As you like it
January 31st, 2024
Bolton
Men and women- chains and flowers,
Tears and sights, gilt and guilt-
We are born with fearsome tools of war.
We project, protect, proclaim, all just to procreate?
God couldn’t have made two better fools-
They stumble, and seduce, and separate-
Forms stirring in the cloud, reimagined and
Manifested in the newest blooms.
The bower and the beauty, the youth and the yonic
How real the imagined is
Encapsulates us, consumes us, we build to be free.
I shan’t but laugh- the infinite comedy of errors- never ending cast.
You’ll never get it as you like it-
The winter is biting, the roles are switched
The tempest rages, and lovers do the bit-
What a pound of flesh it would take to get as fair as a Summer’s day… or its dream.
But we are disenfranchised from dowries and duty
We have rather cowardice, compulsion, confusion
Let's dance in the LED waltz-
Sin can be quite symphonic-
We won’t record it-
I text you in the morning
And smile blithely to myself
We can’t even hear the music
The speaker is muted!
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Moonflower
4 clover
To H.G.
January 27th, 2024
like a flower in the spring,
Let us see what youth brings.
Petals bloom sickly
And our fruit so prickly-
You are delicate, lilting lily
If we forget our permanence- life can be so silly
Yet rooted as we are in suffocating earth
We love as we can- daylight or dearth.
When a breeze ran through our flowerfield
I’m not sure if to you I’ll yield
Wielding beauty on the progeny of weeds-
To love is to bloom- to want is to decay- what deeds!
I you cannot taxonomize,
Elegant as you are, the sun synthesized
I lurk in the grime of twilight
Disgusting, when day meets night- what delight.
Count the moon to see if I’ll wane
When desire waxes, maybe I’ll be more fain
But you picked a moonflower-
How dim, under the bowers of the midnight hour.
Idylls are for the idle-
I may bridle, then, under your idol
But I commit heresy, forget the divine
I’m sorry I didn’t bring flowers to your arrival.
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Divine Rain
January 25th, 2024
Bolton
Rain cascades on the parched land
Receiving blessings, the earth drinks
Flooded through its fields, fulfilled demand
The cycle- pathetic, we think
The flow repands out it furrows
Containment is control- the earth receives
The being is crushes, as tunnels, burrows
Under the great torrent all will believe.
The roots and limbs cling to dirt
To keep their life, their sanity, what they may
Decay and destruction pours- don’t divert
The divine, but let it wash away.
Man builds his dams and divots, lies and levees
What stone can stand the downpour:
Spires become stumps, marble bowers bear heavy
God will wait, and win this war.
Dally in the deluge, drink its stream
Firmament makes you fear a greater above
Skin-soaked, life is a damp dream
Destruction teaches you what you ought love.
Let the rain come-
Moses will only take some-
But i’ll stay and dutifully drown
My body, as earth, to become.
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A writer
Jan 23rd, 2024
Bolton
Write- when the blood’s run dry
Write- you have no way to cry
Write- won’t give you a why
Write- finishing and starting makes you die
I’m no writer- I’m just a boy-
I’m no writer- I can’t find my joy-
I’m no writer- the pen is a toy.
I’m no writer- just a decoy.
Hear me speak- the ripples of a voice
Hear me speak- transmuted to noise
Hear me speak- do you believe I rejoice?
Hear me speak- pronunciation isn’t a choice.
Feed on my flesh- I offer you to reap
Feed on my flesh- blood runs too deep
Feed on my flesh- don’t weep
Feed on my flesh- in your mind I favor keep.
The artist as a parasite-
The fecundity is his might
Whence heart, hate- and darkness, light.
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Forms
22 janvier 2024
Bolton
the forum is fecund for forms
Kourous and maenads, the idol upon the real
The more we conform, the more we reveal, in norms
The body cannot think and the mind can’t feel
Whose eyes shoot us in this target range?
We never escape the game- just placate
An eye war, invisible, how strange
It's holy, it's hedonistic, it's horror- hail Hecatate!
Ideas travel- we are told- idealistically
But they are brutal, battling, bloody
Separate the core from the cream- uncharacteristically,
Take your eyes, down, Icarus, and come be muddy.
Reason and rapture, sensation and sin
You feel so blemished among marble
Not knowing, they come from the paint of within
Messiness of mind-myths, made to marvel!
