bearing this

interim period, that between warmth and cold,

It reflects a butchers' past of starved children, the discards of dementia and portentous aristocracy.

 

What is the reason for persisting, for now

Is disproved the crucible theory that divers human elements can be mixed into new, it is a society

bereft of wholeness, instead one of yoked pariahs,

Outcasts touching with scabbed shoulders, happily hating.

We are like Ishmael's brother calculating against the other,

Such that in our spite we ensure none can escape.

 

From "Portrait of the Artist as Wise Fool"

 

Such stainless satire is it that the defamed apostle must give,

To those who turned him away at the gate.

 

From "Silent Thoughts"

 

Now I must hold up a mirror,

To see what you've in me become;

Am I the first to be inside your perpetual twilight?

Because there you are only in the pre-dawn?

For luxuria shrivels in the severity of Grey:

Passion draws on the diversity of humankind.

 

 

From "The Next Day"

 

I come to you who had discarded me,

Teach that which I must know, the white is too strong;

Although my talons equal yours, mine are for your telling,

Teach me your guile, which discounts the necessity of contrition;