I scripted this at a party, while the ink smeared off the page in a manner befitting the sliding levels of decency that were everywhere caught in airs.
The Prince of hedonism-
there he reigns
(and more fool he)
so debonair
as he sits upon
his false, triumphant
perch.
This King of fools
is nothing more
than a most outrageous jester;
above all concerns,
he cares for nothing's worth
and consequently,
is also
worthless.
Saturday, 31 May 2014
Thursday, 29 May 2014
Lorna
Ever inspired and fascinated with the (unobtainable?) idealogical, we fall in love, again and again, and drive away our dreams with despotism.
Oh Lorna,
How I yearn for you
as I cross glistening grass
fields full of dew.
A flower; a rose,
I pick for you,
pink as the day an infant's new
or, the sun drenched yellow
would also do.
My mind records what the eye
sees, true;
it could never really fulfil
as the real is beau
nor a thought excite
as well as a view
but a dream makes one serene
in a world that fully fatigues,
so when I'm weary,
I think of you
and I am soothed,
and Lorna;
O! I am not so forlorn
but only when you are not
in my arms
and even then,
it is only because
should I be with you
I should receive all your charms;
your grace, your smile,
your warmness of touch
and the severe beauty
that's as a light to your face
and forever, as always,
has me crying your name.
Oh Lorna,
How I yearn for you
as I cross glistening grass
fields full of dew.
A flower; a rose,
I pick for you,
pink as the day an infant's new
or, the sun drenched yellow
would also do.
My mind records what the eye
sees, true;
it could never really fulfil
as the real is beau
nor a thought excite
as well as a view
but a dream makes one serene
in a world that fully fatigues,
so when I'm weary,
I think of you
and I am soothed,
and Lorna;
O! I am not so forlorn
but only when you are not
in my arms
and even then,
it is only because
should I be with you
I should receive all your charms;
your grace, your smile,
your warmness of touch
and the severe beauty
that's as a light to your face
and forever, as always,
has me crying your name.
Thursday, 8 May 2014
Thoughts whilst I stared through a window
As the 'title' of the post suggests; I was sat by a window, simply watching the strong wind blow, and with an ardent desire to be free as that which moved the trees and leaves to dancing, I so composed this piece.
A passionate gale-
life on the rails;
The helix of the shell,
situated on a
snail-
A downward verge
with hints of betrayal;
The thought of being
stabbed in the back
will make anyone
pale
Transparent, is hail,
now, hail to the
King, hail Mary,
hail Jesus
and avoid that,
for which, you
might end up in jail-
If you're clever or rich,
go to Yale,
or Oxford,
or Cambridge, but one
day you'll still fail;
It's the wittiest twist
and the stickiest fix,
You must plough just
to gather your bale.
A passionate gale-
life on the rails;
The helix of the shell,
situated on a
snail-
A downward verge
with hints of betrayal;
The thought of being
stabbed in the back
will make anyone
pale
Transparent, is hail,
now, hail to the
King, hail Mary,
hail Jesus
and avoid that,
for which, you
might end up in jail-
If you're clever or rich,
go to Yale,
or Oxford,
or Cambridge, but one
day you'll still fail;
It's the wittiest twist
and the stickiest fix,
You must plough just
to gather your bale.
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