42. O magnum mysterium

Spin fragrantly
in sweet oblivion:
the dancers blush
amidst the swirling bees -

In clearest day,
the lilting petals judge,
unseeing leaves
incapable to say;

Naive, demure,
assent to every whim
so pliantly,
the next the merrier:

Such faces mute
in unrequited bliss,
their secret art
an enigmatic tune -

My feeble wiles
to such a riddle fail:
Their silence is
a stronger stuff than smiles.

41. Dearest

Tell me,
the sun – could it be thus explained
to blind men?
Scarce well-adjusted to its light,
I doubt so;
such brilliance, such vibrancy:
I fail here –

Dearest,
I cannot tell you such I know;
I shield you.
I hardly know the rules myself
but hope that –
the art transcends the feeble means
and reaches -
                       here:

40. A Moment

Enveloped in some distant thought,
you turned to me;
still lost in muddled reverie
distracted blinked,
as if awakened from a dream
to dream again:
a smile whipped upon those lips –
and caught my breath;
this spontaneity, this joy -
alarmed me so,
such recognition undeserved:
it startled me,
this unrepentant chivalry –
oh! had I thought
such isolation and resolve
could save me too,
could render me immune to this?

Instead, that smile -
had pressed its ultimatum thus,
enticing, rare;
how such a small acknowledgement
could turn me mute!
and though a thousand storms of thought
so futile fought,
I - hesitant, confused – collapsed,
surrendering,
still blinking my bewildered eyes,
and unprepared
was forced to see the blinding sun
and wordless, smiled!

39. Superiority Complex

I. Vissi d’arte

We live on
butterfly wings and moonshine;
we reside in mountains of the gods.
Immortal muses, oracles.
We cast our fatal whims
unto the course of history:
you will remember us, forever.

A delicate breed,
lighter than air:
we radiate our prophetic suns,
and you cower in your
mortal-ness.

We break easily,
but repair well.
We grow prettier with age,
features beatified until we
become our own
epitaphs.

II. Test Tube Baby

Observing and pretending,
all gathered for the harvest season.
It all is masks and mirrors –
yet all of this seems so well acted;

Though this is who they are:
an exile in familiarity,
the silent outcast sees
too clearly where the weary difference lies.

We all are meant for this –
this hyper-symmetry, these fragile means,
and all this labouring:
experiments – show nothing of oneself.

Oh, I have acted best,
becoming one such Individual,
this seamless stitch of Us,
mundane, presentable, unwavering;

But I cannot relinquish
the secret of my own creation,
for in those glassy confines,
my everlasting slavery was born.

III. Escape Artist

Construct –
an alternate
reality:
alla Donizetti.
Words hear
like arias,
glass harmonicas
intersplice
my elaborate
cadenzas –

You are all
colours.
Pursuing you,
flitting, one to another, feverish –
you must have
fled some other opera
and invaded
mine –

38. Numbers

Curious things,
cold, soulless.
Always proving,
always searching,
never feeling,
never answering.
Barren:
spread in artificial
rows,
matrices, leading
nowhere;
[Incoherent musings
of a foreign deity.]
It is what I have chosen,
enlightenment;
strangely –
I am drifting farther,
closing into a realm
I do not
belong.

37. Electrons Dance

For out of fear,
I stay concealed,
a little sly,
but much too shy.
Across the room,
oblivious,
you’re restless too.
I pack away
my furtive glance,
re-focussing.

You’ve seen me now:
I catch your gaze;
a startling smile
bewitches me.
I, cautious, smile;
electrons dance
and you draw near –

36. Le plus doux rêve

You gave me something more than friendship
- so I thought,
and I, my youthful self, so foolish,
followed close -
through sunlit paths as daylight faltered,
heedlessly.
Such radiance seemed otherworldly:
in such light,
I was illuminated by you,
loved and praised.
We watched the leaves twirl, golden-dusted,
rains had danced;
the dying autumn sang its prayers.
Wrung of words,
I watched you say goodbye one final,
final time –
oh, just for one more fleeting day in friendship
such as this:
a thousand grand, exotic operas
could not know
the simple happiness you gave me,
my sweetest dream.

