New Notebook

The debut trample upon virgin
Parchment, tattooing the skin of a
Newborn, puncturing a fledgling slip of a
Cloud.

The pen a tongue tormenting fresh-laid
Concrete, in permanence and in
Taste (one hopes), the lightning rod with which
Fate is contrived by the cartographer.

The sky the taut skin of a
Bodhran from which all us aspirant
Fools rebound with pendulous frenzy when
Ego makes pompous claims.

The ground the gentle mortar, the
Pillow on whom all jolted heads must
Rest between grasps towards the
Aether, and long may we, as hope-filled
Imbeciles, try.

Parable

A crane affects a pout on razed terrain -
There's no-one to deliver to beyond!
Conceited motherfuckers, made terrine
By undiminished craving of The End.

The psychopomp redundant, writ in wind,
Frailer than sugar paper in the rain,
As human confit spread across the land
Makes all ecologies again serene.

Not having been traversed in days, the Styx,
It's floor dried-up, it's flora parched to shit,
Is marched upon by opportunist hicks,
Whose oubliette pallor, against their wit,

Illuminates the road's return to earth;
The Boatman, as defunct as feathered crane,
Aghast at this mass parody of birth,
Designs to toss himself into The Seine.

The rambling dead embark up spiral stair
A-tingle at the promise of return,
Remembrance fills staid lungs, the scent of air!
A lotus blooms in death's most ashen urn.

The earth attained, a miserable shuddered halt
Afflicts the hopeful dead, besieged to learn -
The earth's a fucking shit-hole, time to bolt -
Their preference, in eternity to burn.

My First Sonnet

Aborted on this sunless, tepid soil,
Bequeathed: all manner frailties of the blood,
Begat of guarders with intentions good,
Whose flaws, a generation, born to foil,
Alchemize moral silt from sorrow's oil,
Betrothed to idealism's puppy-ish flood
Before twilight's ever encroaching hood,
Wends saints and cynics knee-deep in turmoil.
Cadenza'd, one would plea, with skeins of hope,
Divested of the curfew's mauve-ish gaze,
Emboldened by constraint to steel our stride,
Collected and alone, our leprous grope,
(Depreciating in the blighted haze),
Embroiders 'Fuck you' on the devil's hyde.