A Modern Arabian Night

By the Breeze of the Gulf,

On a Corniche pave..

Hemmed in by towers,

Of Iron and Steel,

That touch the sky,

But have no Veil;

No Carved gold Chalice for Wine,

No desert-apostle Camel,

No..Arabia has left

No stone for Flamel..

I steal a last glance,and behold a

Stone Mosque,Illumined like Aladdin's Haven,

And She signals to me,that behind the Sheen,

She is an Arabian Night still...

Bastard Fancies

A little dose of Neonatal Hysteria,
Filled my Rabid Nose,
I was born a tenscore year back,
But Now from the Depths I rose..

He'd fill my mirror,my furtive shadow,
She'd shake her pretty little head,
They wanted me,coveted me,
My stomach felt like lead..

Each morning,from the Hall of mirrors,
I'd tear myself away,
I'd lose them in the rearview piece,
They'd catch up at the parting of the ways..

And now I know I'd a battle lost,
Before the battle was won,
I'd Stuck my head into the sand,
Now I emerge to kiss the sun..

Night-ride on a Moribund Subway

Bits of betel,

Bloodstains on Metal..

Shredded Glory of the past ahead..

The foothold sags,

The vestibule flags..

With rips from no knives thin..

She shudders to a halt,

Like an orgasm at fault,

With likewise screech and moan..

The orange-red bulb flickers,

Lights a crescent halo,

Drives me to Paranoid park..

The shady bowers of the City's

Underbelly,tunneled,lit up for show..

With sumptuous feed

Of those In need..

Chinks in her armour,rusted and brown,

And a whiff of colonial hangover..

She puts off the light,

And sleeps for the night..

To groan next morning again..

Echo..

A distant sky..faint sunbeam..

roaring winds of thunder-spleen..

we heard a little bit of me in you

and you in me,that makes two..

(Echo..echo..echo..

A whisper in my soul..

Echo..echo..echo..

A silent windfall,young now old..)

Breakfast at wonder-lane,

Gale-profound on the Spanish main..

I've seen your storms,and I've walked on

thought..

I've mixed some rum with a spot of port..

(Echo..echo..echo..

A whisper in my soul..

Echo..echo..echo..

A silent windfall,young now old..)

There've been times I've left to give it up

And never seen the light above..

halo,wings and sceptre gold..

With ether light,in my body old..

but now it's time to simmer down..

now it's time to wipe that frown..

Cause the sound that comes gushing back..

Is my own whirlpool,river black..

Echo..echo..echo..

You've taught me who I've been..

Echo..echo..echo..

Strength is had,from deep within..

Married to a Vagabond Dream

Parallel roads on a windblown

Mountain..

Campfire,smokes and whispers

Unfounded..

Ricebowl trophy,Trailer park,

Panorama lady,

Kisses my eye and

Pulls a kaleidoscope smile..

I saw a shadow looming In my dreams,

And chocolat In my blood,

I picked up a dozen rucksacks strong,

And set off In a diamond truck..

She pulls me away on a piper's

Hymn,On a solemn autumn morn,

Minstrel she,with a wildflower gown,

With roving eyes and wanderlust..

(and I say)

Sing me a Gypsy song,

And I'll play you the tambourine;

I've lost my phone,laptop's gone blank..

And I'm married to a vagabond dream

Ivory Poison

A tinge of bittersweet

Temptation binds my soul

With gossamer strands

And Magnetic Silver..

I sip from the petals of

The Cloistered buds,their

gentle dewy nectar...

Gentle? Sugary? Nada,

Nil,

It smacks of Hemlock,

It Immolates,

It Holds forth and does it's will,

And leaves the self ravished..

I Know not where to go with it,

This ill-nurtured child, This half-stark

Lunacy,

Yet I know all along what I want to do

With it,to surrender,weak-kneed,and

Yield to the all-encompassing,

With orgasmic exaltation and

Debauched dissipation..

Ay,I admire the Light-Bearer,
For he yields to the ticklish

Flames of narcissism..

He Knows he has a choice,

And chooses to Transgress..

Evil? Bravado,more or less..

There I teeter.

On the edge of the chalice

Of gold,Fool's Gold,

I'll taste the Ivory poison

Within,

Denigrate me,O Holier-than-thou,

But never shall you know..

My ampitheatre

I've lain against the concrete,

And felt Savannah grass..

I've felt the moist brown dew

Where none but dry dust blew..

I've seen the studs of diamond-lore,

And Ink on a white screen frame..

You'd never know what sex you ooze..

In yon half-closed silent stare..

I grab my mike,

(My pencilbox,so there)

And squint at the dark

Bright lamps..

