Friday, December 16, 2011


I became a stranger here
Before I knew it for sure.
I speak in a language forgotten
And I remember a history forsaken.

My eyes see ghosts in every doorway
And my ears hear words of the dead;
But my voice must have been discarded,
As my shabby shrivelled body was shed.

Acquiescence is met with indifference.
Protests draw sneering black scorn.
And it's best to expect more of nothing,
While praying that nothing will come of it.

Merchants and state see me as revenue
But they no longer value my labour.
At times I'm their temple's scapegoat,
Cruelly bled white for sins of my neighbour.

Mostly it seems sleep is my only true friend,
So I spend these ghastly winters in Elsinore:
Perhaps it's death's noxious dreaded nightmare
That bids me choose heartbreak instead of the horror.

Thursday, December 15, 2011


You stand straight up like a statue,
So I expect a state like stone;
But I touch texture unworldly -
Precious as if it were only on loan.

You speak with a sparkle,
Rippling with rhythms so strange;
My ears can hear your soft songs
And I revel in reading your range.

You veer into my vision
And I see your beauty so clearly;
Yet my feeble old eyes must blink
To take in your splendour so nearly.

You come to me so fragrant
With a perfume like pleasant patchouli;
And I swoon to its enchantment
Lost in a lair so wild and unruly.

You always draw my famished mouth
To a precocious point where I can savour
Luxurious lips and petal-scaped skin
Rewarding my love, my lust and favour.