sketch pad

meine umwelt

avec moi, sans moi,

par moi

Ahh… and the tales I shall unfold

May blast comprehension if the truth be told

An ode to the masters, martyrs and whims

A satyr on life and sullied daydreams


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The Light of Day

As the air passes

In putrid decay,

And the smile fades

With the light of day,

Then the phantoms leap

And the terrors play.

For the fragile dreams

You’ll ever reap

From the fearless chasms

Of the dark, dark deep

Will, with their splinters

And shards of shattered

Belief, pierce so deep,

Or as deep again.

The blood will pump

In full gushing throttle

But the fountain’s root

Is as mortal now as ever

And you’ll watch the

Masters’ graceful dance

And hear the full,

Throbbing chants

And drowsy honeydew

You’ll taste, as it

Drowns the bitter, bitter bile

While you retch and retch

And fade away,

Now, same as the light

Of day.

(12th Mar ‘96)

When next you walk

Along the waters edge

Gazing into the grey sea mist ahead;

Or when through a summer’s sylvan canopy

The shafts of light do penetrate

And make the woodland cover the soul’s adytum;

Or when from out of winter’s icy grip

A soft warm breeze, harbringer of spring

Does hold, caress and stroke thy mortal frame:

Think of me,

And the Love we shared

Before the storm clouds broke,

And you and I as flotsum wasted

Upon a nihilistic sea,

And the god of Chaos reigned

For I shall always remember you!

And ten thousand years from now

When you and I are but ancestral phantoms

We will walk as shadows, hand in hand,

Down those empty, resonating caverns of time.

Anon (‘96)