My audience is naught but

Grey jungles and brown trees,

Bearing the brunt of mankind's

Lost romance,conquest incomplete..

The whisps of cottonwool,they

Call Cirrus(yeah,Minor),

Form rings around me,with

Crests for backrests,and troughs for the weight..

And there comes my smokescreen blue,

Of itself wondrous thin..

I smell the thin sweet odour of blank expectancy,

While my noble crowds,they wait..

And once again I'm lost in the Haze,

With melodies unchained..

My ampitheatre comes to life,

I've taken centre-stage..

A morning of nights

woken up to the sound of horns,

The taste of sweaty damp air,

With the poison of the dreamy

Down of sleep within me..

I taste the hostility in the air,

And poke out one eye,

I look around with filmy eyes,

the filthy morning sunshine.

It deludes me,this sunshine

Of moonshine,

It works dust into my eyes,

it shrouds it's clouds in

folds of blue light,

And it shocks and deceives

the dull dark glow of

The shining night's prelude.

Give me night for I can hide,

Give me sleep for I must not wake,

Give me rest for I'm far too worn,

Take me away before morn comes again..

Davy Jones' Locker

He went down to his

Watery grave,

Of sea-weed,and

Octopussy..

He fell down on the

Rocky wave,

With Flounder

And Ariel,Laughing at him..

He'd been prodded,

And poked,and Piqued,

And Ruined,

But he'd grinned,and he'd borne it..

The salty Green sea,It

Roared with Life and it plopped with death,

And He dropped to the enigma,

His end and his place,

He'd died in action,He'd given it all Up,

He was to be trapped,

For evermore,

In Davy Jones' Locker...

Dots On My Astronomy Chart

To a dedicated astronomer,His Planets,Suns And stars are his family. He lives In them,Ice-skates

On their Rings,Dines with their hitherto unknown inhabitants. He charts their course,and he Pins

Them down lovingly,pointing to where they stand proud,and look upon him,as he fancies,as part of

their family. I looked at the balls of fire last night,shaking with laughter and winking,enigmatic,yet

So familiar. They soon dissolved,in their stead,there came to my soothed senses,the faces of those

I See awake in my slumber. They laugh with me,they laugh at me;They cry with me,but not at me;they bring me memories of the days of pants which would now serve as mere underwear. One reminds me of the pangs and turns of my heart,the humanness of my body,the being of myself,

And I kiss It In gratefulness,to know I still feel,to know My soul smolders within me...

...The scene shifts back to the inky ocean above me,with distant lighthouses twinkling. I looked at my image reflected against the orbs,and It looked back,winking benignly now,even knowingly. In it's eyes I read myself,and the fireballs around it smiled-They had plotted for me my astronomy chart-My path around those I orbit..

An Obituary..

He'd had no grand send off,

He lay forgotten amongst

The Freshly minted grass;

Frost lying deep upon

His bony heart,

Wrought thin..

They hadn't come

to wave him away,

Say a mean:

"adieu,mon ami";

For of these he'd had none-

who would mark the

Stone with One drop

Of salt..

And there he lies,to this day,

Frozen,though it be warm;

Gentle face tense,

curled ears

Strained to Hear,

A grain of wistfulness

Of some true remembrance,

From a ghost of Christmas Past..

Scent

It lingered,

Pervading the pores of my

furniture,and painting my hair

lilac..

A little implausible notion

Stirred In my forebrain..

It comes from within,

But NOT without..

I release the shackles of my tongue

and taste the virgin flavour

Of wanton dreams,

that the perfume carried on its

Wingless flight..

And sank into a gentle oblivion

Of thoughts foretold but never

acknowledged..

I'd know it now in any gathering,

Of smells and sights and sounds,

It'll strike my senses and make me

aware of how insignificant my material

Lies..

But I'll know they can't take it from me

Not in a thousand years,

I'll be lain in slumber,

But I'll always have,

That lingering essence in every smile..

Nausea

Tossing and turning,In his little Green Ocean,He felt a hand on his shoulder..Above him,the sky glowed a sinister silver,yet

Spotless blue..A mix of iridescence One cannot describe..He ruffled his feathers,and unzipped his jacket,and Put on a much

warmer woolen overcoat. He dug his hands in deep and pulled out some yellow fragment of a page. It was sort of triangular,but

with slight perforations,flaky-a morsel of a past long forgotten..And he wondered how he could have become such a masochist,

Wandering the moory edges of his imagination..A grey spectral existence..And then he looked down at the grave..His own

wrecked brain had played horse polo with his guts..The rough waters of his thought had played with him,pulling out weedy green

splinters from his once-shiny speedboat..He recalled,and there flashed a rare moment of animal relish at how this had all

come to pass,His name on that grave he saw clearly..And then he shuddered,wiped the corners of his slightly pale mouth,coming

away with vomit,He hadn't done it really,he could never have...

