Butter Burdens

Expertly crafted, lovingly cradled

Playing on the evening’s soft, moist fingertips

The winds that carry the soul of the hills

The vanities and thrills

They softly skim the  ocean

Sending tiny tremors in its veins of blue

And I am reminded of a hand as delicate as a flower

As fragile as morning dew

Barely touching the surface, as it took butter out

With the passion of a seasoned lover

As she let the butter slip through her fingers

Into her upturned face, her red mouth

She looked at me, out of a corner of her doe eyes, that look lingers

And I nodded in agreement, illiterate and uncouth

It would be our secret.



My night’s king.

The dark swept its hand over the sky,

Shushing all weeping candles to rest

Stepping over branches and twigs, cracking and dry 

A fog reigns now, a night’s arrest.


His reign is of beauty, of terror and of love,

Of a maiden thrice had and a wounded dove.

Of a cloaked lady in white, a ghost of fleeting memories

And her story of how,

This night never ends and every one must bow.

And she slips into reveries


Side by side, with the reigning fog

She sings, she dances, her bones prattle about

How this night never ends and the fog never sends

That note he wrote, about that book she quote

So he suffers in silence, cold and dark

She suffers in celebration and in the songs of the lark.


That take her back to when, the fog would not bend

To the whims of the dark, on that dismal journey he would not embark

She didn’t know better, or she would never

Even in her dreams, leave his side, she would make him abide

Now he’s gone, reigning the lands of the night

Now he’s gone, lost to the light.








Mist in the city.

Cities dissolve like salt in the sea

Wherever the memory treads, lightly

Shutting out, dimming lights, scraping bowls, ever so slightly

Not betraying their foggy breath to me


I hear tower bolts fastening stealthily

I hear the faint shush of a mother

I hear the muffled moan of two lovers

And I glide past, silently , angrily


Every turn the memory chances

Is a step further into the night

Of my home, I am losing sight

Memory’s dreary romances


This place is no more for us, lets go home, I say

The memory lingers, It begs to go astray

They don’t want us here, they hate us, I say

The memory thunders, “Its your home, you will stay”.


I walk the streets each night in the cold

I watch the curious eyes from under the doors

I hear the whispers, letters crawling on all fours

Now under my skin, now in my bones.





Dead man’s Pyre


I know not darkness to be a vice


Slithering up the leg, is a serpentine desire

To whisper in rosy tones, the sweetest lies

To kindle, a dead man’s pyre



In consciousness you won’t burn me to the ground

Drugged, you won’t make a sound

Few verses excellent, few sonnets terrible

I’ll sing it all, braver than ever, I’ll make it believable


I clear my throat, and begin my attempt

A feeble one, to breed in you loath and contempt

You like my song, I can see that

You”ll like me more when I am gone, can’t you see that?


You’re almost there, your blood is roaring murder

Please don’t think, don’t step back, do not surrender

That’s right, love.  Ah the sight of the orange flames! 

The death dance of flickering fire, a dance of fiery dames


There is no honor greater, set alight the pyre

It has been a long wait, I dread no fire

A dead man’s pyre, has no use for grief

I’m already gone, root , stem and leaf.


The flames are already licking up my corpse, the urgency

Hungry as they are, they were left to starve, to fulfill your fancy

Well, no more.








No charm can sway

A heart already let out to every dog, bred and stray

Are those flowers you hide ?

Let them go, they wilt on the night’s other side



This veil doesn’t hide, it begs the passerby 

To pay the price of a moment’s loss of disguise

Fawning and fussing over ribbons and laces

What do I know?  I was the trophy at races

That piece of paper you clutch on to  so dearly,

Hand it to me now, at least this, do it fearlessly.

Is there anything left to be said

I doubt if mystique is your best bet

Go home dearest, this place reeks

Of disease, of death and of rape on streets

Go back to a place where sadness is still a song

Where there is still right and hopefully still a wrong.





To shame a ruby to death.


Proud,lone ruby

Red, like it drank fire

You sit, bedecked in diamonds, queen to be

Beseeching to admire


You sing a song, loud and clear

Of molten gold and of silver sold

Sing of decay, death and fear

And I’ll sing of you, If I may be so bold


You write a tale of lament

Of glass windows and carpets red

Write of the bleakness of a love permanent

And I’ll write of you, to see you and legacy wed


A ruby, slave to fire

Fails to make my heart skip a beat

I cant worship you, I cannot admire

A cripple sucking on to vanity’s generous teat.










I’ll steal years.


Some minutes I will steal

And slip into the past

And though it won’t be real

It wont be our last.



I have bottled a thousand yesterdays

It  has aged to perfection

I’ll wear it for you, a dab here and there, just my wayward ways

Wayward they may be, they are still your addiction.


One long night I have pressed

Like a dead rose between pages

I’ll bring it tonight, a little unrest

I’ve rested for ages.

And I’ll steal years and years away from today

Just to make you stay, in yesterday.12799067_1737973843100370_5361224167413218555_n