Sunday, June 29, 2008

A Writer's Sea

There is red and there is dead
There are some that sailors dread
Though my own, a peaceful tide
Restless thoughts are churned inside

See the water's never blue
Terns and Gulls are absent too
Not all, loves a placid murk
Summons all i need for work

On this vast colossal sea
Worlds i pass and ramble free
Worlds distorted, so grotesque
Need to write this style burlesque

Always when my body's soak
Fervent waters that provoke
Rageful ghosts that's sometimes bane
On this baleful brood of Cain

Sentiments from liquid pure
On an illness, found a cure
Inquiries the waters heed
Makes up my poetic creed

Below the waves, a forged scheme
By someone whose in the dim
Writing truths that raise the steam
Parallel to precious dreams

You can never see below
Clearly all what made me know
Just like now, its hard to guess
What the pen wants to address

Friday, June 27, 2008

The Third Kind's Carnality

They are now ,they had a choice
Exercised falsetto voice
Painted nails and painted face
Skin indulge on scented sprays

Unbarred, closet opened wide
A true self just cannot hide
Sinly smiles of coated lips
Swaying butt and shapeless hips

Vampire-like, they fear the sun
Same as a devoted nun
Life consumed on things absurd
Filthy deeds they hide are heard

They pray to a moon that crawls
Gloomy streets of sex and brawls
Shadows on the shadows lurk
Silent, has the smirk of Circe

On the sound of treading feet
Senses heightened, ear-drums beat
Stronger now for moon it brought
Lonely teenage boy they sought

Keen eyes made discourteous glance
Torrid will and urge to dance
On velvet sheets of lover's bed
Carnal craniums painted red

Calling whistles, lizards tongue
Bogus masks on faces hung
Utter promises of lies
And a beer that's full of ice

Whistles only are for dogs
And the boy just hate the hogs
Walking still, he passed them by
Tricky souls just gave a sigh

Hours came, still has no guest
Sun is born, its time to rest
Clean the vomits, close the club
And they visit baker Bob

Walking alien of the streets
Whistles got from driver seats
Stuff of laughter and of taunt
Morals of the church they haunt

Monday, June 9, 2008

The Death of a Well

There was once an aged well
Whose depth mocks the fiery hell
Frigid waters rests inside
Mortals with their needs supplied

Once provide their sustenance
The great well, but that was once
Thirsty brought their jars to fill
With waters untainted still

Origin still is unknown
Said that it was no ones own
Witnessed life cause like the mounts
Lasting yore is so profound

Stationed on a misty realm
Withered trees are overwhelmed
Red bricks fade, mosaic broke
Like the woods that peckers poke

Wrinkled ground of which she stood
Pity her for she was good
The deep void that light cant reach
Her womb home of mud and Leech

Time has closed her living pores
And has barred her breathing doors
Rendezvous of water rain
Sucked up dry and gone for vain

So the late was claimed by vines
With the mosses, and the spines
Comes the homage of the fur
Now the sons remember her