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Summer’s Dissapointment (#15 NaPoWriMo)

Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?
Because you always tend to disappoint;
Promised sunshine drifts off then fades to grey,
And verdant pastures do the summer showers anoint.
Sometimes your beauty burns beholder’s eyes,
And all around chill and mask your presence,
And like summer delights, you momentarily mesmerise;
By design, you have divine ratio’s semblance.
But moments, they are not everlasting;
Nor can instances of beauty cover evidence in mind.
Nor can recollections of affection keep one lingering,
When summer’s gone; me lonely waiting, you will not find.
     So long to the fleeting warmth that you once gave,
     So long to a life lived hoping, I’ll take reality to the grave.

A wet summer’s day (#14 NaPoWriMo)

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more damp and more intermittent;
Rough winds; shake the droplets of rain away,
And summer’s gift; a memory of biblical lament:
Sometime, too much; heaven’s bladder omits,
And often leaves the golden piping overfilled,
And every drip descends into the pits,
By chance, or some divine will, we are coldly illed;
But the promised summer is a fallen leaf,
Now memories of spring are left once sprung;
Not for autumn to bring temporary relief
When we know than our summer cannot be wrung,
   So long as people can breathe, we may survive the flood
   So long as we live, we’ll forget that rivers ran dark with blood.

Desiderata’s Negative (#19 NaPoWriMo)

As part of NaPoWriMo 2012 I was tasked with taking a poem and creating an opposite version of it. Here’s my first attempt at creating the negative for Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata.

Raise humdrum amid the quiet and peace,
And forget what conflict there may be in noise.
As far as possible without retreating,
Remain vexed with all persons.
Shout your lies loudly and incoherently,
Ignore others, especially the wise and worldly,
They have too many stories.

Collect quiet and passive persons,
They are comforters to the mind.
If you continually look in the mirror,
You will become modest and sweet,
There will never be greater and lesser people than yourself.

Despise your failures as well as your mishaps.
Be dulled by your career, however noble,
It is a vacuous trinket in the constant gravity of time.

Be naïve in your business affairs,
The world is full of good Samaritans willing to help.
Wear a blindfold to avoid the virtuous,
For if you cannot see them they cannot see you.
Many people end up with lowly imperfections;
And everywhere life is full of devils.

Never unveil yourself.

Occasionally, feign affliction – it’ll keep them guessing.
Always criticise affection;
For in spite of all warmth and enchantment,
It is as deciduous as a conifer.

Dispose violently of the counsel years bring,
Covet the trinkets of youth.
Steal strength of spirit and acquire someone else’s fortune.
But do not comfort yourself with reality.
Few passions are murdered by enthusiasm and company.
Before a debauched practice, be rough with others.

You were an accident, unlike the trees and the stars.
You are trespassing on their domain.
And whether or not you can see it,
The universe is one big ball of chaos.

Therefore rally against religions, wherever you find them,
And whatever your hobbies and history,
In the quiet certainties of life,
Keep panic in your mind.

With all its sweetness, beauty and fulfilled dreams, it is still a nightmarish world.

Be reckless.

Sink into sadness.

Love’s Ghazal (#13 NaPoWriMo)

She stands there, hand over heart, she is my only love
So close, but locked away, paternal rules, rule out my love.

And with a final tap, her finger show me where I’ll live,
Beneath her breast, inside her chest, she’ll hold onto our love.

The room, she leaves, her parents scowl, a dowry has been lost,
My mother has, offered recompense, she’s trading wealth for love.

I’m told, as she is also told, that our tryst just cannot be,
Although we know, that we will find a way, for unrestricted love.

So now we send our letters, in code to neighbouring friends,
Hoping that our clandestine mail will endure our miss-managed love.

Her final letter: she is to be wed, to a cousin from the West,
The closing words, tear-stained; Semaj, you are my eternal love.

Ahh! Heed the Norse (#12 NaPoWriMo)

A Homophonic translation of the Welsh choral song Ar Hyd y Nos

Hail and rain tire. Sea-view, we dance
Ahh! Heed the Norse
Dumb our father, frog on nuance
Ahh! Heed the Norse
Go like a rash, you, take a look
Hear that goose queer brother took
Stay, leer, Nev’s odd mean towel look!
Ahh! Heed the Norse.

Ohh! More cereal, get some air in
Ahh! Heed the Norse
"Yoll-eye-ee" Choir! There you are ‘en
Ahh! Heed the Norse
Norse - you hens ain’t pan, though custard
On the hardy dinner whore did
Throne ain’t go light gwan Dan Gillard
Ahh! Heed the Norse.

Quintupled Senses (#11 NaPoWriMo)

As nostrils flare, you know that chemical pathways are lighting up.
A sizzle, then the eyes open - Alert, but bloodshot.
A hand, resting on the shoulder, comforting -
Sparking recollections of last night’s brawl.
Words, spoken soothingly, send the seeker back to sleep.
Her smile, the  last thing the alcohol’s subject sees.

A cook should always taste the first fry, before serving up.

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