Of Trees and Orbs

We entered with such lofty hopes,
Our blades sharpened,
Our minds light and content.
Little did we suspect,
That you lay within our midst as yet unnoticed.
A blight upon success.

At first, we seemed unfettered!
If the strain was slight,
So too the victory was sweeter.
And if, whilst minor challenges fell before us,
Any noticed our weakness, and felt a pang of foreboding,
None chose to comment.

So when the paltry vermin were put to sword and fire,
And we set our sights upon the beast so strong and filled with ire.
"Now, we thought, now comes the real test!"
Soon, we knew, all would see, we were the very best.

Through battlefields burnt and bloodied, we struggled.
Though the challenge was great, and the losses grave,
Our minds quickly rose to the challenge.
Our reflexes swift,
Our might unmatched -
save for yours.

The weak link in our chain,
The cog in our machine,
That bounces from the sprocket,
and leads all to ruin.

And so it came to be that on the second field,
The shadowed glade, the tainted creature.
Orbs were summoned, orbs of dark taint.
We laughed - a paltry trick, one that we'll defeat!
But you could not.

And so we failed, and yet we tried again.
And failed again.
And tried again, and failed - not to your fault, but to ours.
But over time it became apparent that we were no longer making mistakes,
We were all perfect in form and execution and could not be faulted -
save for you.

And yet we tried again.

"Give me this!" I swore, "Give me this and nothing more!"
But the crackling of the darkened orb bore you swiftly to the floor,
Our hopes no more.

Finally, beaten, bloodied, we gave up in disgust,
And departed from that glade, your failure obvious to us.
And the twilight beast still stands and laughs in dark and frenzied glee.
"Too bad, you tried and failed - next time, don't bring the tree!"

And I Could Walk Away At Last

If I had a choice,
Between making you mine,
and reducing you to ash -
which would I choose?

I remember the feel of your skin,
supple and smooth.
The memory of your scent,
Our hands entwined.
It proved fleeting, though, didn't it?
Distant, now - yet strangely close.
As if I could step back into it at a moment.
Would I dare? Could I dare?
Would you care?

In the end this would surely break me.

But to see you burn, now that would be
Sublime. Magnificent.
The memory of harmony in uproarious flame.
As fire bursts from my fingertips -
The very same that once caressed you -
fire, flowing and consuming.
Your stifled screams, your choking gasps!
Exhilarating!
A twisted reflection of your moans of pleasure,
long past, that die with you.
Every slight, every mark,
Every time you made me FEEL -
Every word and every tear and every passionate declaration,
Revenged upon you tenfold, in flame.

If I had a choice,
Between making you mine,
and reducing you to ash -
You would burn.

B

I am led to ruin by complexity and rhyme.
Verbosity and simple charm will never turn back time.
In truth, to force the moment resembles something of a crime...
ENOUGH!
I will not be confined by rhythm and timing!
I will say what I like, and avoid all this rhyming!
My emotions will not be captured and forced
To resemble crude sonnets as a matter of course.

I sense something is wrong, a catch in my plan,
....no....nothing's wrong, get ahold of yourself, man!
You must focus on what you are trying to say!
Lest you want the poetry to have it all its own way?

No...no...
You are right, it is simple - a matter of tact,
The problem is isolated and bound to a pact.
This curious penchant to make it all swing,
Is truly a most diabolical thing.

So then, what to do? I must stop this, right now!
But again, and alas, I can't figure out how!
I sit here and rhyme with the blankest of stares,
And allow the emotion to drift away on the air!

STOP, STOP!
You are allowing it to entrap and ensnare!
The allure is so strong; of the poems, beware!
They dilute the emotion and change it to sell,
Processing devils, from a poisonous hell.

Metaphor is a monster who seeks to undo,
Alliterate, and all agonies are allowed to acrue!
Simile; like a snare, to catch the unwary,
And darkened allusion? Well, that's just plain scary!

You must stop yourself, and listen to me!
You have been blinded by language, if only you'd see.
Your feelings and passions are but slaves to the word,
Confine them to pages, and they'll never be heard!

And yet...and yet...
Perhaps this desire to rhyme and make verse,
Is not in the nature of a curious curse?
Perhaps this is right, and you are the taint,
You preach all this madness and claim you're a saint?

I know that these poems are not what I need,
I know they are often too cryptic to heed,
But they vindicate ME, nothing more, nothing less.
And provide me with some small, satisfied happiness.

So back to your corner, you disgusting self-doubt!
I'll allow my emotion to run rampant without!
And pin it to pages and hold them up high,
And say - this is me, this is how, this is why.



This last stanza does not rhyme.
I am writing it in order to prove to myself,
That I can express how I feel without resorting to gimmicks,
But use them just the same.

Tonight Collapses

Tonight,
I seek,
To evade waste.
To avoid those simplistic
commonplace and meaningless pastimes that
threaten to overwhelm me and devote
my energies towards distraction and stifle any
claim I could make to spending my time
wisely and creatively, allowing even for vague and uncertain
turns of phrase that say nothing and allude to everything.
Despite whatever contempt I harbour for my small works,
I am forced to recognise that even when
I feel useless and unable to create
anything of value, an idea strikes,
and instead of writing nothing,
I create a poem,
that unfolds and
then eventually
collapses.

If I Wanted

If I wanted you to suffer,
I would turn and never utter,
another low and heartfelt mutter.

I exist to make you feel,
You're anchored to what is real,
but blinded by a silver screen -
I cannot say just what I mean!

If I wanted you to scream my name,
I'd end my life to cause you pain -
Your pain, and mine, the same.

Your soul, your all, cupped in my palm -
How could I come to bring you harm?
Tighten hand into a fist,
What is to become of this...

If I wanted to make you bleed,
I would just deny your need,
Your need is all, to feed.

Am I supposed to make you see?
What does all this hinge on me?
Am I supposed to free your head?
No thought, no doubt - you'll end up dead!

If I wanted to change your mind,
I'd weaken all my truths in kind,
And leave our conjoined souls behind.

If I wanted to leave you bare,
I'd wrap you up in my cold stare,
My eyes, my mind, beware.

If I wanted.
If I wanted.
If I wanted.

The Trade

An eavesdropper,
Must take his leave as the trade dictates,
Silently, and in the dead of night.

I leave this in hope,
That you find that elusive and fleeting happiness,
That was always denied,
To me.

For these surrounds,
This place - it's like stepping into a lung.
A nicotine-stained, blackened lung.
The men who move within it,
Faces like the insides of teapots.

We demand the finest wines of humanity,
For without aspirin we shall die,
Upon this volcanic mountainside.
We demand them here and now.

We are in a world
where Mi Goreng noodles
for humans
are cheaper than dog food,
for dogs.

This cheapens me.
I cannot say why.
But the words I cannot say devalue the words that I can.
Until ashes spew from my mouth,
and are carried by the wind,
to you, unheeding.

I leave this in hope,
That you find that elusive and fleeting happiness.
It was always denied to me.

As an eavesdropper,
Takes his leave as the trade dictates,
Silently, and in the dead of night.