Happy Monday

It’s Monday,
A great day…
For some;
If not,
None.

It’s casual Monday,
That’s my news for today;
Dinner’s cooking right now,
And I’ve been into town;
Gone to work,
A colleague made me smirk.

The weather’s nice for a Monday,
Well, that’s what most people say.
It’s a little bit windy,
A little bit sunny;
The weather knows what it’s doing,
And yet, my tea is still brewing.

What does Monday bring?
Maybe a diamond ring?
Perhaps a brand new swing?
Not really sure what tomorrow brings;
We are such curious little things.

What is the day today?
It’s Monday.
And the date?
I don’t know, sorry mate.

Well, today is Monday.

Happy Monday.

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Concrete

I have had those “thoughts”,
And have tried to carry out those “thoughts”,
Those contemplations
And when I can’t see or hear, I am at rest,
When I can’t feel

Beauty divine
Peace sublime.

Concrete walls once grey,
Lathered in red dismay,
Glorified regrets,
Fruitful bets,
Silly little hopes
Locked up in your throat;

Another sodden chapter,
Another rotten ‘Happily Ever After’,
No consistency in the way you swagger,
Cheap talks, nothing’s all the matter.
For love me now, for love me then,
Tainted love, never again.

No windows, no doors,
Sticky hope for that call,
Someone or something,
Ready to break in.

Empty Space

A space left so far in between,
Yet too thin for a murmur of air to escape,
Beyond the emptiness lay transcripts of a thief,
Even deeper, lay the petals of a wilted red rose;
Innocence torn,
Beauty supressed;

Stolen and given,
A flurry of bargain,
A muster of flesh in the lake of silk,
End was nigh,
And so as little you and I.

Alexandria

Long had it been,
Perhaps. But there it happened;
I recall a night so far as the moon itself,
You had just breezed in,
No business was discussed with peers,
But goodness, did you possess such wit,
Such charm, such elegance;
You wore it so well…
I quite fancied that,
Or in fact, fell for it,
Fell hard enough for it to depart
From my beloved of the time.

Of course it was wrong, but my wrongs
Weren’t just mine.
Troublesome works echoed,
Believed to be as raw as the wounds I
Had given you not so later on;
Merciless, ruthless, cold and damned,
I had left my beloved for you,
A barrier to cross, peace to pieces,
I dropped you like the brick that
Struck my boyish endeavour;
I had broken your heart,
And wanted it back anyway,
The wise would have told you
That this would be the masterful trend to come.

Episodes of passion, lust and anger,
Oh, the flurry of our ruthless passion,
I loved and I wanted,
We breathed in the oxygen we made,
Pulled at the seams that our hard love strained,
God, had it been so raw and new,
Our tongues spoke more than just the language of love;
They spoke of anger, of hurt, pain and loss,
Words ripped right through our hearts,
On and off like an infectious itch,
Your words and memory etched not just on
My heart, but mind and soul,
Scars that fester upon my ridden skin,
Memories of the monster that lay dormant in me,
Oh, I longed desperately for tender loving care,
Understanding, knowledge of the demons
Which were no fabrications to yours,
You longed for belonging,
To be as good and as better than the people marked you for,
I made you belong, belong so dear,
That craving, that addiction,
You. Yes, you are my addiction,
And sought it to be my mission,
I gave promises that meant nothing,
When my drunken possession
Lay by the tragedy at hand;
A mother fell,
A father abandoned his children,
A sister worried for the broken,

I wanted to better you,
And better the broken in myself;
That sense and senselessness,
The glory of love,
So glutton, so greedy,
That feeling of belonging,
The incentive,
My incentive, you,
Love, you are my incentive,
And memories will not give me that
Given choice to let that go,
A boy who grew into his vengeful skin,
A wake in his eyes, now a man,
A man with nothing you want or need,
But a crazed mad man who carries
Nothing but broken glass in his pocket,
A fountain of his literature burst the cracks
After the empire had crumbled at his feet,
Paintings that hang on snapped wire
Remind him of the beautiful mess he made,
But selflessness no longer parades these empty lies,
I cannot give, but can pretend,
As if our love was a hidden theatre,
My heart: the stage and my mind: the curtains,
We’ll entertain until the blood drains from my veins.

Oh, but my pride takes no joy in the lost,
It possess me, weakens me selfishly,
A man cannot better himself with pride so well,
He cannot let go of both,
It will kill him, slowly and deeply,
From his soul right up through his mind,
Then his body, and finally to his grave,
Rotting until he lives in the worm that he became.

My love lives in the memories,
And the literature that litters your filters,
Literature that I didn’t write for so long,
And there, you gave me something to write about;

Alex was your name,
Alexandria, your alias,
One which peers made of,
And a name which meant more to me;
Everything we made and shared,
Was encapsulated in your alias,
It holds meaning,
Earthed deep like seed in my life,
So beautiful that it renders me weak,
But a reminder of what I did and said,
I abused you verbally,
And it hurt.
It hurt you badly,
So badly that it would snap patience
And surface questions;
I’d roar at you, call you names,
Mock you until you listened,
I’d push you around with selfish pride,
Though I wept, blindly deluded,
You wept because I had cut and bruised you,
Belittle you,
I would return to you,
Calmed and measured,
Pour my heart out to you,
Feeling pathetically sorry for myself,
Outridden by stupidity,
I knew I had done wrong,
But what better way to better myself?
I was in love, and it ruled me out so well,
We argued about stupid things,
Our minds were as attuned as the facts we read,
One tugged the other, set in stone,
One way was better than the other,

