Revisiting October

This earth is embroidered with green and gold,
leaves shall leave, though the trees stand still;
who haunts this pavilion in this silent cold,
when October returns with a gusty quill?

This garden I recall from hazy dreams,
of an innocent past on copper stained pages;
an unfolding history from the celestial beams,
perhaps never was it for one whose heart never ages.

Where lies the pretty outskirts of Moscow?
Who was that woman in Kramskoi’s tale?
The old barn embraces me with fresh muddy soil,
as I hear his pen brushing against October’s ail.

29 Sep 2018, Tchaikovsky’s House, Klin

Published in: on 21/10/2018 at 10:09 PM  Leave a Comment  

Lazy Scientists Do Not Think Normatively

Fragrant is this nourishing soil,
sweet are these golden carrots,
that lay bare after a day of toil,
marked by the hares and parrots.

Alas, swift is the farmer boy,
whose burns seem rather faint,
when the hands of a defeated ploy,
are caught in muddy paint.

Set is this trial for justice,
hearing both truth and beauty,
freedom is our common premise,
so who bears the burden of duty?

‘The thieves, of course!’ yells the boy,
clear as the rightful moonlight;
is there more to be said,
if wrong is to be cut from right?

The parrots defend their ground:
‘the allures were far too strong!’
So the boy has himself now found,
charged of being very wrong!

Disbanded is the headless crowd,
revealing the stupefied hares,
to none but the nebulous clouds,
where the parrots repeat their errs.

Published in: on 24/08/2018 at 10:26 PM  Leave a Comment  

Righteous Hypocrisy

Is there a soul in nature’s call,
or are all but the works of a dreaming bard?
If justice summons the trickster’s ball,
then justice is but the solipsist’s art.

How shall we for paradise desire,
if nowhere can we to paradise aspire?
Beauty we grant upon fiendish forms,
though our eyes elude their ghastly storms.

Travellers extoll their headless strides,
graveyards laugh at their foolish parades;
is hell the recipe for their pretentious pride,
or the make-belief of our heroic raids?

Whence do judgements their chisels acquire,
sculpting each tree to our frailty’s delight?
Why do you for the truth enquire,
when truths are enslaved in our crafty eyes?

Published in: on 22/08/2018 at 2:40 PM  Leave a Comment  

Dreaming of a Fallen Angel

By many winters passed since she had dreamed,
of an uninvited visit of that fearsome beast;
his jaws wider than the fissure of abyss,
his wings gave birth to the darkest nights.

Many bitter autumns had swept it seemed,
the forgotten fortunes of that revered beast;
his claws had tore a piece of heaven’s bliss,
for none but mortality’s fleeting delights.

Cursed with not that to which the flesh is heir,
but the recurring pains that the mind must bear;
the world is to his temperaments tied,
though she hears not of his earthly plight.

Fools rushing with an engraved plate,
when the errand of existence is the final fate,
not for the love of a loveless sky,
for only the beauties of a flourishing might.

Published in: on 20/08/2018 at 8:27 PM  Leave a Comment  

Road to the Cemetery

The cloak of dusk in silence descends,
upon the soulless houses and roads;
nocturnal mists from the woods invade,
the lone sounds of two offbeat steps.

Wherefore doth the eyes ascend,
towards the heartless tulips and roses?
Who awaits at the end this cascade —
save the illusory voices from dust and bones.

The strings are struck by the azure crescent,
moon dust fall to the dissonant crows;
the beauty of this meaningless crusade,
is a heart parted from joys and sorrows.

Published in: on 17/08/2018 at 2:03 PM  Leave a Comment  

Three A.M.

A frail birch sways in the wind,
brushing from nowhere to nowhere;
empty words are as words empty,
words are but words.

In dreams where the heart desires,
to the gardens or to the lairs?
In rusted chains a heart is tied,
to heaven and earth.

Published in: on 15/08/2018 at 2:06 AM  Leave a Comment  

Earthly Rejoice

Perhaps apathy is darker than darkness still,
’tis when two voids at one another stare.
Yet is life not for one to simply live?
What loves could linger post a fermented air?

Who is to mock at our comical lives,
when two worlds clash over prosaic affairs?
Are glories and crimes but the dandelion’s quest,
or the virtues and vices of a weary flare?

Published in: on 31/07/2018 at 5:16 PM  Leave a Comment  


‘Yet how can she hear my truest voice,
If all the beauty are mine alone?’
In a wasted world of fluttering fears,
the flares of a gaze shall hollow your bones.

Against nature and reason our hubris guide,
behind a veil of pretences our frailties hide;
your virtues shall by your comrades abide,
true light shall eternally in darkness reside.

Published in: on 21/07/2018 at 10:51 PM  Leave a Comment  

Pas de Deux

No, not two.
Not when the snow is melting,
before she took leave of the blushing clouds,
pierced by the harsh wind.

No, not two.
Not when the flowers are fading,
before they rose above the emerald sprouts,
poisoned by the lawful flairs.

No, not two.
Not when the leaves are falling,
before they golden in the garnet droughts,
fissured by the blind fiend.

No, not two.
Not when your senses are dying,
before they caught sight of the artful hours,
wasted by the heartless fairs.

Published in: on 09/07/2018 at 10:51 PM  Leave a Comment  

For Life

No birth can come of this season,
as the heavens bleed at dawn,
her wounds marked by perfection,
though for imperfection I long.

For what of life I desire,
if not the beauty of a song?
To the voice of angels aspire,
to none but beauty I belong.

Published in: on 09/07/2018 at 10:00 PM  Leave a Comment