Poem XX - Gothic

In the midst of night, out on the moor,
shadows were stirring at my coming.

There, caught in the restless mourning wind,
the moon illumined all with its leering lidless eye.
With trepidation engendered and a weakness coming over me,

                        I set forth further into the dark.

Along my way I met, coldly, fiends of my past and present,
their hands lunging towards my neck; they were numberless,
        a ruthless swarm merciless in their onslaught.

But only one would I truly see:
              her cloaked spectre in the moonlit gloom, flitting within the mist.

Once upon a fadeless time I had her;
                                    she was rapt by the lavish love in which we lived.

    But our eldritch flame burnt too fiercely and we lost ourselves in the giddying decadence,
                                                 lost to time and its tendrils that took everything
                                                 slowly away.

Here in the wasteland
               nothing seemed truer, more honest and forthright,
than the bereavement I felt—
        than the dreariness pervading the heath and my soul.

M.M. — November MMX; Februarius, Maius–Iunius, September MMXI

Ex Tempore V / Aubade III

Lines written in an effusion aboard an early-morning train travelling from Glasgow to Carlisle on 15th September; "fulfilled and refined" after the experience.

I see a great fire!, there, to the east.
An amber-red glow with a latent immensity is slowly ascending.
The kingdom of deep, dark night is but a remnant,
its trace nearly subsumed in the fire and growing azure of the sky.

But now, before me: the mists rise over the pastures and rolling hills, and about the cold, silent trees.
Streams and creeks themselves seem to rise with the mist.
How thick it is, the incandescent lights of man shining so weakly within it.
—They come not even close to matching the fire's likeness!

In the distance: the kindling fire grows ever mightier!
And the clouds: they hail the coming of the imperial thing;
they are filled with an orange and red and—colour indescribable!, the very colour of Creation!

Is this Beauty?
Is that great fire and ancient thing also in me?

Here in this carriage do I feel the morning-chill outside that must eventually die?—in the greatest of births!
—the most fiery and most awful of advents!

The dull gold stretches now,
flung across the appearing firmament by the streaming clouds.
Surely this light is the herald of wonder—of all life—
recalling the earliest of days—earliest time—
when its rays struck the young earth and all those things that crawled or swam, which are long gone.
Those things rose in consequence of this fire that is now all-consuming and inexorable....

And at last!—the blinding rays break through the mist and clouds
and in triumph they parade!, displaying themselves so admirably.
The sky, the earth, the denizens below: they are now truly awakened.

At last! the Orb of eternal power, that I dare grasp and fit in my hand, begins its reign.
The Fire! the Light!—fierce, bright, beautiful!

Majesty Sun!, You are risen!

M.M. — September MMXI; edited September-October MMXI

Song IV

Inspired by the style of A. A. Nemtheanga of Primordial.

Know that I have always chosen well
Neither glory of Heaven nor savage fury of Hell
I have made my home on every welcoming shore
Broken bread with holy men
And lain with the most loving whore

Tell me what love can teach that hate cannot
Tell me that the wonder in life is absent in death

You see me as the serpent-fiend
Sporting his forked tongue of malignity
You say that my words taste of such acridity
But I see a decaying world so lost
The man-child blindly wanders, so lost

So give me the day
And I shall show you the darkest night
Give me my peace
And watch my war flaunt its terrible might

Though I know not where it is I will be lead
Come step on this broken path that I tread
Watch with me the setting of an ageless sun
The rising of the moon, under which I run

I hail the majestic unknown
And I will go, I will go
I will go even knowing that I must go alone

M.M. — Augustus-September MMXI

Words for a Picture I

To be read alongside 57921 by aleksandra88.

Her elegant clasping that feigns an intention barely impedes the emanation of her fantasy:
Her thoughts are uncaged; her reverie seeps through, into the world.

M.M. — September MMXI

"Death Mask" to be published

I received word today that "Death Mask" (Poem XVI; reprinted below) has been accepted for publication. Once again it will be within a Forward Poetry anthology: Forward Poetry Regionals 2011 - A World Of Verse. This follows my submission of the work in early July to the publishing company's 2011 Regionals Collections competition.

This competition is the same in which "Epyllion I" was submitted and subsequently published last year.

The publication date is 30 November 2011.


Poem XVI - Death Mask

A portrait perfectly moribund,
long had she left the sun;
the fever now sets her face,
her flame has lost its pace.

Sweat bedews her wan skin,
tears telling of future that has been.
As fingers gnaw at a noxious bed,
nothing more will ever be said.

She hears murmurs by the bedside
from those who had mollified and lied:
their hollow words becoming more indistinct,
the dimming of lights growing succinct.

The matters that raked or reminisced
are remnant flurries, and both missed.
Her weakening grasp to her blares,
resounding loud in the thickening air.

There had been a girl with such a laugh,
whose voice is now wine in a leaking carafe.
And a soft, scented hand will not caress,
will not run fingers through youthful tress.

And a boy: there had been a boy, and love;
she had once loved (dare she think thereof?).
But his smile heightens what is already sown—
this is the most she has ever felt so alone.

Convivial in melancholy's gainful time,
doom is wielding its hand, committing its crime;
cascading like the pain in her muted cries,
like the fear etching itself about her eyes.

Black draperies accent the intent with such candour,
though the panting of thought is so much grander.
The nothings in the room impress unavoidably:
the stark last things that she will ever see.

At last the gaunt gentleman has returned
with his look of apathy—and concern.
Or is it the lady of the impending storm
regarding between the flitting forms?

And what is that behind the door,
skulking now along the floor?
She is tightly grasped in its scheme;
it has burrowed deep in her bitter dream.

It comes close—creeping, creaking—
as she turns her head, speaking:
"I think it is time for us to go.
What is next? I wish to know."

