The End Of All Crossroads

Where the TAXI makes a stop, to ponder upon which road mayhap be true

Tag: poetry

[Poem] Mirror

Illusion devours desire devours illusion.

Plight seduces lust seduces plight.
Fire lighten shadows lighten fire
Might conduces Love conduces Might
Dire is thus so cold so thus is dire.

Bare is fore thus old thus fore is bare.
Lair is nay but cove but nay is lair
Nights darken meadows darken nights
Blight imposes hush imposes blight.

Conclusion is nay thing nay is conclusion.

Blight imposes hush imposes blight.
Nights darken meadows darken nights
Lair is nay but cove but nay is lair
Bare is fore thus old thus fore is bare.

Dire is thus so cold so thus is dire.
Might conduces Love conduces Might
Fire lighten shadows lighten fire
Plight seduces lust seduces plight.

Illusion devours desire devours illusion.

infinity mirror

[Poem] The Hero

Never is too soon to flowers’ blossom

To bloom well deep inside the Hero’s bosom;

Nay is far too late his fate anew

Which is to pertain what he lost and still

Until his end of Life pursuits anon.

To find his love, and love everichon.

Fewer but are Moon’s so pale beams

To cast upon Mankind Her gentle gleams.

Nay be said a word; nay need be spoken

Whan Sun Almighty’s glows as iron molten

All through surface and deep illuminate

The Hero’s core – before it is too late.

[Poem] Odysseus | The Fare

Odysseus
(The Fare)

https://i0.wp.com/hackthesystem.com/wordpress/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/url-1.jpeg

For eons fared I lone for seas afore
– Fear’d Loneliness who burdens me galore:
Trustworthy men of lore had I met not
By every land alongshore oceans’ wroth.

Wary would thine eyes anight revolve:
Burden bears, anigh to nay resolve.

From Westernmost till Easternmost fared I
– Moored I afar from shore nay vessel mine:
Me weary globe hath seen a spotted beast
Of gruesome, lurid sort – to say the least.

Would thine eyes anight aware resolve
Anigh to burden bear, nay to revolve?

Mayhap alysean winds accounted mild
Could chart me faraway till inner wild:
‘Tis where I mostly wish to rest at ease
– As final lair ‘twould be for mine decease.

Say but a dozen tender words to thee I could:
Heard I but naugh a tender word from ye, nay would.

[poem] I be! | in answer to John Clare

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I Am!
By John Clare

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the best
Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

John Clare 1793–1864

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I be!

I am: yet what I am nobody knows
As even I nay know who might I be;
I am the neverending frozen snow,
The very same as far mine eyne could see:
I am the everlasting bitter tear,
The one remaining drop of salted fear.

I was: yet what I was nobody cares
As even I nay care who had I been;
I was the everlasting molten smear,
The very one aparted from my dreams:
I was the neverending wronged Hell,
The one in which so many men befell.

I’ll be: yet what I’ll be nay man shall tell
As even I nay tell who shan’t I be;
I’ll be thine neverending sole farewell,
Thy weary everlasting lone debris:
I’ll be the damned soul – I’ll chase and haunt
The ones to whom my core so flims’ly daunt.

11 Aug 11

[Poem] To Whom It May Concern

To Whom It May Concern

To Whom It May Concern: delusion’d be
– Alas!, be my carcass to vultures tost! –
Be broad and weitenpread as morrows glee,
Be heard upon whoever dare discern.

To Whom It May Concern: to manners stern,
The battle’s tost for prey to vultures lost
– But bold be heard to be myne History’s host,
whoever dareth discern to say the most.

The pendulums of Time, Ye life have ceas’d
– Ye mourn upon the Earth, of Men diseased.

To Whom It May Concern: delusion’d be
Be heard upon whoever dareth discern
– Be broad and weitenpread as morrows glee,
But bold be not so strict to manners stern:

To Whom It May Concern: the battle’s lost
– Abide I nay to be myne History’s host!
Minions bound for prey – to say the most
– Alas!, be my carcass to vultures tost!

Ye mourn upon the Earth, of Men diseased
– The pendulums of Time, Ye life have ceas’d.

31.05.12

A Hymn From Christ The Son (in answer to John Donne)

A Hymn From Christ The Son
(to the Humankind address’d)

in answer to John Donne’s “A Hymn To God The Father”
http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/hymntogod.php

Christ of St. John of the Cross – Salvador Dali, 1951.

Shan’t I be full aware of Thy foul lust
Which is Thy omen boreth upon the Earth?
Shan’t Thou repent Thy sin before Thy ghost
Be scorned upon the land below the dirt?
When I begone, Thou hast beguneth
To allay to nay namore.
Shan’t I forget the burden which I bear
As lair ‘twould be for misery and despair?
Shan’t Thou commiserate for such affair,
Be it my life deceased so Thy be spareth?
When I begone, Thou hast beguneth
To allay to nay namore.
Thou hast naïve pity upon Thy cheek
– Thy core, be it sincere when mine encoreth;
Be but Thou true of heart, as mine be weak
Of mourning for so long – so lone and lost.
Thou hast beguneth, whilst hast begoneth
To affay to nay namore.
19.06.12