Ode To Beauty

Describing physical beauty
Should never begin with a form,
Society’s circular cruelties
Turn falsehoods into the norm.

So firstly undressing a kindness
For so long stowed in your heart,
Sharing love’s like-mindedness,
Sublimer sleeps the art.

All love is loving in layers,
Our bodies are only the start;
I’d rather see your soul flourished,
Where the lips of souls then part.

Exile

Bereavements are eternal,
Curdled in blood;
Uncured, diurnal,
Bereft by time’s flood.
Each one is complex,

As sure and unique
As rings we keep hidden
In petrified trees,
Felled through our forests
Of fossilised dreams.

And when bereft,
The grief is unending;
Truth’s sinking incisors
Deride all impressions,
Like scars from a moth

Made marks from her teeth;
The moth is a moment
Where your love in exile
My fate made complete.
Although these events

Have long since deceased,
Like an arrowhead
Truly, poison-dipped,
Buried in muscle
Or abscessed knee

Conditions our gait,
Makes hobbled hopes weak.
Mine is the kind
You’ll seldom see,
The grief for my child

Alive without me.
Therefore we are haunted
And also the ghosts,
For life left us daunted
And tied to our posts.

Water Canons

I’ve been craving bacon again;
In all my self-imposed laws
It’s a sin. Suddenly
I wondered what became of you,
As I might some day too become
Reincarnated on a lower rung;
So I placed my sandwich down
On a plate, and pushed it away.

It is more or less the same
As taxpayers’ dollars
Remunerating suppliers
(Often related to legislators
With spending decisions to make)
Of rubber bullets and pepper spray.
For water canons, will always
Be bought, come what may,
By the drowning.