35. So sang the silence

Photograph By: Christian Hanner

Arrested in the sun –
as photons stripe your wings:
could death be lovelier?
Unseeing eyes ablaze,
as if too undeserved
of such a masterwork.
Upon a tender branch,
the paragon of dawn:
did one such mulberry
obstruct your jeweled throat
upon the blinding sight
of lethal loveliness?;
so as you gasped, it struck –
so swiftly, fatally?
In serving such an art,
an art oneself becomes –
in still serenity
entombed in oxygen:
the sentinel of Truth
remains forever mute –

34. Amor platonicus

"Spring is Officially Here" by Hazel Berger

Could stand here, ages,
praising such beauty:
hair spun of gold,
eyes carved of lapis
lazuli;
wasting away,
immortalizing you into
posterity.

But you know this –

you are not
like a wildflower,

desperately beautiful,
basking in sun-charms,
unaware of
how lovely you are.

We pick flowers,
letting them die at our hands,
withering for our possessive admiration.
Instead, everywhere you go
I die a little
knowing it must just be:
this –

Georgia Wildflower by Hazel Berger

33. Depuis le jour

Moon Over Lake Almanor (image credit)

Since the day
your beauty startled me
the sun alights more softly on the world;
the air floats sweeter on my lips.

But in the naked night,
without the tender masks of day,
the world seems emptied of such joys.
Alone amidst the mediocre oxygen,
I gaze upon the turbid skies
with fervent lonesomeness
and wonder –

Do moons, as such,
Construct oppressive scenes
Upon the soul?
or is it,
stripped of worldly follies,
bathed in chaste Veritaserum,
I feel the chilling
truth?

32. Fire!

Autumn in forest (image credit)

Rebellious teenage girl,
quite new to life –
ignites each passing gaze.
The passers-by
gawk curiously, in awe.
Her blazing hair –
it’s redder than the birds!
August, aloof –
her parents, petrified,
stand ignorant –
she is - some foreigner –
But forests talk;
the whispers burn the air –
some bolder time
is quick approaching now:
decorum dies!

31. Model-Girl

for my dearest T.D.

Each freckle sparks a new debate;
your measurements are public spectacle.
What hair and wardrobe can create
is this Immortal, some Olympian.

Removing trivial worldly flaws,
the Human sheds her life, becomes a doll,
a canvas – on which genius draws:
Dior, McQueen, Herrera, Calvin Klein.

Descended from unearthly lands,
gargantuan tresses mount the blazing skies;
ethereal gemstones kiss your hands –
the architecture wraps your painted corpse.

One day a limp and lifeless page –
another, stepping out into the world;
you walk from paper into cage,
transforming always – modern sorceress.

Aquarius in sunny May,
you walk, each gesture stillborn works of art.
A deity in every way:
the artist breathes her truest legacy.

30. The Summer Dies

As sunlight draws its coronets
the trees present themselves as royalty.
Unearthly twilight dyes the world
and every leaf appears as if a god.

Your face, angelic, rose to me,
enchanted, stirring in me tender love.
Illuminated in such light,
could any mortal eye be thus deceived?

29. Embrace

A second sun dawns, though unfinished –
bequeaths some strange and limber shining:
eternal tremolos surged, rippling;
the most ephemeral of moments
returns undying happinesses,
recounting such a thousand sonnets:
my heart requited on the smitten grass –

28. Sustenance

The fateful glimpse: your winning eyes –
a longing steals me by surprize.
And as I see you from afar,
your smile perforates my heart.
And awful pinch of jealousy
assaults upon my armoury;
but your endearing laugh erupts
and fills me once again with love.
Contriving for a glance from you,
attiring as the desperate do;
inviting conversation in
and grinning often from within –
I search, I search for your return,
but it is only I that burns.
Oblivious you stand, alone,
some perfect, unrequited stone.
I can convince myself quite well
of some odd bashfulness that dwells;
that mutely and covertly lies
eternal meaning in your sighs.
But then - abandoned and upset,
I try to foolishly forget:
your glance cannot revoke its toll,
engraved upon my injured soul.
And haunted, as I live through pain,
I – silent – trudge upon my way,
diverting my unhappy thoughts
to follies, empty and distraught;
but vain possessions cannot fill
my solitude and thwarted will.
Though as the weeks pass and the days
and hours spend themselves away,
I start to toss away the dreams,
forgetting all that could have been.
And if you one day loved me too,
would I return if it were true?
I loved you more than you could know;
to sacrifice that childish hope
would be excruciating pain;
but I would leave you all the same
and wish that you could find the one,
that you would cherish only them
as much as I have longed for you,
and grudgingly relinquished you.

