A Sonnet to Lustre: The Beauty of the Light

O'Lustre! How you babble; as sweet as swiftest brook.
Arousing with your love-song; those thrills of dark unknown.
Cavorting like a feather; who dances with lady luck.
Conversing with great vigour; in deep yet, ghastly tone.
Creating sultry women; who skip and leap around.
Conserving virtues pillar; with lazy, dumb baboons.
Controlling the thralls hammer; which smashes on the ground.
Castrating without notice; spirits who praise the moons.

O'Lustre how we love thee and could not do without.
I fear that without ye', I'd live my life in doubt.

The Fates: Final Version

I have finished off the third and final Canto of The Fates for you to enjoy now! There may be future revisions to some punctuation and minor words but overall I'm extremely happy with the tone, voice and structure of this poem so I do not foresee any dramatic overhauls. This is probably the first ever complete, revised and finished poem on this blog post as well. So I hope that you appreciate a more polished experience with this.

Canto I:

As she whispered, sweet vengeance- in ghostly prose-

From lips of sanguine and devils tongue;

The daggers blood ooze fueled his woes.

Alas he did quiver, as if to suppose.

He had seen his fate, freshly hung.

As she whispered, sweet vengeance- in ghostly prose.

He screamed, "I am trapped, in Bluebeard's coves.

The victim of deception sung!"

The daggers blood ooze fueled his woes

"M'lady I prithee, that in my throes

you shall not leave me on rafters strung!"

As she whispered sweet vengeance- in ghostly prose

"I cannot forsake you, for God only knows,

the justice I feel in breathless lung."

The daggers blood ooze fueled his woes.

"Are we the horrors, or Greek heroes?

Who in hubris Nemesis stung?"

As she whispered sweet vengeance- in ghostly prose-

The daggers blood ooze fueled his woes.

Canto II:

Behind her lips a smile bloomed,

like foul smelling ivy on broken wall.

As in her eyes, the flame consumed.

The deed was sealed, so she presumed,

That he, in foolish folly would fall.

Behind her lips a smile a bloomed.

She knew that for him Atropos loomed

provoked by Hades cackling call.

As in her eyes, the flame consumed

As she was in flight, he’d surely be damned!

Like clueless, confused and subservient thrall.

Behind her lips a smile bloomed.

As he was now finished- she assumed,

that she could escape this heavenly hall.

As in her eyes the flame consumed.

For when his ashes were exhumed,

they would see the maggots crawl.

For behind her lips a smile bloomed,

as in her eyes a flame consumed.

Canto III:

Inescapable providence: where none succeed!

Our blood, for their blood; their bones, for our soul,

Is this the God’s only reprieve?

The haunted blade it must receive

It’s ritual coat to make it whole.

Inescapable providence: where none succeed!

In her stomach, where anger seethes,

Stab her breast and pay her toll.

Is this the God’s only reprieve?

Though she gargles you’re not relieved.

To burning hell you have to stroll.

Inescapable providence: where none succeed!

With stabs unrelenting: you must concede

Your life was controlled by mystical scroll.

Is this the God’s only reprieve?

In blood her smile did not recede,

In blood his rage made him whole.

Inescapable providence: where none succeed!

Is this the God’s only reprieve

The Fates

This is a little poem based off a drawing we were shown during a seminar yesterday at my University. I decided to do it in villanelle format because it is a poetic form I have been very eager to pursue for a while now. As always, enjoy!

Canto I

As she whispered sweet vengeance- in ghostly prose-
From lips of sanguine and devils tongue.
The daggers blood ooze fueled his woes.

Alas he did quiver, as if to suppose.
He had seen his fate, freshly hung.
As she whispered sweet vengeance- in ghostly prose.

He screamed, "I am trapped, in Bluebeard's coves,
the victim of a deception sung!"
The daggers blood ooze fueled his woes

"M'lady I prithee that in my throes,
you shall not leave me on rafters strung!"
As she whispered sweet vengeance- in ghostly prose

"I cannot forsake you, for God only knows,
the justice I see in the breathless lung."
The daggers blood ooze fueled his woes.

"Are we the horrors, or Greek heroes
who through black envy, have been stung?"
As she whispered sweet vengeance- in ghostly prose-
The daggers blood ooze fueled his woes.

Canto II.

Behind her lips a smile bloomed,
which crept like ivy on castle wall,
as in her eyes, a flame consumed.

For as he panicked, she presumed,
he in foolish folly would fall.
Behind her lips a smile a bloomed.

She knew that for him Atropos loomed,
provoked by Hades cackling call.
As in her eyes, a flame consumed

Like enchantress, she knew she left him for damned,
and had made him her subservient thrall.
Behind her lips a smile bloomed.

