| DD - 19/10/09 Thanks to =GwenavhyeurAnastasia and ^LadyLincoln for the honour, and to all those who have read this poem and shared, or related to, the passions within it. |
| DD - 19/10/09 Thanks to =GwenavhyeurAnastasia and ^LadyLincoln for the honour, and to all those who have read this poem and shared, or related to, the passions within it. |
| My first sestina. This poem was awarded first place in ^fllnthblnk's Sestina-ween contest and in =xgnyc's Halloween contest. Heartfelt thanks to |


A Scattering of MeteoriteLast night I saw the sky turn red. The heavens heaved and all life bled as meteors rained upon the world, the cosmos' wrath raw and unfurled. I could do naught but gaze wide-eyed at cities razed and lives denied, at trees ablaze and fields aflame. When at long last I o'ercame the fear that froze me to the ground, I looked around and there I found two lovers locked in tight embrace, a blissful death etched on their face.A Scattering of Meteorite
This life of ours 's a tawdry treasure, for there's no meter that can measure the tears that trickle and descend, the meteors tha


DieSometimes I think that life's a die, and to die's to lose the joy of rolling. A gamble that can brook no sigh no sullen thoughts, no fear of falling. But how to live when life's a cry to vertiginous vicissitude no mortal man may scry? How to cling to constant mood, when every deed fails to deny that we're no more than mendicants: beggars praying to some yonder Eye to hear hierophants' chants - to spare and lift our souls up high? We are but leaves aboard a breeze, swaying 'til the end is nigh, 'til we sail 'cross perilous seas.Die
But I'


La Dolce VitaA fev'rish brow, a jaundiced face, adorn this rotten, gaping skull, as tears stream down but leave no trace save withered cheeks and autumn lull.La Dolce Vita
A sun too bright , a sheen too frail, is perched aloft the dusty air, and photons fight to leave a trail on rosy lips and elf-locks fair.
Erotic legs 'neath satin dress match rouge-smeared cheeks and bodice tight; I yearn for her soft-palmed caress as I've done every, other night.
My life's a sonnet sulking there somewhere 'tween Wilde and Baudelaire.


My face, bur... ocean's palmsMy face, buried in the ocean's palmsMy face, bur... ocean's palms
I glimpse with bitterness and remorse the saucer you used to leave
unwashed, in the sink,
before brushing my lips with a kiss and rushing off to work without a word.
I used to
make so large a fuss, 'bout so small a thing.
Now that I'm awash with your absence, waterlogged with wallowing,
my mind a muddled mess - befuddled by
puddles of maudlin mem'ry -
I suffer, alone,
the sea-reaving scythe of bereavement.


La Belle Dame Avec MerciAn elfin lady in the woods, with verdant eyes and scarlet hair, bade me buy her some cheap goods bread and herbs, all meagre fare. In return, promised the elf she would help me find my self.La Belle Dame Avec Merci
I bought her those and more besides, from our own humble village fair; I rode to where her kind resides, and saw her there astride her mare. She glimpsed me too and off we rode, through winding paths of thyme and woad.
At dusk came we to gurgling linn, in a heaven-scented gladdened glade; Her shoulders shone so pale, so thin as she let fall her dress of plaid. She gr


Memento Mori: A SonnetHow joyously shall daisies dally on my grave, when my lifeless husk's laid to rest b'neath the earth. No requiem should resound, no lament should crave to console the droning dusk, long b'reft of mirth. Let me rather dwindle away in crumbly loam, replenishing the dust from which I was woven. Down there I'll rot, 'mong life's sinewy rhizome, my bones rusted relics for some wiccan coven. But not e'en the humid humus will drown out the moans and hums of maenads' orgies in the mist. Somnolent lilies won't avail to cease their rout, as chrysanthemums huddle close in florid tryst. &nMemento Mori: A Sonnet
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There's always a better poem just out of reach.
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An Irishman has an abiding sense of tragedy that sustains him through temporary bouts of joy.
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