The Unforgiven

Tonight,near the opposite wall,
my vagrant floor stopped its walk,
looked up toward the Silence strung,
and travel-weary began to talk.

I never wore the rainbow plume,
nary a silver lining show,
but dusky,dappled ,darkling blend
the colour of yes ,the colour of no.

I know I failed the serenade,
was purblind to the tint of things,
but now I have a snow-white pigeon,
with just your name upon its wings.

She smiled---my pictured damsel blue,
a smile that hailed the passing birds,
it soft-lit ,once, her ebony eyes,
then darkening,bode the death of words.

B........A sonnet

Come sit beside me.
Forgotten lovers we-
the kids of love and illusion
of incubatic delusion
of fidelity in things
of engagement rings.

Come , leap into my eyes
and I'll shut them tight.

Give me your hand
across chasmic dark,
I'll caress the lines
then....pause the trace
two droplets poised
at the edge of my face.

Nightmares's Booty.

Missing all appointments,
returning, unshaven ,
to a life-proof house,
old, insulted love-poems
in tarnished tatters
clinging to my chest,
leaves in my hair .
Anon, again , a lucent halo,
an erotic silhouette
a flash from yestereves
soft lays a whisper
and ever so coy
sows another dream....

Espirit........

When night cups the peaks,calms the din,
and distant, folds the shore-line in ,
then here , beneath this hallowed roof,
clean __bereft of weft and woof
of tangled threads and fraying seams,
of wakings rude and webby dreams__
here alone , with eucalypti brooding,
I drowsing drink my poisons all,
sink, and swim in a frog-spawned mire
then plaintive hear her crowning call.
Me ,a gruesome grieving ghost,
soft-croon ,anon, with eye-lids wet,
"I know, I know I died, but please ,
please do not write me off just yet...
do not.... write me off....just yet "

Requiem......

In lands where the lilies blew,
and, shy, once, the three dreams met,
there, anon, in anguish mournful,
unloved cupids, amorous players,
soft-peddle their unsold wares.
There stands a broken David,
there a brooding Thinker lost,
bashful, baleful, blue-bell wreathed,
they rueful wail the unpaid cost.
Have they eyes and do not see,
what moths and tapers burning wrought,
in wanton, whoring , wasted realms
bleeding hearts are never bought ?

The Way-farer.

Yeah ! she's of me ,and a sliver of my soul
to reach her somehow is my ultimate goal.
But I won't hurry, or return with my fears
I'll travel , and travel ,and travel for years.
Sit on milestones,reminisce, again make bold,
and anchor on her shores when I am old.
Wiser for the voyage ,richer in kind
and if she be another's ,I won't mind.
And if she aint lovely ,well let her be
she gave me this journey ,did'nt she ?

The Waning.

And there he was.
Gathering droplets, wet ,
of days gone by;
each trickle forsooth
a promised quenching.
Days on days ,years on years,
shaping, a bucket green,
of soft-gleaned strawlets made.
Then saw ,reflected,
in that darkling gloam,

that shimmering whirl,
his crescent moon..
A sudden storm, a thunderclap.
No bucket . No moon in the bucket.
Emptiness in his hand....