27. Lips, Eyes, Nose

lips eyes nose
charm curse craving
smile blink glimpse
face arms legs

joy pain happiness
love loss suffering
thought glance fantasy
hope hunt hug

whisper murmur silence
live lose remember
search find forget
yearn rewind recall

26. Modulation

These clothes are not mine,
this bed is not mine.
I am in some horrific costume
but I remember all the rules.
I exist in a foreign realm;
strange centuries tattoo my arms –
they are not –
mine –

Take me away to some correct place
so I can say my name
and they shall know that
stars should act properly:
they should not parade in my head,
unreleased.

25. Little Acorn

Buried in the heart of earthly pleasures:
not a whisper of your soul resounds.
Can I flee in vain forever, thusly?
Rounds of acrid laughter futile peels;
artificial saccharines grow weaker:
Great, immortal seed of sylvan love -
Germinate, and overrule the heavens!
Empty follies cannot bar your path.

24. Unfinished

How it must be - like a little grain
to stare upon the sky

How it must be - at the funeral
to realize permanence

How it is to greet th’unseeing wind,
caressing oxygen -

23. Youth!

You are always belittling me
with the damning epithets of youth.
"I am not your dear", I'd like to say.
But would you listen?
Laugh, perhaps.

But there will be a day
when even
the most endearing smile
has creases and crinkles
'round the edges.
The lips
pale and shrivel.

I will have
the coarsest, grayest hair to comb,
if any at all.
My slender arms, by gravity sustained
unto limper means,
drip and droop.

To you - what am I?
Doll with raven hair, silken;
lips of ruby red -
skin of flaxen gold.

I am always trying to re-label this,
projecting some stranger image.
But this is all I have,
and all I ever will -
so as I treasure it,
I use it as my vendetta,
hopelessly ensnaring you.

22. Mélisande

She reaches out – an arm outstretched –
the mid-day sun igniting her.
A ring belies the fatal bond,
malicious in its innocence.

They played as children play their games:
unwary of the time or place.
But as the fountain sang its charms,
the moment held its memory.

And as the sun was smiling too
she clambers out an inch too far.
Then with a final, fateful throw,
she heralds the dénouement.

But even in this horrid hour
she has no grand remorse to grieve,
no haunting aria erupts
beyond those startled, slender lips –

As if her star-crossed, transient life
is happier than mine, for she –
this Mélisande – grows lovelier,
reborn: each night, each matinée.

21. A Spectacle

Tribal markings circulate,
denoting where the knife shall graze.
Orb-like suns float, unseeing;
fluttering hands prepare.
Blue jellyfish heads dance -
bowing, waiting: solemnly.
The victim lays unconscious -
tongue sprawled out, eyes withdrawn.
These final moments hang in silence,
dangling on the trapeze wire.
As the violence starts -
sacrifice begins.

20. We view our limits

Reality is a poor substitute for fairy tales:
I am always laughing,
in the same red shirt,
as if I was always cast to play the same victim,
Over, over, over.

Crueller to mourn the unknown,
not having a body to bury.
It’s a luxury to grieve –
but I cry for my unborn, my unrequited –

Spiders do not have the time
to remember
before they are
massacred.

There is no ending
but I – must be thankful.
Thankful for having met you,
for having let you go,
for carrying on with this
hapless play,
for living.

19. Remembering San Diego

Beneath the breathless, weary stars,
acknowledged by the phantom breeze,
We rode at day’s end side by side,
unwinding in the crowded cart.

In silence sat the docile night,
but we were not as well-behaved.
The infants wailed and adults cooed;
mementos could not pacify.

Exhausted by the lurid day
and whistling in the lukewarm wind,
The palm trees, finally satisfied,
were gossiping along the way.

There are no flashing coloured lights
that dance upon this final eve;
No cheery costumed characters
are looming swiftly into sight -

But as we stop upon our start,
a strange relief begins to dawn.
And as those rising, bright balloons
float, twinkling near the moon-kissed stars,

There was no greater grand enchantment
that filled our hearts that midnight hour;
As moon-flecks shone upon our arms,
the journey really’d just begun.