Wordless

I stared at the
Crackling charcoal fire,
And I looked into it's
Emerald green eyes,
it spoke to me of
Truths untold,
And Lit My spirit,
Like a log,
In a dry haystack,
And I was ripped asunder,
tortured by the felons
As I sat,Grim,wordless,
gripped by a strange
Mirthless laughter...

He was cross with himself

And He crumbled on

Himself,Asking a simple

Question..If I'd been born

Under the Sun,

And Not the Moon,

would it be different..

It was all but a step,and the

Rock's rolled down,

He would rather live a breath more

But dare not..

For may misfortunes strike him

Not again,He'll be beyond

The hands of His demons

He blamed his fate,His

Trailing scent,he said,

Freeing Himself,

He'd sniff the Oblivion

Of fresh-malted brew..

And he threw a last half-smile,

laconically reflecting,on

His life of travails,

And flicked away his shoes..

He chose his way,

And he'd not be deterred;

For once,he'd made his fate,

And he'd known the result...

Singed Hair

I smelt the burn,Dry and smoking at the corners,suppressing a greater fire. I dreamt,I Fancied,

A faraway tree,with a faraway Castle..Treasure troves by the gallon..Paper Sesterii,Glass gemstones,bronze gold, Copper Diamonds..I picked 'em up,and loaded 'em In..The sacks I conjured..The Pictures on the wall of greying Infants,they screamed to me,"Lay down Coward,You see not the trickery?"..I let out a resounding High-pitched sound..You'll never catch me now..I've got away with it..I'm rich and I'm Debauched,I'm Wholly Unsound..I'll get away with all..I'll do,You'll see...

And then I started,I saw the smoke,it Came from my head..As I dozed and the candle communed with my hair,and I felt repugnance..My own torrid desires,flashed to me in a dream,Licking My temples..

Yet the glow remained,reflected in the dying embers of an orange-blue sooty taper,I saw the pallor,saw a gleam of that consumption that made me human...Saw those dreams of lust and suddenness, Which the candle now told me were real..

Madeira In Buttercup

A tip and a swig,

And a gentle swirling Whirlpool,

of sanguinous iridescence,

Of Calypsos and Champs-de-elysees,

Images,and wondering Laughter..

The semi-dry aroma of Lilacs

And Yeast,Of Elderflower

Drooping on a hot summer evening,

With vapour and Honeydew,

On the Wet wings of a Buzzard's blue drones...

I'd be gentle with her-Passionate,More like;

I'll take in the flavour,the warmth and

the Might,

And she's brew me a

Reverie,or maybe consciousness....

Crestfallen

He looked out the window..glassy-eyed,searching for some unseen deliverance.He sighed..and looked away,and around him again. On the clean old pillowcase he saw the childhood memories,once again,in that one drying tear. He was part of oblivion to them now..they perhaps never thought of him anymore. He was no more than a shadow,lost in the bitter travails of a merciless,gaunt lifetime. He stared at his reflection,grey and tired.Looked at his hands and let out a low,almost inaudible desire in his drawn-out exhalation..He wanted to turn over the sand in the hourglass,he wanted to return,to redeem,to reclaim. He realized..there could be no redemption. He was crestfallen.

Take It With A Grain Of Salt

We grumble too much

Rumbling on about what we

Care to gain and Fail,

Or what we Get and Never want..

We're too Obsessed with The Misery

Of Failure,to look at what It brings us

Next..

Get up,fellas,brush off the dirt,

and While you're at it,

Take it with a grain of salt,will you..

...Won't You?

Your Rewards On A Platter,Sunny Side Up

Eggs,sir? Madamoiselle?

Poached,fired or gone to tail?

You put em In,we'll serve 'em up,

And down you're throat,and in your Grub,

We all feel low,but still we'll jingle,

Put out a halfpennorth o' shingle...

We'll Look alive,

and stay alive,

and look unto the happy side,

So,Lets Put some coffee In your cup,

and Lets ONLY have our eggs-Sunny Side Up....

Of William Wallace,and Jeanne D' Arc

Farmer and Peasant girl were you,

Lad strong and lassie frail,

Oppressed and decreed,

A hundred Years of Tyranny your Only Birthright..

Yet somewhere In you Glowed bright The power

Of Humanity and Thirst for freedom,

You lusted for life,and You fought

To pay your debts,to country

And people,a populace of Lackeys,

Of Patriots,and those In between..

You stoked in 'em The embers of your

Fire Divine,you fed 'em Hope,

You Gave 'em thrust,

And Victory after Victory pronounced,

Gave you as gifts to your

Man and Woman and Child...