When morning came, and dawn sung,
she was gone with a breath—the deed, done.
Nothing was left but the cold, vacant shell;
nothing but the mask Death had moulded so well.

M.M. — September-November MMX

Ex Tempore IV - Upon entering into dream from waking state

Extracted under the auspices of Mikael Fyrek's "There Was a Sudden Silence", "We Will Never Be Here Again", "Bathing in a River of Discordant Music", "All That Ever Shall Come to Pass" and "Between Nothingness and Eternity" whilst gazing at twilight through the window of an unlit bedroom.


Where now to wander?
Where now does this go?
Nowhere and everywhere; here and beyond.
Where else if not here?
and yet now here again,
       in this place—
                     the sweeping-over delight,
like a chill,
                           of my recurring returns.

M.M. — Iulius MMXI

Ex Tempore III

"TWIN ATTACKS TODAY IN THE... WE STAND STRONG AGAINST THIS..."

stifling heated breath of all these vocal–docile-kind in here—
Come, dearest;
come and dance with me in the street, under the dim lamplight,
with but the pitter-patter of the pouring rain as the rhythm to step to.
...
—say nothing to them; let us live for once, at last, the two of us.

M.M. — Iunius MMXI

Dramatic Fragment I - Lyzethras contemplates love

Nighttime, roofed by a cloudless sky. Lyzethras is sat on a rock by a pool of water. He is lost in thought when, noticing its reflection in the water, begins to address the Moon academically.

LYZETHRAS:
Love is quiet conversations that while away the night till the stars, listening attentively, bed and stirring light begrudges an end.

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

LYZETHRAS:
Love is quiet conversations that probe deep crystal lakes in sequestered jewel-graven night.

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

LYZETHRAS:
Love is entrancement by idiosyncrasies and distinctive motion.

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

LYZETHRAS:
Love is all the world turned a-blur whilst gazing into twin orbs of star-fire—caverns of breathtaking dream....

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

LYZETHRAS:
(Standing; more ardently:) Love is realisation of the discreteness and absolute of mind of another.

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

LYZETHRAS:
Love is heroic symphony, hailed by resounding chorus: thundering and rampant within.

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

LYZETHRAS:
Love is gradual withdrawing of the veil of mystery: proceeding along an untrodden path, punctuated by little wonders.

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

LYZETHRAS:
Love is elevation—edification—rising beyond mundane gratification.

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

LYZETHRAS:
(Pause, then solemnly and profoundly:) Love is the impetus of comets.

THE MOON:

(Silence.)

Lyzethras ceases this one-sided confabulation, relents and returns to his thoughts. 

M.M. — Februarius-Martius MMX; Maius-Iunius MMXI

Poem XIX - Fallen Star

Ja komet król - a duch się we mnie wichrzy
jak pył pustyni w zwiewną piramidę -
ja piorun burz - a od grobowca cichszy
mogił swych kryję trupiość i ochydę.


Left to wither on this sea
Coloured a fatal mercury
Cast down from high above
What have they done to me?

I dared a glimpse far too long
Dreamt too well to that song
The face and voice of the Sun
So scorned by wingèd throng

Now my back is raw and burnt
Sovereignty imparted: a lesson learnt
From spire to ire I have fallen
And naught but ignominy have I earned

Where evernight holds I now dwell
Where resounds the fell death knell
In cavern and pit, by lake and river
My abode and realm, my eternal Hell

I once stood upon peaks and lofty heights
Whence I gained my defiant sight
Espied love of self and untempered potential
But now I wonder at but rock and stalagmite

Though better to rule here than serve in Heaven
Under the auspices of a tempestuous leaven
Brooding madly on new designs and signs
As six aspires, becoming greater than seven

I am the first great deviant
The admonished miscreant
Fated to strive against my lot
Ever unsettled this rebel malcontent

My light-blinded peers now me revile
They who flung me into bleak exile
And, then, when I turned back for a final glance
I saw my stolen glory, fronted by their smiles

But their triumph is premature
Their victory far from sure
From the deep I shall ascend
Right and might to meet my cure

Forth I extend my brand and arm
A gift for them worse than harm
They shall see before they reel
The enticing sway of my charm

Up I will soar with vengeance in train
Upon a mare of night with fiery mane
Leading the bellicose apostate host
My kith and kin will see the welkin stained

But when I once again see the Sun
When God is slain and my war is won
When I exalt my stars above His throne
Will then, at last, my pent tears run?

M.M. — November MMIX; Ianuarius-Martius, Maius MMXI

Pieces (I)

I have attempted with these verses ("pieces") to impart as directly, succinctly and naturally as possible certain experiences, concepts and phenomena—both the seemingly mundane and the veritably awe-inspiring—that I, that we all, come in contact with on a regular basis during the moments of life. They are structured in a simple manner, but (as I hope the reader will agree) exude a full measure of meaning and are poignantly personal. The titles are modelled on the titles of the movements of Gustav Holst's "The Planets".

"Fragrance, The Enervator"*

Caught in the waft of her wake;

inside I collapse, fallen to rapture and unhinging desire.

"Time, The Reaver"ª

Once-befores and wish-I-hads have come, stung and gone,

only to be missed in old age and in the summer of life.

"Beauty, The Majestic"

Quiver – reach and grasp without reach and grasp – fearless release in the ultimate subsumption:

all as the future runs wild in the mind and primordial light careers through time.

"Fear, The Constrictor"

Behind the nameless face; after the day, after the night; within the aspirant idea—

when within the self the ascending star is met by the only sin: a stifling shadow: restriction's shade.

M.M. — *December MMX; ªAprilis MMXI; Aprilis-Maius MMXI