18. Wedding Day

Lanterns floating overhead,
Bubbles dancing in our path,
This is the first night –
Sparkling laughter, sparkling champagne –
Sweat glistening; darkness dawns.

I am happy for them,
but I am removed from their joy, their love.
It is not that I am resentful –

Trees whisper, some indescribable perfume lifts,
Mingled smiles embalm the honeyed air –
Perhaps it is in their exuberant youth
and hapless grace
That I so clearly see the distance grow –
My lonesome self, twisted by the cynicism of time,
growing weary –
having only celebrated the joy
of others.

17. Tiger Lillies

Orange Tiger Lilies by Marilyn

You are the most resilient flower,

Rising before the others and
Retiring late,
Model employee of the
Emerald fields.

Nearly as tall as the fence,
Slicing the wind with astringent orange -
Parodies of Renaissance virgins
With hoods of modest luridness.

Lascivious yet benign,
Sailing the low-lying zephyrs,
I do not know the
Suitors you attract.

What lucky gentlebee shall
Peek between these coy petticoats,
Painting brighter vermilion
On your sun-baked
Cheeks?

16. Morning Glory

the burnt honey brightly trickles,
drops of fragrant translucent liquid
plummet to the jugs below:
Columbian, chocolate macaroon, crème brûlée

aromas fill the darkened hall,
nasal cavities resound with waking sense
(and now we wait, stuffing the trays
like horizontal Christmas stockings)

I am alone for these first shaded moments
crouching in the darkness, thinking;
behind the metal lattice things prepare themselves,
waiting until the moment they shine

it is almost therapeutic,
these exotic beans -
tickling the senses,
emboldening the eyes

15. A Love Letter

There is something about your haughty attitude
that makes me loathe each fibre of you.
Sardonic, domineering - oh, infernal grin.
How I wish to tear you limb from limb!

Then why must I be so foolish,
Exuberant, wary, hurt by turns?
How many times has an "innocent" twinkle
deceived me to no end?

I have become my own mother,
chiding myself to
no avail.

14. Sarcophagus

Proud,
I stare out at these moons,
Orbiting me, curiosity my
Gravitational pull.

I am Ra the Sun,
Agleam in priceless gold leaf,
Layers of slaughtered trees
Nestled like matryoshka dolls.
Scarabs and cryptic hieroglyphics
Ignite my painted arms,
Sapphires adorn my funeral mask.

I am not a reincarnated horror movie -
In my gruesome regal present,
You pass by, imagining
Just how powerful I was,
How battles I won, how many
Slaves bowed to my whims.

It is beyond your mortal estimation
For I transcend man.
My organs eerily preserved in
Dislocated canopic jars,
Crocodiles, falcons, cats,
Undying -

I am immortal, staring forever
From these bandages,
Sunken eyes eternally ancient,
Mysterious, enigmatic,
Proud. I am
the Son of Horus.

13. The Upset

So many broken dishes,
broken glasses too;
shards upon the floor –
irrevocable damage?

Clay cups and earthenware,
tumblers and vessels
can be glued together,
replaced.

Hurt feelings, ingrown jealousies;
distrust, misdirected malignance –

fester: growing like a fissure,
starting small,
growing larger,
seeping through the heart,
ripping, tearing
until the trust dies
and enmity remains,
sparkling as only
malevolently glinting
glass does.

12. Farewell, Stones

Discarded pebbles,
ground up by the Scylla and Charybdis
of Ontario:
remnants lay
upon the eternal patch of ground rock
beneath our feet.

White shards roast,
smooth and benevolent,
worn by the seas.
Whatever dangers lied in the broken bottles
evoke no harm,
tamed by unseeing hands,
sultry amber in the
glinting sun.

Shaven bits sift through the toes
as effortlessly as water, though
erosion shall soon make sure
that even those grains of sun-baked rice
will cease to circulate
amongst the naked
toes.
Farewell, stones.