Jacques told me the world’s a stage
So we dance, sin, squeal and squabble in the cage
That doesn’t absolve the rage-
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The butcher
21 janvier 2024
Bolton
The self is so furtive
Squirrely, scampering away from searching
I detain it- I restrain it, I can’t contain it- I try to maim it-
But it guts me open.
I’m in the butcher shop of my own soul
The candor is sold,
The erudition is eaten,
But the lust, and the want, and the desire stays.
I’ve given them my loyal liver
And they aren’t even appetized
Why then do amorous amuse bouches
Leave them so hungry?
I’m the sinner, and I’m stained
How putrid my meat can be-
I rot, and I’m too lazy to take out the trash
On my kitchen table stays a
All the dirty dishes of my deeds
Fetid are the feats of fault
But in my blocked nose they smell so sweet
You ooze, and you booze, and your dues
Remain unpaid to the burly butcher,
Who’s dealt in too many souls like yours.
Throw me out with the rotten
Among my kin, glory gotten-
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Twilight heart
20 janvier 2024
Bolton
In my heart twilight forever gloats
Gloaming, it shines melancholy
Like an evening birdsong upon one dotes
Happiness is so close to hell, fiction to folly.
But the sun can never make its last call
It stays hanging, prolonging crimson ephemera
At night the form is free, to frolic, to fall
Awake in unending stupor, I dance with chimeras
My heart screams to see the purity of day
I stay in margins, never materializing
But then whence would the terribleness come- what other way
It craves the beauty of perpetual dying.
How the core is crepusculic!
Dwindling of reality, blossoming of belief
I’ll love anyone, mundane or mythic
And when I reach the ideal dawn, take relief.
But for now-grant me this one dance
When fireflies fandango, and the wind seems to waltz
I’ll give you my shadowy hand, without a glance
We lie about the elegance of emotion- give us gestalt.
For when the sun rises-
The liminal heart won’t be wisened.
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Accumulation; change
17 janvier 2024
Bolton
a gust of wind and you’re no longer the same
Even the mightiest mount knows change
One drop after another, you made as came
And suddenly your own cliffs and peaks feel strange.
Feel the rain trickle to the valley
The cliffside is flooded, yet the summit is strong
Lightning strikes, change rallies
But stasis is solid, and you hear morning birdsong
Blooms blessed by alpine boons
Meadows perfect, peaceful, protected in time
No catastrophe will happen soon
Bees blissfully their bounty find.
But lo, comes the bleating of a goat
Cleaving the unknown with ululation
Silence becomes deafening, dryness of his throat
For a moment, what ruination?
In drought you become destroyed
Flowers withered, petals strewn on wind
When the nothing serenity became void?
From the slightest rubble
A new mountains itself skins..
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Hearth Hell
16 janvier 24
16 janvier 24
To L.H.
Bolton
burn my body up,
Char up my flesh
Scorching passion isn’t enough
I need your heat fresh.
I’ll cast myself on the pyre
Cleanse the soul of purity
Its more than my effigy on your fire
The caves of my lust lit from obscurity
Thoughts of you are enough for a spark
Damned infatuation, free of soot
I pass my bare skin over you to leave a mark
What, can a conflagration out put
the perverse embers of a charcoal love?
I swim into your blue eyes
To quench the flame
How the sun to skies rise
And I, smoltering in your rain
The smoke rises to the sky
And hides our voluptuous forms
Me Being yours, and you being mine
Theater’s self eye burns us to perform
Dance of two coals, greedy and fleeting
Crucibles competing to blaze
We sweat and boil to our hearts beating
Obfuscating night’s suffocating haze.
so love me again,
When I’ll burn you to bits
I’ll love you again
Devilish hearth-hell of wits
How does heat makes the head and heart split?
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Le pendu
14 janvier ‘24
14 janvier ‘24
Chez moi
Le pendu s’attend l’oeil fermé
Le soleil brille sur le gibet bien mené
Son âme mugit une force timide
Noué par l’amour, le vice, une clarté limpide
Sachant que les oiseaux goûteront sa chair
Le monde ne l’éblouit pas- calme dans sa misère
Les stigmates sont invisibles, elles attendent la nuit
L’heure des loups, de la faim, l’ennui du minuit
Moi je me ve vois dans la souffrance sanglante
D’un monde avide, rapace, d’une manière violente
Mais on attend le jour qu’on sort du tombeau
Pour voir la lumière, la vie tout qui est beau
Mais jusq’à ce jour je reste le pendu
Muet, sourd, étourdi
Tel la vie m’a rendu