ANNEX 1.0

“These days everyone is writing their final book,” Bonney notes in Our Death (Commune Editions, 2019), published just a month before he died. The ANNEX 1.0 commensurate with the fevered, queasy, anxious, often tedious nature of the current global mood.

The boor world is filled with more masks than human faces.

Carnal mortals now wear the mask that grins and lies,

Where it hides the cheeks and it’s shaded eyes.

The debt is paid to human guilt,

With torn hearts faking smile and mouth with myriad subtleties.

How the world is over-wise in counting all our tears and sighs!

Nay, let them only see the adequate, while the lummox wears the mask.

People today smile,

But, the cries, from tortured souls arise to Christ.

People today sing,

But, the clay beneath is so vile, that the feet run down against the mile.

So let’s play the right cards in the game of life.

Underneath the luminous stars on the black canvas,

With eyeball, the glitters and relish their blink.

Sweet syrupy jaw, rhyming and quarrelling to take a chance to overcome one,

Hands clasped and hashed with adjoined soul ushering love by telepathy.

Living in the arms scarfed around scruff.

Be the ears harking tales from the heart that makes you deaf,

That can only listen to true heart tales.

Be the blind that can only see the beautiful faces.

Be the stoner that can only smoke the bouquet.

Be the casualty that can only walk, as humanity a crutch.

Be the patient that can only be fed by kind hands.

Be the dead that can only die for others.

Stare the more galaxies in the eyes,

Than the number of stars in the sky.

Scent the more fragrant flowers in the body,

Than the fathomable flowers on the soil.

Comments

Wine From The Cask

A wish fluttered in my heart, A desire soon to be fulfilled. There's a grace she carries in her beauty, They belong in the heart, in the superior guild. I look into her heart, The beauty I read gave me realization; A fine lady, with warmth and good at the core, Covering no picture of physical description. Her beauty taught me what eyes are, And the words that create a poem; The story is engraved and made immortal, Unfurling untold takes in an exquisite rhythm. Unwittingly intoxicating, Words pour out like wine from a wooden cask. Drunk on stories and high on poems, I fall on her lap with a million stars to dusk. Leaking and dropping, It fell on me, feeding me peaceful sleep. I drowned, died, and was resurrected; I was dragged to a side unfathomably deep. Bright like a crowns smile, The charm turned my world around. In it, grey sky spoke of her fair fac...

A Girl

A Girl, Her soul a deep-wave pearl Dim, lucent of all lovely mysteries; A face flowered for heart’s ease, A brow’s grace soft as seas Seen through faint forest-trees: A mouth, the lips apart, Like aspen-leaflets trembling in the breeze From her tempestuous heart. She gave an apologetic shrug of the shoulders, as cold hands took hold of one warm and sensitive breast, Such: and our souls so knit, I leave a page half-writ The work begun Will be to heaven’s conception done.

Flur Through The Blur

She is the skipper at the porch with a storm of perfume, Husky are her eyes as the Correa dusky, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her hairs dark as the queen of the night. Then spake to an old sailor, "Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And tonight its blur, we see! I pray thee, put into a port, For I fear a hurricane." Sharper and deafening blew the wind, Gales from the northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like a cleanser. Down came the storm, The vessel in her strength; It didn't shudder her, unlike a frighted steed, She just wrapped the storm in her sea man's coat. She lashed the helm, all stiff and strong, With all face turned to the skies, The lantern cutting through the blurry sky, And she fixed the storm with her glassy eyes.

Vortex Pen

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