Poem: "Two Lyrics about Autumn"

I
Persephone adjusts her veil;
the dryads flee from the pool
as the goddess begins her descent
to the underworld, attended by shades
flittering like a mosaic.

Fauns and wild beasts
dance in a circle, trembling
like the leaves that
tumble like souls around their heads,
falling in scarlet and gold

gashes cut by the rough wind;
and the wind still retains some tunes
left over from summer:
it breathes melody, note-by-note,
into the cool azure

sky, letting
frost and unfeeling breezes
drift
in solitude and ragged
breaths

to the grass and fallen leaves,
passing through the atmosphere
as Persephone's feet clatter,
drunk on ritual seasonal sadness
down to the obsidian throne.
II
Autumn falls in stages;
the twilight of the year is
slow; it is almost unnatural
in how we grow accustomed
to it. We seldom think

of Autumn in
terms of the mechanics, in terms
of the fleeting
cessation of nature
and nature's gears.

We seldom lend
our lyrical faculties
to pondering
the moment that persists
for three months

when the world
is bathed in rough, sensual
cold
that melts the summer with
intensity,

leaving the world
caught in a crimson
moment, frozen
in an all-consuming
autumnal fire.

Hangover

Six o'clock.
Sun pours through my blinds,
and I begin to move. I shift,
wormlike, ensconced in thoughts
of other minds.
A ghostly drizzle and drift
Come through the showerhead. I lift
my blemished psyche with its rots
to be cleansed, opened, polished. I unlock
the mailbox, pull out unwrapped, half-assed gift
after mundane gift from coworkers and friends,
then shuffle back to where it starts and ends.
I stop the alarm clock.

I eat my usual oatmeal with tea
(no berries this time; I must go to the store.)
I turn on the TV, everything's a bore.
I look outside, the raindrops still obscure
my windows like they did the night before.

I try to recollect,
I try to remember,
I try to ponder,
I try to resurrect,
I try to wonder
if it was nothing, that night in late November,
when he and I met up and got to chatting...

Damn!
The kettle hisses,
boiling over.
I set my thought process aside,
Focus solely on the action...
Steam scalds me, and I still feel his kisses
eliciting such tender moans,
reactions,
jagged breaths drawn in and out
between enormous groans...
The room
felt so immense and turbulent
for what felt like hours...
We lay there, spent,
two youths gasping for breath, the scent of flowers
wafting in through open windows to cover
his mess of cute blond hair, and mine of brown...
I can still see that little semi-frown,
that cute moue...
Another nameless lover
is shattered by the Lethe of hangover.

And after this,
after the bottles lying around my room,
after the pain prescribed to end all pain,
after the feelings of doom,
will I be whole again,
like I was then?

The scent of flowers in the morning
is making my head erupt with memories
of black crepe and an unopened tomb
with the only hope of resurrection
contained inside my head,
contained inside the bottle,
contained inside the lilac.

Poem: "Adonis Resurrected"

I am flooded with joy
when your hair trembles,
a golden moment
curled in my hand,
preserved and lost;

when I touch your cheek,
it unravels in shades of pink,
opening like a rose
at the first instance of sunlight;

when I run my thumb
gently over your soft
crimson lips,
I feel them
explode,
heavy with the sweet pollen
of this moment;

when I kiss you
I get drunk from just the taste
of the heavy wine of Eros
bubbling up from some hidden spring
at the completeness of you,
my own Adonis
brought back to life
from the tomb of age
and the dust of obscurity;

I feel your chest heave
when we kiss,
I revel in the perfection
of you, my Adonis;

I dare not close my eyes,
for I want to praise the
completeness
of your form with all my senses:

my eyes are blessed,
my hands are blessed,
my ears are blessed,
my lips and tongue are blessed,
my nose is blessed,
my whole body, my whole flesh is blessed

to take you all in, to embrace you
with all senses, to be under your
timeless spell,
the spell of adoration;

I praise you, my Adonis,
I wish for this moment
of godly intoxication
to last ten lifetimes;

I wish this afternoon,
this sun, this balmy breeze, this private garden,
would go on and on,
moment eternal,
Eros without end.

Poem: "What Lips..."

What lips you've kissed, I cannot tell,
Nor do I want to know at all
Whether those lips have cast a spell
That lays limp like a funeral pall

On other mouths, in other ears,
Pressing a selfish, vague desire
Into the minds of all your peers,
Lighting in them erotic fire;

Don't tell me who came by last week
To innocently share some tea
And leave with kisses on his cheek
That passersby could clearly see;

Don't tell me who you met at lunch,
Who took you out for dinner after,
Then let you stay with him for brunch,
Then brought you home all drunk with laughter;

Don't tell me of the lips you've kissed,
The chests you've fondled on the train,
The hands you've dried off in the mist,
The arms you've left out in the rain...

Poem: "Freedom for Lovers"

At last, at last! The sun has cast
His final rays beneath the sea!
The night wind glides upon the waves
And teases you and me.

The only sound is of the sea;
At night my eyes are of no use;
Yet I can feel your lips on mine,
Trying to pry them loose.

I feel the warmth of skin on skin,
I savor all the labored breath
That shelters me from pitch-dark night
And from the sea of death;

I feel you tugging on my hair,
I crave your wet lips on my cheek,
I beg without a word to say,
My arms and legs grow weak;

We're free at last from daylight's glare
Which so long beat us black and blue,
We're free, with nothing left to mourn
And no days left to rue.

Two souls, two manly bodies, linked
And formless on a formless beach;
I swear I can hear Sirens, singing
And laughing each to each...

Poem: "Etude"

Etude

Raindrops pitter-pattering
at quarter past one am
syncopate their own rhythms
and beat out little etudes
under cloudy skies, the notes drifting
into the atmosphere from metal trash can
and brick wall, from old stone benches
and hard, dead grass. What a counterpoint!
What a soft exercise for beginning students!
Reminds me of Chopin, gazing
out of his window at raindrops
on Majorca. Even there
he couldn't escape the gloom and mist
that cloud the scales
with bursts of unexpected, impassioned
chromaticism. It's like looking into a mirror
and seeing the raindrops and etudes of years past
move slowly, ploddingly, along dusty keys,
the notes flat and without ringing in the air,
the pedals broken, and everything jammed and
out-of-tune. Yet, "practise will make perfect!"
Someday, perhaps, but for right now,
I'll just put on the CD once again,
so I can fall asleep to rain and etudes
in harmony with each other at last.
Goodnight.

First Video

I finally did it. Here's my first ever poetry reading uploaded to YouTube! Please let me know what you think! :-)