11. Gunshots explode in the sky

as the initial crystals
combust into themselves,
demons and dragons
igniting the night into flames
of quartz, like Christmas presents
implode into strange galaxies
and feats of aerial architecture
in thunderous booms as if the
skies were suddenly falling
and comets were raining from the
ground up
accompanied by whistling snakes
calling out like maddened birds
flaring into the storm of
sparkling starbursts
and fireflies twisting about
only to end in unknown curlicues,
trajectory
undefined

as if we have not enough
Vesuviuses and hurricanes
that we must stuff them into our pockets
and set the night on fire
for beauty, for pleasure
for the sheer
fireworks

10. Ne me touchez pas

Vases

one would think, invincible
with their armoured surfaces
sprawling with pink arabesques
high – upon the mantel
or a table
far away

though in a corridor I have many
it is suddenly in this group
and on the floor
that they become so vulnerable
that if a herd of elephants, perhaps
came charging through
picking them up with their
impossible trunks
and carelessly flinging them about

no finer china
or more refined design
could stop the onslaught
of beauty, of vases.

9. Squished Caterpillars

Upon the red-brown cobblestones,
All sprayed across the ground –
The crushed intestines roast away
Beneath a heartless sun.

In almost lovely yellow seas
The ants are interspliced –
The spotted skin resilient,
A boat beneath the waves.

Unwary of the earth they tread,
Yet mindful of the way –
The time flits far too fast to note
The banquets underneath.

In torrid minutes, crisp and brown –
The bowel-juices fry;
The blood is soaked into the stone
as recognition – fades.

8. On Eating Sand

Why must it be
boxes of sand?

I would rather it be
pails or shovel-fuls
or if I was daring
I would sprinkle it up
to the sky
and watch it
rain down
or draw a circle around me
and pretend that I endorse
witchcraft

or even eat it

but I detest these
boxes of sand
because they accomplish nothing
with their
boxiness

7. First Incision

Cheesecake:
pouring cherry-red, livid –
delectable, shining liquid,
almost delicious

Peaking out
from beneath the demure surface,
off-white cream and mousse
perhaps delectable?

Beneath a certain knife
lies a prize
if not for tongues,
then for our hungry eyes

6. Christmas in June

Misplaced by degrees,
this ornament will catch your eye
at certain angles –
this stuffed reindeer’s eye
will glint in such a way –

So even if you were not before
you will now

despite the misplacement of
our Christmas in June.
These trinkets, baubles, toys –
will light some sympathy in you

and you will come examine
these exotic fish-out-of-water
and hesitate

but after a few more visits
cannot resist –
succumbing, melting inside –
until the coins pass from
your hands
to ours
and seal
the deal.

5. It’s – Forgivable

You are not impressed by much – are you?
Stand there gab,
                          gab
                                 gabbing away –
with that haughty air of distaste.

You’ve seen that, done this –
you know it all – are so self-righteous.

Yet are a victim,
of society – of everyone.
And you’re so caring
and so supportive
and understanding too –

But you make me so damn mad
with your insidious lies
of supposed conquests

Though you’re kinda cute
standing there
so I’ll stand here
and laugh away the hours
at all your
precious
              jokes

4. Uncertainty

contained in the infinite eve of Choice,
hovering in the great stillness of Night –
reflecting the world in one glassy Eye,
succumbing to the inevitable pull of – Gravity?

3. Amygdala

It is like a selective camera
which only captures certain
things

as if you were the only thing
in this entire world
and that your sunbathed face
and disarming smile
were all that I could recall

as if they could run obsessively
in loops, forever -

and if you could ask any detail of those days
I could not remember any other
than your sparkling eyes
which will haunt me forever –
as if those cruel and taunting stars
were worth more than any other recollection,
than any other
dream

2. And tomorrow

And when I reflect on the yesterdays,
I cling stubbornly to each memory of you
as if each one would bring you close to me.
And stubbornly I tell myself
that I am a distant memory in your mind
and that my foolish hope was
a lost cause.

And when I faced my denial and
told myself that you didn’t care for me
[half as much as a frog]
I couldn’t stand the loneliness
and regretted facing the truth.

But it is better than pretending that you love me too
and better than letting fancy fallacies
become my false reality.
And so I look to my tomorrows
in which you feature less and less
and hope that one day
you will fade into the corridors
of crinkled memories
like the rest,
forgotten.

1. Tornerai

Return to me, return to me
my cherished, cherished memory –
when sunset etched your pearly face
in everlasting, autumn grace

And dancing in the fall-time air,
immortalized in sweet despair
return to me, oh hopeless love,
return to me, my dearest love

And in the emptiness, and in the pause,
bereft I stood –
eternities in our final steps

and with that casual wave
dismissed me to the common world

and there I stood,
and here I rest,
remembering

and only memories
return.