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Love Song for NefertitiThere is a love song,
In the sands of Egypt,
Sedated, the grainy hue
Of its voice scratching out
Of a battered tape recorder
And a chipped thimble glass
Of Saiidi tea.
Qalbi mwaħħda ma tiegħek,
Is-sbuħija tiegħek tħennini kuljum.
Nixtieq li nerġa nitwieled mill-ġdid,
Mogħni bil-ħajja permezz ta' mħabbtek.
Bennini ġo dak il-ġuf tafli tiegħek,
il-patera tar-ruħ li ħallejt warajja,
qabel ma għumna fin-Nil,
għarwiena r-ruħ fix-xemx,
qalb l-għaram msaħħra
It is not stilled by
The war-cry of the muezzin
Though we had grown old
Bored waiting for beauty
And the coming
Of Aten at Tahrir Square.
My thoughts were drifting
In a wicker cradle amongst
The crocodiles of the Nile
Whilst I sat beneath the
Shade of a fig tree outside
The walls of Akhenaten,
Vaguely mindful of the scratchings
Of scarabian priests
tilling the sand
To cover up the sun.
SpringShut up, the birds,
cried the insomniac,
trying to dredge up
the last dregs of
whilst the asthmatic
hung out his lungs,
on a clothes line
and beat the phlegm
out of them with
The Litany of FuryWhen the truth, smothered for so long in lies, becomes a lie in itself, when a star, so flung out in the cold void of space, that it harrows the sky even more, when light becomes so engulfed in darkness that it becomes a dark light, is when silver, out of an ignoble kind of love, is painted over in fear of theft so that it passes for a common kind of metal and becomes tarnished, forgotten till a careless chip would bring the silver out again.
Old SoulsComatose, we lay
Through soapy panes
our way was lit
by bulbs who wished
they were tulips.
Our veins crept onto
Each other's hands as
Cracks in ill laid but
Well meant concrete
Daisies and marijuana
Seemed to flourish
Not knowing about
The streaming cables
Of fibre optic from
"The wheel chair
Became a chariot train..."
Yet I was content to watch
them burgs of steel mottled airplanes
oh my how they
scarred the kids birds...
PanoramicWhen synthesizer piano keys are
The notes swirl into
Eddies of dust,
Furnished with a soft
Glaze of sunlight.
The medicine man
Thalidomide god-child twinkled
them into existence, sitting upon
A chair in a field of barley
Littered with empty beer cans.
Wishing it was a dervish
It tried to link the motes
In a game of join the dots
The DiadochoiThe witch looked at the set of cards arrayed in front of her and blinked before taking a sip from a glass of watered down absinthe.
I was bored. I was under no illusion that I would derive any vague form of titillation from this particular reading. Every session had grinded flicked on ad nauseum with the vaguest form of meaning. If Gilder had been there, he would have been hovering behind the witch for a start, trying to sneak a look at the cards, and then shake his head, suggesting a change of witch. Go to the formal fortune tellers up in the red district, maybe even to a Librarian.
"Who is Gilder?" she asked.
"No idea," I shrugged.
"The Ouroboros and the Diadochoi keep turning up..." she murmured.
As would be usual I would have disagreed to Gilder's proposition. It wasn't a question of money; I was in my own world and did as I pleased. The hedge witches in the outer slums had the curious habit of procuring an accurate reading once in a... Once in a s
Lost LightsPeter Pan, with his hands cupped,
tempts the Moon Mother with his smile.
Shy stars peek past her skirts,
wondering why such a soft soul
holds heartache an ally.
"Look closer, children; he's here
to guide ghosts--lost lights--home."
*Powercut*Climbing stairs by candlelight
Darkness thick with mystery
Alert to danger, cold with fright
Curiosity this dark night.
Candle's flickering shadow
Dance macabre clearly seen
I'm not intrepid blood runs slow
Sinister spectre, malevolent glow.
Frozen moment on staircase
Imagination likes to tease
All is well powercut ended
Electric light - the stairs a breeze.
A Day OffOn a day of no responsibilities my conscience sleeps
allowing me to become a part of a movie,
fly through stories as I read,
time with loved ones who are so much more than friends
reverberates laughter sweeter than music
and lets me slip into myself, completely relaxed.
I lay, stretched, looking like a cat in its blissful state for relaxation
dozing and waking, dreams and daydreams blurring as I go in and out of sleep
Soft sound comfort me, and I sing along to the musics
Tunes from movies
mingles with parodies made by friends
all recited in a lazy perfection, as if I were seeing the words in front of me; reading.
No one watches my actions, or attempts to read
my thoughts so that I might never relax,
instead I surround myself with old friends:
warm pajamas, fuzzy socks, and a forever sleeping
doll. Our story rivaling those in movies
set to instrumental music.
Should I choose to make music
through flipping pages as I read,
or setting a soundtrack to the inevitable movie
that will follow
The Princess is DeadHer survival was hung on a thread
For her body was covered in red
The only taste she had of life
Was quickly ended with a knife
For, alas, the princess is dead
She lay in her eternal bed
As her deep wounds slowly bled
Death clasped her soul with malicious grace
As lifeblood taints her gorgeous face
For, alas, the princess is dead
The young girl was then led
To a place to escape her dread
She watches the spirits through sun and snow
Her home now Hakugyokurou
For, alas, the princess is dead
LimerickingMy Neighbour upstairs is upset,
He can't find a name for his pet.
"Tell me, what should it be?"
"Peanut, Lucky maybe?"
The Goldfish cares not, I would bet.
Judgement, Part 1until you breathe against your will
for long-lost hope, caught in a lie
by desperate screams for one last pill
to stop life warping, but your eyes
still see, and insomniac fear
(from blood-soaked wrists at two a.m.)
twists the world you once held dear
to shreds. Only you can see Them,
eyes mocking every crimson smile
you paint - but it's the only way
to hide yourself, just for a while
before they whisper: that girl's cra...
Valhalla Awaits(Valhöllr biðar)
Ek veg harðliga.
Ek tek brand ok veg vándr fjándmaðrinn.
En hær dey ek hræða eigi.
Ek ganga prúðr við Valhöll.
MistsPericles wandered around
Through the leaves of red
The ones that fell aground
The trees that were bare ahead
Cast strange shadows faintly
On his slowly walking form
He hungered so blatantly
Wanting so much more than norm
Eyes searching for real worlds
But his surroundings offered
Empty and thoughtless swirls
Blank songs the world authored
He felt a sudden entrance
The Spirit of another man
The two began to dance
As only two lovers can
Like two deer as they prance
Pericles closed his eyes
He fell down onto his knee
His heart let loose cries
World suddenly so free
"Open them" Spirit said
"See what this world can do"
Slowly Wolf lifted his head
Other creatures had come too
Great masses of animals
They felt the Spirit's chance
Each gathered for the great dance
And each eye full of wonder
A beautiful mist arose
Orange and sweet it did wander
Like the pretty water flows
Revealing them their founder
Swirling about their bodies
Lovely tendrils of smoke
Forgetting all their
Sonnet no.1From above an Angel came to me
Bidding me along with him to see
With my eyes the divine celestial light
That leads the poet through the veiled night.
At the tolling of the great Black Bell
That resounds through the bowels of hell
Calling all the souls of the damned
Who to sin they have succumbed.
Threading through the thorn garden
Bypassing its deadly vigilant warden
A grey wanderer, gripped by boredom
I eat from the cloying apple of Sodom.
The wound in my chest begins to bleed
I am but a victim of my heart's own greed.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More