The Poet Sings of the City at Night


it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Always beautiful at night
The shadows somehow calling
I hear rain lightly falling
And just memory is sight
A plaintive, indifferent sound
Reflection running on the ground;

Always beautiful at night
A deep breath, a weary groan
To but see the lights of home
Steam draft catches flight
A world without length or breadth
And a thousand layered depth;

Always beautiful at night
A distant sound of moving cars
A siren flash beneath the stars
Footsteps pacing, ever-slight
Tires crunch and tires slick
The sound of evening is thick;

Always beautiful at night
The melancholy of old Noir
Under heavy clouds that soar
Dropping noise into your sight
Bright, bright, bright and mystery
Night hiding what you cannot see

Always beautiful at night
Dark towers cast against a cloud
Fast-moving, the wind is loud
And portend a sleeping might
A hundred specters without depth
Still in form the shadows leapt;

Always beautiful at night
Sky colored of another world
Racing clouds their courses swirled
Jet blinking eyes, an errant kite
A searchlight dances up and down
Against a tower, about the town;

Always beautiful at night
Lights twain in every sitting pool
Green and red and white may fool
Drooping and blinking sight
To see the street bedecked with cheer
To see the closing of the year;

Always beautiful at night
Neon's warm and handsome glow
Offices wink above, and it below
Green and yellow, red and white
And blue and every brazen face
Letters of dreams they still may trace;

Always beautiful at night
The shining towers exhilarate
The stars beyond will have to wait
They hum with other-worldly light
They stand tall, and brazen and gay
But vanish in the coming day.



it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
Moloch sits alone on Ælfred's throne
Laughing, like a deathmask of a child
While clerks their full reports now filed
Thus he sits as one, he sits alone
Sardonic, of well tempered ironies
While not one of them willingly sees
The trail of slaughter, of sacrifice
As fire leaves no remain, no trace of blood
Bones then perhaps, were cast into mud
Sunk quietly while men avert their eyes
These small heroes of fair omission
And now they have made a fission
Where once the crown a center held
So these long knives once dulled by peace
Have now found their dark release --
No animals killed nor trees were felled
But still it was that Gehenna he brought
And made as nothing for which they fought
And slept, and while they slept so sound
Their countrymen against all odds
Let in strange men and their strange gods
An army that must have shook the ground
And yet blindfolded by their words
Long they slept, and little they stirred
Now wake to the odor of a sacrifice
But he requires the body and the soul
No mere abuse will make him whole
And a just revenge; as cold as ice
On those silent, on those who knew
Will please him more, when he is through
For old Kronus must have his due.


it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
The pulse of things is stopping
If you can hear the sound between
The roar - both grandiose and mean
As though listening to the sea is dropping
A coin into a well as deep as the moon
Is far - wishing on the sound, a boon;
Cleft somewhere in the abyss of twain
As narrow as the edge of a dime
As the present is to the eye of time --
With a song sweet as medicine in refrain
And a noise that has no pattern at all
A beat, slight, might be heard to fall
Utterly unheard, but felt in some way
Is its sound real or but a wish failing
A request made by those dead and ailing
A hope against all hope - so then I say
This rhythm -- but our heartbeat dropping
The pulse of things is stopping.



it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/scott1723/6181608249In the direction of the sun
Ever setting, there is but one
way found – down; and fate
Refuses to reciprocate
Though he say not ‘kismet’
Refuse hitsuzen and yet
If starship goes not wind nor lee
It goes West: burning into the sea.
a postscript is here written:
a pass-word:
Stupid Outside Monsters In


The Husband's Song

it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
Though you style yourself so plain
I saw right through your little game
Long before you ever knew
You hid yourself quite well it's true
But a curling, caught, of the lips
Less than cautious swinging hips
A subtle joy caught in the hair
Softly it fluttered in the air --
Do they judge me a shallow one
Who does not believe in any fun
Because I caught truth in your eye
When they had bought a pretty lie?



it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Where belief ends there is nothingness
He who pretends this is not reason
Does he intend for more than a season
To loose belief once bound from the abyss?
Surely belief has ended for each in kind
Faith is spent and time is out of mind
It is but reasonable then only to hope
That good may come or the source of good
And that bare necessity obey as it should
And would end darkness in which men grope
Blindly, I mark, as born without sight
Those who are familiar to the night;
I tell you wherever they turn is death
Though a parable would learn them true
That they perish if they cannot pass through
But while it is they still have breath
They will be right to curse modernity
Though with sight they cannot see;
And rail against the degenerate things
Ugliness, hatred, the perverted mind
Lawlessness and all vice in kind
They can hope for belief, desire's wings
Might rapture them from deadly fire
Though belief can not for them transpire;
If they understood, then what would remain
Is to wait for light, as a mountain could
By rain and wind and fire and wood
Worn down flat, an uncarved plain
Yes! This necessity is true reason's span
But I am not a reasonable man.


The Whites of Their Eyes

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
My face grows weary in these days
We would love a cause to smile
To laugh that laugh without a style
To know a thing outside a maze
To forget a moment deception's ways;

Knowing at once some spare thing
Without a camera or microphone
But with the clear instrument alone
Known once as it was they used to sing
What cause of relief then would this bring;

We would like instead an honest war
For God knows we have prepared one
With no new thing under the sun
And old truth come, forgotten lore
And forgetting what our lies were for;

Am I beyond man for this admission
That we cannot agree, although we know
This self-same truth, and very slow
We grasp our steadfast opposition
We know we need not ask permission;

To know that it is still man you fight
And your fight is not misunderstanding
He and ye are not less man in landing
Blow upon blow as you face aright
The one you strike and drive to flight;

Do not despair that your schemes must fail
Do you truly rejoice in your broken state
Can you altogether never seek to retaliate
You have not understood at all, in this you ail
When death appears, man too must wail;

But know that when from sleep we arise
You who have brought this sleep upon us
Will you forget then what your glory was
Will you remember it beyond your lies
When you see it flashing in our eyes?



Lollypop Stick Sword by Jessica C
it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Principle of annihilation, the edge of creation
The mandate of heaven, the might of man
The instrument of slaughter; the ward of humankind
Dividing between true and lie, rank and station
The weapon of peace, emblem of forever war
A most perfect balance and yet always more
For such a thing we have no word
But because of this, we call it Sword.