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Adored Absentee

During your respite,
I've done my best not to succumb
to the full-body furry of alcohol's savagery.
Still, on occasion, I must admit,
at times when my mind's eye is in need of rest,
I toast with friends and family.

Day and night, I envisage your face, your waist,
your gossamer flesh, pliant and curvaceous form,
and my eyes are forced to retreat at the twinge of
silver tipped rose-thorns.

In gatherings of company, I tend to
block out the utterances of others, too
busy searching my mental recordings,
trying to recreate and replay your voice of
fallen rainwater and rose quartz
and my ears are eventually
driven toward madness by the mournful
chime of crying cicadas.

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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Stanzas for the Times

Is this the land our fathers loved,
The freedom which they toiled to win?
Is this the soil whereon they moved?
Are these the graves they slumber in?
Are we the sons by whom are borne
The mantles which the dead have worn?

And shall we crouch above these graves,
With craven soul and fettered lip?
Yoke in with marked and branded slaves,
And tremble at the driver's whip?
Bend to the earth our pliant knees,
And speak but as our masters please?

Shall outraged Nature cease to feel?
Shall Mercy's tears no longer flow?
Shall ruffian threats of cord and steel,
The dungeon's gloom, the assassin's blow,
Turn back the spirit roused to save
The Truth, our Country, and the slave?

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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Conscious Bond of Universal Suffering and The Coming Opus Love Overflow!

The Human bond of earthly suffering
Suffering earthly bondage of the body
The human suffering and earthly bondage
caused by the love filtering psyche!

Nothing bonds like human suffering
nothing damages love more than the suffers of desire
No suffering as human as the desire to be loved!

The fact remains universal:
all on earth who succumb to the power
creating human suffering
possess still the human power of transcending

So tell me who's suffering this day
or any day?
Who needs an arm, a hug,
a warm home cooked meal?
Who else needs to feel the warmth of a breathing body
during those quiet solitaire coffin hours of the night?

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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Boudicca

A past king of East Anglia,
Ruled with men from a foreign shore,
Despite a cultural barrier,
There was no cruel bloody war,
Life was better than twas elsewhere,
But of somethings all weren't aware,
Had all intentions been made clear,
There would have been due cause to fear,
Lest it ends up being misplaced,
Choose carefully where to put trust,
Failure to means what's to be faced,
Could well seem to be unjust,
Alliances don't always last,
When the king died things changed fast,
As their claim to the land was lost,
The common people paid the cost,

Once the Anglian king was dead,
His wishes were not respected,
Liberties were taken instead,

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poem by Christian Lacdael
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Annulments and Vows

Oh, mighty strong God, immortal love eternal grace
Whom we your flocks, never saw or fancy your face
By faith and by inner conviction alone we you embrace
Believing what we cannot prove, yet we admire you no less

Let us now bow to the power under day's holiness and the moment's serenity
For it is dire, awesome, frightening and stalwarts.
On it Your Kingship Reign will be elevated and exalted;
Your throne will be firmed with kindness, your chair with divinity

And You will sit upon it in truth alone
It is true that You alone are the One
Who judges, proves, knows, and bears witness and elevate;
Who writes and seats, counts and calculates;

You who remembers all that was forgotten.
You will open the Book of Chronicles -
It will read itself, and everyone's signature is in it have gotten.
When your obedient seraphim stand on your distinguished Oracle

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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The Journey

Watch the river pass on by
Listen as the children cry
The dream has crumbled
Tumbling down the dream has crumbled
Faint echo’s of the memory gather in the groves of my mindscape
The time has come for the solar god to rise.
Apollo, phoenix from the ashes.

I have cast in my folly all that lay sacred to me.
The Dragon’s art enriddled, the art of art revealed.
The secret lay lost to the memory of forgetting.
Our journey has change course
The winds, the winds have turned against our favour.
Overwhelmed by an addiction breeding,
Defenceless upon my knees
I refuse to serve you now
I would rather lay low in a shallow grave.

The journey
The journey engulfing.

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poem by David Lacey
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Someone Lingers In Your Absence Like An Icon

Someone lingers in your absence like an icon, a gate
to an open field where the white horse
that stood in the tall grass, grazing on its solitude
like a phase of the moon come to earth
is gone. A bird, a purple martin with so much
distance and disappearance in it wings
and the open vastness of the skies it was absorbed by
I can barely hear you singing from here
over the raving of an unkempt wind on a crazy night
when the ghosts are rioting in their graves
like old leaves without attachments at the feet of the new
and gravity receives the grave goods of the tree
as do I these strange epiphanies of you
that haunt me retroactively like apple-bloom.

And the depth of the emptiness that informs
the substance of my imaginings, devastates me
like an eclipse slowly swallowing my heart
like a black cataract of snake skin I keep
trying to shake like a cosmic egg without much luck.

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poem by Patrick White
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Blanket Syd - The World Anew

All I seek is a lust beyond the want for climax,
I seek a beauty with which to trust my soul;
A beauty to make me whole in knowing
We flow as one in the same.

Inside placid beasts lay tamed
As angels outside play games un-named.

Gabrielle opens up her eyes to you, turning her head ornamental,
Beseeching to minds lost in wonderment oriental philosophies on which to ponder.
She holds within her form the innocence of the lamb still she retains a knowledge of the flesh.
She feeds the imagination with promises of sexual gratification fresh as golden fabrics flow in swallowing her form. Her head turns upon a spine cast within the kiln as Blanket Syd distorts the visions of the helmsman holding fantasy captive within the bounds of reality.
She stands domineering in her stance. Daring you to dance for her – she’s daring you to throw inhibition from upon your shoulders - She’s daring you to know Love as your lover.

Red skin gum sticks the joint your holding stiff with your thumb.
Roll. Succumb to the numbing of the senses as the imagination leaps
In bounding, the imagination lay forever lost in searching – attempting to find that which was never there to be found.

Bend the words upon a whim
Skim the surface, don’t break the skin.

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poem by David Lacey
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Time - Acrostic Palindrome Revisited

Titan Chronos wields sharp sickle, fickle Fate dictates gifts Gods
In second thoughts withdraw to pour cold water on fond hope,
Margin call all castles in the air to dust bring 'neath the sods,
Entropy replaces order, chaos borders balance, scope.

Time seeds seconds that it swallows as each follows each to teach
Idyll; Golden Age; soon harvests, rapeseed reaped with scarce a nod,
Mortality is empty dream, nothing living's out of reach
Ever will grim reaper gather what was given, trod to clod.

Time spins headlong, helter-skelter, alpha omega its hum,
Innate energy refocussed, hocus-pocus drawing blind,
Merging, surging, fresh emerging each dimension is assigned
Extra frequencies as harmonies seek equilibrium.

Thrust of course is force attraction contradictions overcome,
If upset the great equation's recreated, recombined,
Musters flux, reflux ethereal, in many ways declined,
Echo-systems spectra spectral, strata senses tuned as one.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ode On Venice

I.
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
A loud lament along the sweeping sea!
If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,

What should thy sons do?--anything but weep
And yet they only murmur in their sleep.
In contrast with their fathers--as the slime,
The dull green ooze of the receding deep,
Is with the dashing of the spring-tide foam
That drives the sailor shipless to his home,
Are they to those that were; and thus they creep,
Crouching and crab-like, through their sapping streets.
Oh! Agony-that centuries should reap
No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred years
Of wealth and glory turn'd to dust and tears;
And every monument the stranger meets,
Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets;

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poem by Byron
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