I haven’t forgotten your name,
What you mean to me,
What I did to you,
And what you bestowed upon me,
You saved me, and I saved you,
But I twisted and changed the more we fought,
Soon to fall into the darkest depths once more…

I betrayed you with broken promises,
But, God, I am not fit for you,
Fitted we were, but the chance of me,
Being with such a beautiful young woman,
Who’s set for a future without a monster of a man like me,
I cannot bear this torment, this torture,
Your beauty and face pulls my ship down into the reefs,
The memories that shine through your eyes,
Those lips which titillate and tantalise,
It pulls and rips me apart from the inside and out,
Nights here and there, just darkness that screams,
I worry and I cry,
Draw me out and bleed me dry,
Walls that surround me beat my knuckles raw,
My head, hit over and over again,
Reboot the wretched once more,
Nothing, nothing again,
Twist and roll,
I can write, I can rehearse,
I can bleed and I can kick and shout,
But nothing, nothing no more, no better,
I am ripped apart and suffering,
I lost my future in my own hands,
Your wondrous intellect, spread across every spectrum,
Your wavy locks, those deep brown eyes,
The numerous façades you had with just a turn,
Your laugh, your smile,
Your voice, and your sweet song,
All gone, all gone,

So much, just so much,
Too much, but enough muchness;
Live a life safely, for my spirit will rest upon your shoulder,
Watch every street you walk to guide you home,
Watch your career grow into a passion,
Your dreams that you always told me about,
That country house where your restaurant will be,
Or the love for make up to lead you further,
Felix, Tala-Nyx, names for your heirs, perhaps,
No matter the journey, be it the best without trouble,
Without me

You followed me into the dark,
To hold my hand, to fix me,
Our song, that song,
I’ll listen to you sing until I am deaf,
Until I cannot see through the tears anymore,
Until my heart skips and stops,
And until I remember that very moment,
When I met you,
When I said that I love you;
I love you, Alex, forever and always.

It will carry me to rest,
The lost paradise,
I love you, I still love you,
I know no better than that,
Everyone can see,
Everyone can shake their heads,
But I give, I give,
And there you are,
A perfect fabrication of my home,
Where I felt safe from the faces,
From the broken,

Branded me as a stranger –
You will not be so interested any more,
My conscience had told me so,
And there it happened,
In a familiar place, at a familiar time,
Goodbye isn’t even right,
“I love you” would not satisfy,
A call, a face,
To touch your hand would be a dream come true,
But it’s gone, my hardened loss,
The tragic spin of madness engraves and buries itself,
My incentive
Live for me,
Remember me,

Because,
I cannot bear it anymore,
Sweet, sweet, Alexandria.

Reign

Speak no further, she said,
No man like you lives so passionately,
And if one does so, be he a mindless fool,
A hethan, no valiant than the birds that prey
Upon him.

If a man like you
Can build an empire with just words,
Then surely he can tear it straight down too?

But of course, her words lingered,
Lingered in the air between them,
A blur nothing that unhinged his iron focus,
For he questioned,
No, yearned for his trust to
Answer a forever-haunting echo,
His love, his heart,
Oh, did he yonder!

While his heart did roar like a broken engine,
His hands shook with eagerness,
Pining for his so-eager neck.

His savvy heart got the best of him,
He knew,
Well of course, she knew,
Within that period locked between them
He knew that there was something,
Surely?

A fort-night ago,
Tender nights entertained summer’s bliss,
Clear midnight-skies filled the atmosphere,
An array of stars speckled the sky,
Lovers shared these endless nights,
Swimming together in the vast
Oceans of sheets,
While the wind carried their blossoming sighs.

Love, my dear sweet love, he pined
In their sultry vendetta,
Fill me with your grace,
Your love,
Your everything,
I need
And I want,
A wave of euphoria  lathered them
For the last time.

He realised it.
He saw it glisten in her eyes,
He watched it crawl beneath her skin,
Had it not been any sooner, he would have
Fought this war with nothing but his own bare hands,
Oh, but he was a sodding fool.

He spat fire,
While she threw the embers into his eyes,
The empire hand fallen,
Their paradise,
Nothing but a ruin between them,
Crumbled, broken, littered,
Where had the fire gone that powered
This beautiful paradise?

Say no more, he said,
There are things far better left unsaid,
Unspoken promises should be left veiled,
The time between and around us,
Has bled all energy out left to fight,
May a messenger keep us by a thread,
But lest we not forget where our hearts lie,
For the future will guide us to paradise,
And rebuild the empire we once had.

Harticus De Tseer

Muster the unearthed manner
And rid the putrid healing that dwells
Within this useless fathom,
Denounce the endless sorrows
And lift the unfitting apologies,
Tread waters that shudder at your feet
Only to deepen and drown at your hands,
Touch and caress; there sleeps a reflection,
A lost soul, empty and broken,
One that begs the rain and wind where to go,
Only to be presented with hostile silence.

Sylvia Plath – Insomniac

This poem is just amazing. I can feel the protagonist’ suffering through each and every strain of word. It flows beautifully and the tone is almost inviting… All the strains are echoed in Plath’s flawless lexis – I am truly hooked and in favour of her style.

The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole —
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon’s rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments–the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue —
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed