Baronhawk's Nest

On lonely roads
consigned choices
memorised misdemeanours
crimes uncounted

routed by chance
to yonder junction
belaboured truths
senses impotent

there she stands
waiting waking wobbling
image apparition
solid stanchions

laddered rungs
salvage salvation
hands out-held
exquisite perfection

will I dare
will she consent
hardened hearts
painful portends

should I attest
breaking silence
into her eyes
beg my passion

or slink away
into distance
steadfast stalwart
resigned to reason.

You are here
by my side
waking up
your visage

hair askew
nosy pert
eyes that laugh
wit that smile

my heart yearns
words convey
lump in throat
thoughts unvoiced

I . love . you

I kept a distance back
beyond frequent book shelves

spying creamy neck
calves legs thighs chest

curves speaking volumes
magnet to my eyes

pulling my attention
easy flicks strands hair

proving a distraction
roan russet dancing looks

charmingly tinted
fond excited casual loathe

poring over tomes
stacked piled consumed

fingers caressing
soft pages hard covers

I glance to frame
wondering what she imagines

and if I may
her mind's boudoir to enter.

"Tis' but foregone, two hearts entwine, or just this dream, a man forlorn?"
~ Hazlan Zakaria


SHE by Elvis Costello

She
May be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell

She
Who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She
May be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die

She
May be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years
Me
I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is

She
She, oh she

I sat before this four square screen, trying to find the words to mention. Something which had found within, my ebony heart its residence. Beating a clear tattoo, throughout the irony of my veins. It rides the breathing living lust, which toils the lull within my liens.

I pondered the name by which, this inane itch is called. Hoping perhaps, for its exuberance to be culled. I poised dancing upon the cusps, the identity of this blight. What magicked intransigent spell, into my soul's grimoire inscribed? What language is this persistence, which to mind remains in-unraveled?

I found the answer near to dreams, sidetracked to a place time forgot. A sideshow I closed down and sought to frame with logic thoughts. Tis love it seems, that one time thing I choose regret. What succour it might bring,laid heavy with suffering's debt.

On this day where this emotion is awed, I look down the path beyond time's borrowed flaws. To find myself longing still, the pathways to it brightly lit and opened grille. It is ye I yearn, thou who sits beyond those gates. Calling me to hurry on, and supplicate before thy feet.

"But wouldst thou take the hand, of this jest of so many defeats. A man who seeks to learn what happiness left there is to give. Who is afraid to yearn lest he falls once more upon his feet. Who is afraid to call and ask of ye to wait."