"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

Ex Tempore II

Spurred by Borknagar's "My Domain".

Sat at the top of the grassy hill
when night had descended

Sat at the top
when time and motion suspended

Panning wide: sprinkled stars twinkled, and the Way streamed across and flourished
Nourished by a loss that seemed to stay, crinkling a marred and wrinkled guide: spanning

his mind from spiral arm to spiral arm, to
when Kepler first distended

Then,
when upwards, yet outwards, I ascended

 M.M. — Martius MMX

Prose VI

She is sleeping—collapsed on her front, pillow-nestled head turned rightward at me; her naked back, with every beautiful breath in and out, rhythmically rising and falling....

A voyaging barque braves the midnight sea, prow dashing perilous waves with resolve. Below deck, loaded hammocks, filled bunks and filled berths, and occupied cabins stir. Above, the busy watch half-mindedly attend to this and that in the forbidding dark. One gapes in horror and disbelief at the Lady in White as she mouths something soundlessly and mournfully before throwing herself over the gunwale....

And her flaxen hair—tamed Medusan locks, winding like rivulets hidden deep within magical, forgotten forests—is made lustrous by the morning sun shining through the open casement window. In comes a breeze with a scent of the not-so-distant sea, mingling with the remaining intoxication of her fragrance....

The oaken hall is decked with fire and lit by its primal light. Here itinerant rogues and knights-errant come and go, some leaving their mark on this festive world of carnival mirth, others passing on with little more than silence as their word. Bards from the murkiest recesses of far-off lands recount tales tall and true. And the gypsy women dancing and gyrating like that warming fire; bodies painted in turquoise and jade, in glyphs and tribal tattoos....

With my keen, wandering eyes I run along the smoothness and corporeality of her skin. Her frame engenders a curious wonderment: its contour; its essence as the shell encasing an enigma, containing nebular machinery. The serenity settled on her quieted face—a lively conduit heretofore—belies the structure and interlacement within wrought by æons. My hand shifts momentarily; fingers eager to stroke her heavy drapery lids, to lift the infinite veil....

Here in this glen I have come to die. Amongst rock and root, and the verdancy, I will wait for my skin to wither and cake with ageless time. The moon will regale me with eternity in her nightly flourish; the sun will caress and bestow glimpses of my origin and terminal repose. The sage earth will tell me the secrets I long ago forgot whilst I watch my blood seep out of my cumbersome body, draining into the ground: a draught as summative recompense. And finally, when I am but bone and sinew, near the banks of a river that streams my ebbing life I shall lie atop a bed of moss, the warm air blanketing me. No more than this; all to let slip....

She stirs—an ever so simple thing, of hers alone.... I rouse her, and rekindle the dream.

M.M. — Aprilis, September MMX; Februarius-Martius MMXI

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