Bring to talents most prestigious
be it Baroque or religious

French Huguenot craftsmen bring
London's SoHo flotsam's ring

My wealth is displayed on platters
it's conspicuous and bold-it matters

to the cognoscenti's parties
to 18th century Gentry

Argent is my bank
it gives the chosen ones swank

Like mirrors on water
It reflects what you aught to
see

So bright the gleem
so bring to a sheen

Polish my silver
Polish my silver

On my face an undulation
the start of ruination
beauty's arch enemy
should I resort to surgery?
Its the vain person's nemesis
causes them a lot of stress
I'm not going to worry
get myself in a flurry
going to think of each new wrinkle
as another memory I sprinkle
on my face, another trace
of each day I'm lucky to embrace

saffron chrome
her yawning perfume taut skin zone
the melliferous scandals

dusted arch
in keeping
the resting lie
beneath the wafer storm
pass

winters dead bride come to ride
like an angels corpse
and the engine runs
idling outside

Black October
it rained and rained
drowning anguish
gushing sorrows
down the gaping ruin
tragedies worth

Enfold me in your loving arms
and mould yourself against my chest.
I've long been captive to your charms
which far exceed all of the rest.

Let me smell your silken hair
like perfume of late autumn wine
which breeze sends flying everywhere
a halo burnished by sunshine.

Then thrill me with familiar form.
I've memorized each swell and curve
which on cold nights help keep me warm
a warmth I know I don't deserve.

A small boy cries, bird calling into the air.
I’m heart helped by his flower delicate face,
bamboo smooth then raw as meat,
his emotions entirely there.

Mums are preoccupied, abundance is a list.
Brows creased, they don’t look up,
their beauty worry worn.

I like the Muzak, whistle along,
wide eyed as a canary.
One aisle is traffic jammed.
and a little old man
waits like a garden gnome.
There should be dancing, the music's jaunty,
but no, only muted ‘excuse me’s’
as trolleys clash.

you are
more than what you are
a star
born star
each one...

in poetry the poets
never or rarely give one
you all hearts have won
and
I still live in hope

someday some moody poet
shall come by my way,

to say
Loved

how come so long
barren you did stay

my inner feelings for your dad......

I know how one feels
when one loses...
I lost mine decades since…

Who am I?
I’ve never really known
I find myself in those moments
That bring me to my essence
Melancholy and innocence
Dark and Light
One in the north, one in the south
Through the east and through the west
On the surface it’s so hard
I myself seems very far
I find myself in those I love
All of them different, but all of them me
So who could I be?
I am not you, I am not you
Composed of such variety
Who is this, my entity
Difficult to pinpoint one source
Who is this, something more?

Experienced darkness

enveloping blackness

I'm a blank canvas

death would be bliss

Memories haunt

enemies flaunt

dreams taunt

life I no longer want

Lost in a maze

a disturbed gaze

happiness no trace

hell I can face

Be happy for me

I'll be finally free

hold me in your memory

imagine me carefree

Oh, if life were only poetry!
I would fill my love’s cup
With yonder bright stars.
And make of her life
More of heaven then earth.
I would take from her flowing lips
The sweet charms of nippy kisses.
I’d watch her eyes flicker as a busy bee
As she takes in the nectar of a garden rose.
Oh, if only I could fill her cup
With the passions from my heart.
To endlessly write of her loveliness;
Yet, dwell in ever word penned.
Oh, if life were only poetry!

poets strugglers

you are more than what you are

a star
born star…

in poetry the other poets
never or rarely give one

you all hearts have won
and
I still live in hope

someday some moody one

shall come by my way,
to say hello poet !

how come so long
barren you did stay

my inner feelings
for your dad
I know how one feels
when one loses one ...

I lost mine decades since…