Metapoem II - Eight Dream Sequences of a September

The cityscape before me stood graven and desolate at sundown;
then: a blinding flash and concrete turned full of stars and alien jet black.

I turned away and looked through the window blinds
and under twilight I saw Her there, as I had known Her, ever as before.

At the shoulder I turned her around and she, beaming, smiled up at me.
I held her close, clasped her hand, and we were as one as we danced supplely.

A black shadowy form—anthropomorphic—rushed towards me, jabbing me in swift succession.
The façade of familiarity or kinship in the first instant soon faded and terror permeated all through me.

Awake I seemed yet I could not move—could not move!
Screaming in silence, I put all the force I could focus into just twitching my foot.

"[—do you think I am a whore? [—]"
"A whore? No, you are not a whore—] A whore is pure self-indulgence—]"

He came as if from nowhere and caught us unawares, assailing first him then me.
I pierced his throat sidelong—hesitant thrusts at first—and his eyes turned saurian, green.

Three loud raps and I arose frightful in a sodden daze;
but no one was there at the door to hold accountable, to welcome me back.

M.M. — September MMX

Poetry Rivals' Collection 2010 - Whispers of the Mind

Last September I mentioned that "Poem XII - And so the world" was going to be published by Forward Poetry (formerly Forward Press) in late November.

I've finally(!) received a copy of Poetry Rivals' Collection 2010 - Whispers of the Mind, shown below. (I have to admit, though, the typo in the poem's title is somewhat annoying.)

Click on images for higher resolution

Ex Tempore I

and from the heart's last pattering
came a fluttering
and a sputtering
from the mouth that was but a stuttering

there in the dark
gasped a flicker, rioted a spark
where laboured screeches of the horned lark
grew faint—desperate to leave its mark

quivering for but a while
love and hate misstepped in file
and were swallowed whole, wholly reviled
by men, who thought them too mild

just as dawning suns stood
tall they were shortly trampled under foot
by romping sons—just because they could
but did they ever wonder that they knew they would?

I had been there as well, the growing mould
on my skin telling it all, but it had already rolled
up; and then I was left alone and cold
my pulse struggled a word, but slowed

M.M. — Ianuarius et Februarius MMXI

Poem XVIII - Where are you?

Where are you?
What, at this moment, do you do?
Do you think of me?
Do you think of me as I do of you?
Are your dreams also filled with the same things you wish were true?
How does the sky above appear to you?
Does it speak to you of love, or make you cry?
Perhaps it seeks to make you sigh?
It takes me away, that much I can say,
To places where I can wonder, as I often do of your face:
Moments that can tear me asunder.
And the fear, through the years, has not been quite absent;
But always present, even if at times out of mind, is regret,
My closest friend who lets me never forget;
Who, true-blue, will make all this a tale without end,
Subsisting gratuitously—or maybe graciously?
Is it I who insists on this? Do I wish it to continue?
Because it has been you?
Will always be you?
I would much like that I knew for certain,
That the haze raised, this heavy curtain before me.

M.M. — September MMX; Februarius MMXI