Halt at my breast, cold hard and meaningless

Dispense with your formalities and beauteous lies

I do not wish to speak, I do not wish to dream

My nightmares are ravishments, my dreams hidden from eyes

Take your needs for fulfillment, masked in bravado

Distance until you have me captive then toss

It all out the window and beg for more

Then laugh at my pain when I weep for your loss

My soul made passionless by your deeds

My eyes turned hard by your lack of song

Your plumage lured me into your arms

And now that you have me to right your wrongs

You disregard that which you once held high

You plan for me a life which I didn’t need

Away from my breast you Great Deceiver

Man, your sex filled with hate and Greed

Back to my Hippolyta, wounded I return

There to find my rest from thine false eyes

I will draw the veil one last painful time

And fall into softness and away from lies. 

Posted: June 3rd, 2008 under Poetry.
Comments: none

I hope there is a place that you can finally be

Where there are many to serve you and everything is free

Wherever you are I hope you can see

How it could never have been for you and me.

Once you told me that you felt much guilt

That I was young and not living life to the hilt

Now that I am and you are beyond gone

I hope you’ll forgive me that I can watch a dawn.

Where you are, let there be no gloom or dread

Don’t have a care for the past life you led

Now that you’re gone there’s no more to say

I’ll remember you always on a summer’s day.

-For Paul Blenkhorn

Posted: April 28th, 2008 under Poetry.
Comments: none

I’ve been reading my Baudelaire again.

Something is stirring within my soul.

The cold passion fraught from the gut again

The need to experience and dance with all

Objects to worship, people to grace

These all disappear when I see her face

The idol, the image, the one that I need

My Muse, my riposte, my deadliest speed

Take my afflictions, my addictions, creations

Dance with your clothes off to my ministrations

Take my opportunities, my colours, my lies

They all disappear in your frantic gestations

While I don’t hold up an ideal, I bring down the soul

To a level where I can feel, and be created whole

I’ve been reading my Baudelaire again, and I find

That the hunger in me is not just for mind. 

Posted: March 22nd, 2008 under Poetry.
Comments: none