Monthly Archives: October 2013

Translated from French to English by James McGowan

O Beauty! Do you visit from the sky

Or the abyss? Infernal and divine,

Your gaze bestows both kindnesses and crimes,

So it is said you act on us like wine.

Your eye contains the evening and the dawn;

You pour out odours like an evening storm;

Your kiss is potion from an ancient jar,

That can make heroes cold and children warm.

Are you of heaven or the nether world?

Charmed Destiny, your pet, attends your walk;

You scatter joys and sorrows at your whim,

And govern all, and answer no man’s call.

Beauty you walk on corpses, mocking them;

Horror is charming as your other gems,

And murder is a trinket dancing there

Lovingly on your naked belly’s skin.

You are a candle where the mayfly dies

In flames, blessing this fire’s deadly bloom.

The panting lover bending to his love

Looks like a dying man who strokes his tomb.

What difference, then, from heaven or from hell,

O Beauty, monstrous in simplicity?

If eye, smile, step can open me the way

To find unknown, sublime infinity

Angel or Siren, Spirit, I don’t care

As long as velvet eyes and perfumed head

And glimmering motions, o my queen, can make

The world less dreadful, and the time less dead.

If the Forest only knew

That its branches breed fire

That its vines string bows

That its soil bares blood

From ne’er sought after foes.

That it shelters crooks and thieves

That its once strong oaks,

Lay razed in the age of modernity

That its rivers flow tainted

with our indiscriminate pesticide.

That mankind’s misshapen footprint is

Implanted prominently in its hide.

I sit under a wise and gnarled tree

I ask, “If only the forest knew,

Would it grow shrewd?

Would the plush green

turn to poisonous red?

Would more families struggle

with mouths unfed?

Why can we destroy so much and

Claim to prolong the world’s end?


Note: This may look awfully familiar to some! I dug it up and took another shot at it 🙂

To Be a Cynic:

This wasn’t the bar for me.

I already knew when that

Burly gentlemen

With “security” on his chest

Told me to tuck in my shirt…

My fucking shirt?!.

Coming from a roided out


Taking admittance at a glorified dive.

Is it my appearance? Am I not human enough?

Does my vagabond hair make you squirm?

Are my trousers not haute couture?

For a crowd so shrewd and resentful

Would acquire even Dionysus’ spurn

“Don’t worry I’ll be outta here soon (asshole)”

The “asshole” was inferred…


It was a birthday party;

I barely knew the host.

I Met her at a party once

Since then she’s been a ghost.

She walks a fine line

Between a mere Human and


Wearing a little black dress,

Brown hair down,

And no makeup, unlike the rest.

Classy with the devil in her eyes.

Though, the music is too loud.

No conversation to be had.

Just jive with the music,

And nod as if you understand.

She doesn’t remember my name.

It’s cool.

I got you an adventurous book

And some wine,

For a rainy day.

The best taste without taking out a loan

Or so I’m told.

Enjoy it in your easy chair,

Near the fireplace, if you have one.

Or scatter candles everywhere.

If you dare…

Lose yourself in a fantasy world

Far away from our own

I long to go with you,

But it’s time for me to go home

A bitter-sweet ending

Saved from the DJ’s assault

Yet ripped from a heavenly sight

Because the cynic in me, rules the night

Memories shown dark

Pushed into the depths

Of my subconscious

Waiting to flood my dreams

To torture a ragged mind

There is no resisting

Even in the writing

Portraying her terribly

Sullying my image

Of her past presence.

Still a peaceful sleep

Evades me, with constant

Threats to unravel my progress

The glue has no time to set

As Autumn’s dawn hastens west

My attempts range wide

Twisted and relentless

Still the dreams, they

Never go away

How can I make them

See things my way?

The wench who lies, claims a humanitarian prize.

Her philosophical cacophony, takes hold of thee.

“It’s not you, it’s me” she speaks in sparse varieties.

The meaning repeats and she nails the introduction.

Riding high on her studded saddle, specialized in corruption

She can say it’s for the best when there’s no data to attest

And with her word as a granite foundation there’s no life

To suckle from its breast.


The Way it Goes

My protoplasmic shell sits warm in the Summer sun,

while my soul lies trapped in the frozen tundra.

The two cannot coexist, without negating creation;

resulting in, psychological frustration.

An impasse in the innards of a ruined soul,

between warring generals of Good and Evil.  

Time will not heal, nor will the Summer sun loosen their grasp.

Instead I remind myself of the days we spent together.

Remembering the good, the bad, and everything between.

A tickle of warmth, to break the firing line, a brief reprieve.

Living like a slave to buried memories.

We shined like the brightest stars

even on the darkest of nights.

Yet we never knew when to give up a fight.

I guess this is where I find the light,

or recess into the shadow-less night. 

love… will I ever get you right?

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When his subconscious finds difficulty in accepting their reality

The will to feel real overshadows the clapping seal embodied.

Such a good boy, such a kind boy, his A-list grin fool’s so many

Such a patient boy, such a clever boy, his mind tormented, trembling.

At the thought of life in servitude, wrought from our fore-father’s vain;

Attempts at instilling moral values, to condemn the “insane”.

The leaders we trust to forge a path, forge their own into fame

And leave us hopelessly, inexplicably, thrusting for the same. 

What is the point of breathing in,

when a mournful sigh is all that follows,

Tumblers of sparkling gin, a dopamine binge

simply numbs a heart so hollow…

devour the flower until eyelids cower

toward the hours of unconscious slumber

For reveries ne’er dwell in a haze

Induced by malevolent power

My elementary (by comparison) take on Aldous Huxley’s, Doors of Perception. Not by any means a repetition of what was written by him, but it is the way I feel most content viewing it.

Do not fear opening the doors of life. Within they conceal untold riches; a
world neglected by our manic desire for a normalcy created within our
biased ranks, only taking the path most traveled, through a gaudily
decorated corridor of all materialistic possessions and carnal desires we are
told to covet, a form of imprisonment. All there to tempt those reduced to
communal idealism into false emotional security, rather than explore the
realms which call to them singularly; an opportunity to truly see and accept
themselves as nothing more or less than Simply “alive”.

Though You would be a fool to not be cautious of what you may become, as
with every door you open, the unknown rears its head. You are aware of the
fear of leading yourself to potential oblivion, however, the focus
encompassing what lay ahead, what awaits you; the will to move on, to
“break on through to the other side” with no remorse, and no regrets, just a
pure, innocent passion to enjoy life as it exists as itself, not as we were bred to envision it. And
to experience those doors without the tainted approval of the public,
opening those port holes to infinite knowledge, refusing to close them as
we walk through. For we have limitless psychological capabilities and yet
so often, we ignore or are incapable (sometimes unwilling) of hearing the call.