And persecution You feared not,

Neither of Traitor nor of Witchhood,

The world Forgets you sometimes,

And you dwell in the past of forgotten

Passion,Lost in crumpled parched

Books,torn and frayed,

With underliners,and Bookmarks,

And Scribbled Q&A's,One must Know

The Battle of Stirling, The Siege

Of Orleans,The burning,The torture,

Five marks allotted for that,FIVE marks,Imagine.....

Marks and books,Your fate gentleman and Milady,

There You rest,

And I cry silent tears,

In my heart of hearts,and Pledge allegiance,

Wish I were In your ranks,fighting beside you

To lift this tyranny upon us....

There William Wallace,and Jeanne D' Arc,You

Remain,in the hearts of us patriots,

Of Life,and Liberty profound,

Knowing Nor Country,nor Profession,Nor

Skin,None but a cause and The Humanity,

Which Sharpened your Spurs,

Who try to live your dreams,and cry out,

For Freedom,And your Immortal souls guide us,

As we rally around you,diminshed and

Outnumbered,but undaunted in Passion or mettle,

We Roar out,and we hold ready our swords,spears

Pens and Spirits..

Cry out..We forget you not,Heroes of Yore,

But await your command,to resume the fight

Where you left off.....

Half Past Moon

Traipsing along the spiral staircase

to catch a breath of fresh air,

My terrace invites me,

I swivel and stare

Gloomy, moody ,callous..

It wouldn't work,The air's too thick

Too supressed,too humid,

I can feel the pallid smokescreen hung

Like a curtain soaked and draped,

About me as i shake my head

and unmist my sight,and Glance up

Stars galore

Lo,and a little more than Behold,

I see her sitting there

Pockmarked,roundish

But twinkling with glee,

Silver dinner plate..

She sits too proud,

Arrogant more like,but

I can't resist her stare

Contemplates me,and laughs

Her sparkling Maiden Laugh

I Shake my head,exasperated,

She'll never learn,Ol' show-off,

then I chance a half-glance,

and a reluctant half-grin

Yea,I know,it's half past moon..

The Woman On My Window Sill

Every Morning,

As The Sun Takes it's morning coffee,

She Breathes In my ear,

"Wake up",She says,Blowing

Her minted air on my eyelids,

And I wake,puffy-eyed and ragged,

As she wanders off to the balcony,

I follow her,dragging my slippered feet,

and Put My hand on her shoulder,

She smiles a curious little smile,

Indulgence playing The clarinet

Ripples On her face.

She gently prises off the hand..

I freshen Up,and I come back to her,

She sits on a window-sill,

Legs bare,white,dangling,

She surveys me with appraisal,

She blows a gentle kiss at me,

and laughing,She slides away..

Horror-struck,I stare after her,

I dart to the Balcony,

I see her garlanded Head,

Wreath of Lillies and

Sashe of Petunias,

Strung around her womanly frame,

She sniffs,she Glides,

Ballerina's grace,from Flower-top

to tip,

a wink and a nod and a burning passion

She wafts The aroma at me,

I take in her scent of sandal

and Strawberries,

I taste the air On which

she leaves her trail..

She Vanishes among The

Four-leaved Clovers,

Misletoe brushes my hair,

My eyes kiss the portal she made,

and I make a short wish..

In My head,I hear her voice,

Sparkling,like a fountain in spring

And she says,I'll come again,

watch,and wait,

And in the meantime

My essence,I leave you to guard

The Dew On your marble Window-Sill..

Airing thoughts on a cloudy summer's Night....

The solitude of The cramping sultry warmth fills my soul...Outside blows a powerful lusty,yet unthreatening wind...It is cool

and soothing,however...Somehow,as it blows my hair askew,I feel at peace,It's power calms my frayed nerves,a gust of particular strength hits me

I go back in...All alone in my home..My mum's away...I don't quite know how I got this way..Tired..Not physically,but a sort of languor that acts

As a soporific on my corporeal existence...I feel half-dead,Yet would not change my position In the least..Slumped against my side-pillow,

with a perturbation eating away at me..something's undone..But I don't know quite what...Nothing's undone..But why that niggle in my stomach?

Why do I feel I have nowhere to go...Trapped...Trapped where? In my own Home? My own body? My own existence...?

I make to shut the windows and doors,put out the light,Maybe some sleep will do away with this? Perhaps...Perhaps not...I wake,every day,renewed

-Not In Freshness,But In doubt,in that all-pervading sense of loss,of belonging nowhere,of existing,and not existing...

I Lean against the wooden door and Watch the red clouds gather...Heaven's Angry pout..An Omen...Yes,I can sense it..A storm is coming........