All is Calm
I
Five hours, please
Just enough time to
Sail away,
ride away
Surely a jewelled stallion
May take my
Last spot at pasture
Enraptured,
a gilded crown,
not a frown from the bow
Just luminescent
Liquid diamond
Goodbye, Old World—
Would you pray for me yet?
II
Greetings from my castle,
a wave from the walls.
Exiled Vixen,
enamoured and vain.
Confession uncomprehended,
an apology from God,
Whilst gears tick,
a trick to keep you stuck.
Your beckoning finger
Cannot drag me from this villa,
Just as the wind
Will never encompass
The rain.
The prayer is silent.
Penance can wait.
III
The sparrow flies
beyond four walls;
between the seasons,
She lies.
Hopping ’cross sand
and glass.
A freedom unchained,
a supreme love,
ungained yet sitting
like a phantasy
’twixt sweet pollen,
angles askew,
a perfection unfound
in even the Tetrahedron.
You seal on a paper heart,
feel the warm air
in December.
IV
There was a reason:
To see life.
Truly.
To live — that
is it.
Autumn — the first.
Brown hair.
The fort of dreams.
Godfather to existence.
Amber glint.
Lingering spit.
Truth.
Beauty.
V
Winter, the last.
The jewelled stallion
prays for me.
Whilst angels dance
through blonde highlights,
And rooks knell
like the church tower’s bell.
Turquoise ripples,
chattering forms in blue.
A great, slight distance
from you.
Good morning—
open your eyes,
face the end.
VI
Weak profile and ragged
hair — red spells death
Crimson cloth unveils
nothing more.
Acceptance.
No new sight,
you might say
I’m sorry
For rolling through
and across
Celephaïs’ dreamt walls.
Lying in vulnerable grace
spread eagle
torn through by
ragged arrow tip,
descending.
VII
The lone drifter must
feel like Jean Seberg.
Dutch courage to die.
But these thoughts
worry her not—
instead,
a chance smile.
The smile — the
very same—
returns, many
years on.
When she thinks of the sun,
the gentle yet chilling
breeze,
the absence of gulls,
the soft lows of the sea.
VIII
Cigarettes and bottles
of beer are this
generation’s fossils.
Snow dove on the sand
Clatters into the sought blue,
far above
our shared love
of this lone moment.
The grace of infinitesimal
grains, soft as the
fur of an Andalusian dog.
No blade crosses the solar eye
as cornflower canvas
penetrates the self.
This moment, here to stay.
IX
Vision at last returns
Burns that cast religion
To seek a being
Worthy of the throne
To sift through callous letters
Whilst swarthy natives
Know you better
Than the wall you crash against
Heart menstruation,
A political demonstration,
Policeman dressed
in black.
A prayer for the slow
A prayer for the meek
A prayer for the soft glow
and a prayer for me:
the weak.
X
A return to arms.
A dry, salty beach.
Foreign conversations
from behind doors ajar.
Exchange of ideals.
An ever-present dread
Coming closer,
getting further away.
Apologies and hymns.
Hands held wide
to let in the new world.
A gift of pain, black tendrils.
A masque of warm rain,
Sitting innocent
on a bed of nails.
XI
Life can be found in death—
Without posthumus decay
there can be no laughter,
no love, no shared smiles.
Gentle crashing, closed eyes.
A sweet summer scent
so far from its home.
I embrace it.
I remind it gently
Not to wander too far—
for even seasons can get lost.
There will always be life—
Just as death will always
be with us.
You cannot run — enjoy
What there is, friend.
XII
Castles made of sand and glass,
Blasted heaps of terror
Loom desolate over my home.
Alone they march,
These monoliths,
Never hiding in Shath’s cellar.
Right here—
Right now.
I hold my warning.
Tomfoolery of Chronos,
Dream-state of Celephaïs.
Whilst gulls return, and
Stallions stride, and
Solemn prayers are sung;
We welcome in the new world:
We shed our cowls of grey.
Jormunghast 