As he was now finished she assumed,
that she could escape this heavenly hall.
As in her eyes the flame consumed.

When his ashes and skull were exhumed,
they only saw the maggots crawl.
For behind her lips a smile bloomed,
as in her eyes a flame consumed.

Tock: #2

I've managed to work up another stanza for Tock which I'm very happy with once again. With it being my post popular post on my writing so far I hope that you will like this as much as last time.

You reader:
                  Believed that there on the platform
my gaze was glued; on the hands of the round clock,
which pierced, like halberds and penetrated: as if to inform,
me of my vain attempt to try and lock
myself away, from the cemetery and the coffins knock.
As they lay, lifeless, in the circular pantheon, who
can say that the clocks numbers are not taking stock?
The guillotine falls on every minute, as if to
accentuate the care free luggage, and my journey, en lieu.

Something must have gone wrong for me.
Was I misinformed of a delay, or a connection missed?
Perhaps if I'd hired a contact to stay and foresee
the state of this station my burden would not persist;
and this suitcase of the damned could be cast away, and dismissed.
For I do not know if my sanity wishes it to be banished
or  if it depends solely upon it to exist.
What seems certain, is that the baggage cannot be vanished,
and that it stares at me like a foe who it has vanquished.

Follow me on Twitter: @Philip_A_Bell

Tock

This is a single stanza of poetry I managed to conjure up today and felt like you might enjoy a bit of Spenserian style poetry! 

I do have plans to expand this for I'm extremely pleased with the results so far and believe it could make for a wonderful piece.

You- reader:

                        Believed that there on the platform

my gaze was glued; on the hands of the round clock,

Which pierced, like halberds, and penetrated: as if to inform,

me of my vain attempt to try and lock

myself away from the cemetery and coffins knock.

As they lay, lifeless in the circular pantheon, who

can say that the clock’s numbers are not taking stock?

The guillotine falls on every minute as if to

accentuate the care free luggage, and my journey, en lieu.

Mesmer's Mist: The Electric Odyssey

The Mesmer's Mist is actually part of a song I decided to write the other day after being inspired by Alexander Pope's form of mock epic poetry. I'm hoping to write a whole album using this form of mock epic set in modern times which will be called the 'The Electric Odyssey'. I thought it would be interesting just post my attempt at using heroic couplets and to see how people respond to it.

A quick last note is that this song is incomplete and will have much more to it yet and I expect to rewrite it about 100 times yet!

Once, there was a child born

Into a violent broken home.

Lazarus, was this heroes name

And he would rise, to epic, uncharted fame.

Even if, the voices in the street

Kicked him about like a piece of meat:

His sword of words would arise

And make the thugs howl in cries,

“Lazarus, you fool don’t you see

The pointless nature of your folly.

You’re weak and no-one cares for you,

Why don’t you accept it as true”?

As Lazarus’ tears stained the grass

The thugs they began to amass:

Flexing their legs and readying their fists,

Lazarus prayed for mesmer’s mist

To descended and save him from certain doom.

Which as the seconds passed seemed to loom,

And propel him towards a gritty fate,

But then a light; not to late,

Beamed down from heavens and his prayer,

To release poor Lazarus from his nightmare.

Remember to follow me on Twitter @Philip_A_Bell for updates and other random things

Poems #2: Miserere (A re-write)

A quick preface before this poem. I decided based on some feedback I received to radically alter Miserere into a new format. I shall not say anymore than that for I shall leave the interpretations to yourselves!

Some quick edits were made on (16/02/2013) which include a few tweaks to wording and grammar.

As Eris' apple grows

in the chasms void,

my voice, is destroyed;

by superfluous prose

which whispers wistful woes

of a past, devoid

of feelings, I avoid.

So, may silence by my requiem;

and salvation in my tears.

May my elegy be solemn;

and my freedom last for years.

May god have mercy on my soul;

and reconcile me as a whole.

Poems #1: 'Miserere'

How the faces of vacant gazes

look on my image with sunk, stoic stares

and miss the chasm which blatantly glares,

into the darkness where my soul meets the styx

and reveals the rift of emotional blitz.

How they ignore the beasts deadly roar

who howls from within long, leeching lies,

which scream in torment the satanic sighs,

of the wandering priest whose evil within

bleeds the stinking foul faith of fastidious sins.

[Pause]

Perhaps as I face the pulpit with my head bowed,

I shall tear from me, my death's warrant,

which hangs on my neck singing soft blasphemy in my ears.

Like the trumpets which blare so mighty and proud,

my image shall be abhorrent.

For Eris shall lay her apple with her snarling, devilish leers.

May silence be my requiem,

and salvation in my tears.

May my elegy be muted,

and my freedom last for years.