SAISP.NET Where Poets Meet!

Tonight I'm declared master.
Humbled because some ran faster.
But I deserve it, I admit I'm king.
In my flight,I've made use of each wing.
In my highs I've never forgotten to serve.
They all deserve, every single wave.

If it wasn't for my eyes,
They would weigh their lies,
And give me the best one.
If it wasn't for ignorance of what I won,
They would first test their theories,
Then settle for best stories.
But my eyes and theirs,
My naivity and their lies,
My pride and theirs,
Have left a rift between us.

Greedy but shallow,
Or rather;and shallow.
Focused but selfish,
Friendly but deceptive,
Eloquent but inconsiderate,
Cheerful but unkind,
And available but disloyal;
That was her.

Smart but desperate,
Generous but foolish,
Friendly but blind,
Caring but vulnerable,
Determined but naïve,
Passionate but lost,
And honest but weak;
That was me.

This pot of fools gold comes
With a cheap synthectic
Rainbow,
This crystal
Clear promise
Is murky with the
Shit of abuse.
I fall onto myself and I
Cannot lift myself
Off myself,
All the excuses
I made to myself
For myself,
I have declared
Redundant.
I cannot
Get myself to care
About whether
It’s the end
Or the beginning.
As I scrape this heart
And place it on
An altar,
And scream
Please
Give me that
And I will give you this.

To me all flowers are the same,
So I see no sense giving each a name.
All,except the orchid,the one I saw.
I'll describe to those I can't show.
This orchid blooms in winter,
Right in midst of snow.
Initially missed it but then saw the glitter.
Came closer and beheld beauty,
The petals bloomed as if out of duty,
Ignoring,if not disregarding the cold,
Almost summoning disbelief to everyone told,
But I will tell of this orchid, one I plucked.
I will also tell of what I have planned.

There is something I like
about standing in a cornfield,
or the image of it at least;
perhaps it is the image of lovers
running towards one another
in a cornfield that inspires this,
I don’t know,
all I know is that I want to be standing
in a cornfield, alone, with a kind, cool
breeze splashing my face;

but now that I think of it,
why would I want to be
alone in this cornfield?

(published in Carapace 79)

at the bottom of every
flowing body of water
lies a series of sequential
pebbles,
clouded, in a manner of speaking,
by transparency –
the stream eternally (rippling and) conscious
of the sedimentary construct
to follow;

and how oblivious most are,
to how reality
lies with these
loosely aligned pebbles,
essentially pinned
to obscurity

(published in Carapace 83)

let me not dive into
a shallow pool with my eyes
unknowing,
let me not swim into waters
too deep for enthusiasm,
let me not swim out of the lifeguard’s
purview,
beyond the height, sight
and pull of the waves,
(away from the warmth of my duvet;
teeming thoughts of being mulled over
from a safe, cosy vantage point)
to be found,
cold, limp, and past resuscitation on the
shore (of the living).

let me not break or drown,
let me not fall prey to
marine members or the Ocean herself,

black, black, black
cried the bubonic plague,
rats and filth.

(more recently)
black and grey are
shadows, shifting and
brooding against the wall,
high and rising,
barbed with misgiving
and wrought with ten thousand volts.

Black Black Black.
Black was his name,
Black his vocation,
Black his lot.

Once,my heart did stray,
Lodged where I could not stay.
Haunted by demons I could not slay,
Saw and felt what I dare not say.
Danced to songs too taboo to play.
That was a year ago,in May,
But the price I still do pay.

Twice my heart did learn,
But lost trust I'll never again earn.
Now I stare at ambers I cannot fan
To her I'm now just another man
Cold is the heart that used to burn
And tears trickle even through this pen