UNDERGROUND RETROSPECT SHOWCASE

This poem was a direct narrative regarding evil spirits my great grann in the Republic of Haiti seems to ramble about coming to pass  
Mache nan lafwa (Walk In Faith)  

Veil of darkness  
Midnight mind where twisted souls lark  
The light of the way dims its wicked pride  
Clad in disdain for a sinful ride  
Moon dances by spits of fire  
Raised flames of immortality its devious desires  
 
Who speaks for tongues so virtuous in deceit  
The abomination answered, of a conjured risen beast  
Walks upright, horns hidden so serene and so true  
Linguistic lines of spells, one must pity the fool  
Confectionary words of convincing  
Jinn words of numbered mementos, dispensing  
 
In a land way before time, Michael the Archangel cast Satan out  
Such a beautiful fallen Angel, transformation to grimness from heading south  
Earthbound from good to evil, abhorrent spews of its vile mouth  
Cherub Angels on land, are known to cringe about  
 
Hold fast and hold on  
A promise of serenity sings a unified song  
Glory’s footstool on earth will restore its Kingdom come  
Bounds of alliance, shall, and will be won  
 
On earth  
Spiritual casting of flames veiled in its cruel fallen birth  
From the four corners of practicing discord for a sinful worth  
Ashes to ashes, dirt to dirt  
As it is in heaven  
Look toward the stars, defend your honor of peace with mental treasured weapons  
One must be armored in faith, twenty-four seven  
 
 
 
 

The beach its pebbles hard beneath
for childhood dreams we bear the pain upon our feet
and shout with glee and wave the net upon the stick

Try and stride between the rocks
youth its balance is the stuff of fun
that learning curve is easier for some

To mix with academic greats
the pools of knowledge that they share
a prodogy to find a foothold with the words of sage

To carve that niche upon the typeset face
the hemit crab it shell so weak
inhabts and finds a home that is unique
  
That rock pool, refilled with each new tide
its life, a small aquarium within it hides
apparent sillness camoflaged upon the shaded sand

The creation forming waves that wand
reflections of the clouds, the sun, the moon
the bubble breaks and  throws its rings

 Talent just to spread,  each corner flung
to reach into our hearts and resonate
man and nature the symbiosis to create

To look and see what lies beneath
and always constantly refresh the drying kelp
all clarity, were that belief within yourself

I hear the creak of the floorboard
Quite loudly up there in the attic
I feel the room grow cold
I think there are ghosts in the house

I curl up in bed, with my blankets on
My feet are safely tucked within
Something may grab me from under
my bed, but not at my feet

I think there is a ghost standing
Behind me as I read my book
I feel its breath upon my cheek
So cold and icy, I can’t stand it

I hear the shower switched on
Cascading water within the room
Low laughter, like someone pleased
And then an eerie silence

There are ghosts in the house
Spectres that roam around
like inquisitive neighbours
who want to see every room

Or are they part of what was
Iiving their distant memories
briefly just for this night
not minding me, the intruder

Oh dear, they are singing together
downstairs, to an accompanying piano
I am not going to interfere
I am just going to sleep.

There's a cold breeze
coming through the back door
causing it to creak on its hinges,
Grandad's gone across the backs
to feed his pigeons.
 
I find him inside the empty loft
closing derelict cages,
gently I place an arm
around the confusion.
Using soft words we stumble outside
towards real moments.
 
The overgrown allotment glistens
through droplets, strung out
across gossamer connections
that tremble in the cold morning light.
We hear the rush of racing pigeons
and watch them disappear overhead
like ghosts into field mist.
 
Grandad stood staring at the sky,
"they're not coming back are they son?"
I put my coat around his shoulders,
'no Grandad they've been gone too long".
We start the slow walk back towards the house,
"someone will have to tell your Nan
she loved those birds"
"She's dead Grandad,
Grandma's dead".

 

And What Be This Stirring In Me Loins ?

It Must Be The Raging Whore In Me Moans ;

As The Whisper Of A Thousand Thrusts Of Upshoots
And The Open Invitations Of Blossoming Budlets ,
As The Surge Of Nature , Pounding In The Breast ,
Rising In The Flesh , Awash And Awake ,
An Unstoppable , Unleashed , Undeniable , Underlying
Current , Coursing And Conjuring , And Conquering
The Sleep Of Life Indrawn ;

As That Which Has Been , Becomes That Which Shall Be
The Languid Made Lascivious , By The Passion And The
Pulchritude Of A Sensual Seductive Surrounding ,
The Call To Arms And Lips And Locked Embrace ,
Echoed And Emulated , And Ecstatic In Essence ,
Empyreal , Yet Embodied , Necessary And Narcotic ,
All Pervasive And Pertinent , Mounting And Manic ,
As The Yearning , Resuscitated , Resurrected , Rebirthed ,
Renewed , Returns As The Ritual Of Mating ;

Risque , Presumptuous , Enchanting , Enthralling , Eloquent
I Shall Be , As The Words Woven Shall Charm The Chaste
Into The Minx , The Frigid Into The Freed ;The Resurgence
Of Rapture , Precaution Thrown To The Winds , As Power
Pent Is Pierced By Poignant Desire ;

Petulant Might Be Thy Lips , Point Blank Shall Be My Tongue
Speaking The Unspoken Since The Wheel Turned , And Your
Form Grew Cold And We Were Parted ;

Do You Hear Me , My Love ?

I Call You Forth , Forthright I Am , Upright In Stature ,
And Fixed In Gaze ;

Come Now...Let Us Dance This Rite Of Spring !