Michel Galiana, 20 july 2012
It's not good, so wise people say
To let nature sway her own way;
It is wise to control nature:
Be not tender beyond measure!
No rain ever that did not cease,
No wind that time did not appease;
Tenderness may unite two fools:
As time goes by, tenderness cools.
And yet a handful of fondness,
Is more worth than wealth, quite doubtless!
While fondness brings your heart comfort,
Riches have double-edged import.
My girl's beauty I highly prize:
With her pink cheeks, with her blue eyes,
With her mouth fair beyond compare,
About her, aye, she has an air!
Her eyes illuminate her face,
They are limpid and full of grace,
Her brow, a half-moon as it were...
With all my heart I do love her.
Like nutmeg is her darling heart:
The highest delight, for my part;
Nutmeg is a treat of fragrance.
Love holds the pain in abeyance.
If I lie sick upon my bed,
Let come my sweetheart near my head,
Is health not restored presently?
No use of any remedy!
Whenever she passes my door,
These four things bother me no more:
World-weariness, despondency,
Aching pain and melancholy.
(Translated from the Breton)
steven cooke, 20 july 2012
The officer’s whistle opened the door,
the pain of mortar did greet the damned
and I did nap with death in no man’s land.
In cold of night the stretcher did wake
from peace to hell and burning pain.
These eyes will see the stars no more,
no comrades smile for me.
The darkness has won
for light has abandoned me
and my face is for others to see.
Am I alive? The pain agrees,
my hand can feel this fevered brow.
What will home think?
to only half a man
and will England still respect this man?
The sound of an angel, who talks with God,
a poor soul for sale,
could that be me?
And God condemns
that I am not worthy,
for others deserve better
than half of me.
And in my darkness
Opium’s womb enters my veins
the pain chased away by foetal claim,
while the music of war in shrapnel fragment
screams a tortured lament.
And youth will queue to die in vain
among the ranks of nightingales reign.
These deities who tend this holy fodder
grow distant with bloody rags.
My mind feels the heat of shrapnel’s breath,
the thought of box in foreign field
the feel of sun and breeze denied
and claustrophobia feeds my fear.
Lonely is the grave with no goodbye
and I do not want to die.
But god is my surgeon and he is beat,
the angel will deliver mercy
and death will get his degree.
For compassion was hers to give,
the touch of her hand
will wipe this brow.
The cold of the scissors will cut the tag
and I will join a corpse’s march
obeying the ghost of captains orders
uniting friend and foe in melting borders.
In death I will believe
and hope will leave this earth with me.
My reward is tempered by sword and cross
epitaph is poured over another loss.
And country prepares to count the cost
The drone of the letter
this paper of man
typed in halls by Vatican whores,
delivering their knock on mother’s door.
This pain of England’s son
will lie in empty bed,
silence will be hers to see.
A candle for me in winter’s light
but death will play in mother’s night.
Her tears will wash this wooden cross,
the house will cry for little boy lost
and the dog will sit with eye on door,
never to wag his tail no more.
Glenn McCrary, 20 july 2012
How thick and blunt is the eclipse tonight!
How thick and blunt and deathly black
Are the slanted bones of the eclipse!
Glenn McCrary, 20 july 2012
We sprint,
We sprint,
We shan’t tarry within the shadows!
Give us the light.
We were not fabricated
To be degraded,
To be heavily degraded,
And narrow volume of respiration
That these lavender things have invented.
We sprint,
Oh, Lord,
We sprint!
We must rend these shadows,
We must find the light.
Glenn McCrary, 20 july 2012
Oh, Spanish maroon!
Oh, lucky ladies of the valley!
In a Memphis tavern
Three short-necked entertainers astound.
A dancing vixen who’s eyes are daring
Ascends a skirt of silken bearing.
Oh, singing maroon!
Oh, lucky ladies of the valley!
Were Amy’s eyes
Of the first castle
Just a tad too daring?
Was Pocahontas flamboyant?
In a corset of ivy green?
Oh lucky clover
Oh, lucky maroon!
Oh, Spanish ladies of the valley!
In a revolving tavern
Three short-necked entertainers astound.
Glenn McCrary, 20 july 2012
The florid footprints of hussies
seeped upon the black rug.
The florid heart of a saint crippled at the
fallow door.
The laughter of a sober count guised the howl
Of a callous whore.
count,
Composed a strangely shaped finger,
count your curses, ---
And Death was the raincoat I wore.
Glenn McCrary, 20 july 2012
Her light, peach face
Is like a blossoming tulip
On an infant stem.
Those kind come expensive in Memphis
So they say.
Blueskipper, 20 july 2012
One more step and I'll finally wake up
Death is the only way to fill this cup
One life starts when one life stops
Falling slowly, this night It drops
Life is the curse which everyone has
There's only one way out on Alcatraz
Death will come, but I can't wait
One more step will seal my fate
This tall building will conquer me tonight
The weight on my feet I'll no longer fight
Though the stars shines so bright
This night, one will lose its light
-C. Tagle
Renato N. Mascardo, 20 july 2012
degrees of separation
a gap exists when our lips meet
there is a divide when we hold hands
in the throes of love something slips between us
apart we hunger for union
together we can only be more than one
in love there has to be a separation
without it there can be none//
renato
thursday 19 july 2012
Gert Strydom, 20 july 2012
This I by experience know,
that although to some love brings misery
or a severe kind of woe,
some people trod its path quite happily
and although at times I had been alone
in my later years,
I now have got the very one
who brings bliss and joy instead of tears.
Even if I had experience heartache before
now my life is merry and gay
even though a lady showed me the door,
another is at my side on this happy sunny day.
This I know that sometimes love brings happiness,
has something magical in every caress.
[Reference: “Wisdom” by Dorothy Parker.]
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