Unpleasant reflections: Women! What need have you of man's touch... Op. 12

Women! what need have you of man's touch,
when yourselves on scarlet coach lying,
can each other with pleasure fill,
In countless ways can man but will,
and dream on; of feline grace that he,
likewise as dusk follows day - can never be,
And for that suitor her attention vying,
I wonder much, what dark delusion,
Does his head possess, as thinks he that her,
himself the most pleasing did envision,
Nay! fear not, the decision but were,
As always, motivated by nature's stark request,
'Kindly consider, the vigour that doth bequest.'

Comments: Oh man... why did you write this...

Unpleasant reflections: Flee mortal! For the angel of death... Op. 11

Flee mortal! for the angel of death,
Though your life be young, has claimed
Your youthful flame, and little will avail,
Your loves squandered in vain, or bravery,
In the face of the pain - nay! Flee mortal!
For both young and old, thorough her hallowed portal
Into some bewitched crowd are driven,
And lo! both proud and modest, their crimes forgiven,
Under her winterly shroud you distinguish not
And like an unhuman slave, shoved into garrote,
It ends. Oh Fools! The relief we gambled away!
Is it only the finest, who neither laugh back nor cry,
But mirror behind, the sight of the angel, in the resigned eye?

Spring of Life, Op. 10

In the midst of that swirling black madness,
escaping from the hidden crevices on the bottom
of the cauldron of Hell, ashes and dust the colour
of thunderclouds mix with the pallid waters.
Poison and corruption itself seem to seep
through this abyssal rift; the heat is immense,
no creation of light could stand - and none do -
only the works of alternate night and day
persist and proliferate. Encircling this black
sun, a hollow tower, like a chimney, spirals
upwards alongside a plume of smoke; here,
the flora of night inhabit their natural estates.

A garden of bizarre colours, a multitude
of eccentries, this writhing mass horrors is
thickest - most myriad - besides the tower.
Moving outwards, the wisps of life grow sparse -
and greater! The societies of inner circle pale
before the nameless monstrosities of outer waters,
until, like everywhere, the greatest beasts grow lonely...
And where the memory of the heat grows weak,
no sign of life is to be seen: this fount of life
only a faint whisper.

Blue Sonnet, Op. 8

That those endless hardships so would reward,
That some meaning from that black taste I would discern,
I could not expect, nor my state vile regard,
With much anguished notion; nor in vain recompense yearn,
If from my sepulchre one final glance I could purloin,
And till that ideal sight my wounded visage turn,
No regrets would then hinder my scarred way,
Nor temptation now lead my path astray,
Thus thinking I arised from my newly-found grave,
And sought that spring-like sight to enslave,
Till my eyes met those of that fair divine
And oh! how she beheld me keenly, creation of sublime!

Interlude

Shall I now compare,
a poet to carnivore,
and point out, o' thieves
that it's a flaw in wolves,
to feel and care for,
what one has devour'd

So heed my humble call,
and the name of that mister,
whom thou imbecile consider,
in this free slot install.

Tomorrow some serious poetry!

Córdoba, Op. 6

That the flame of west be vanquished,
the light of al-andalus be forever faded,
its thousand palaces abased. The seat
of caliphate lost, its legacy shattered,
splintered into parts less than the whole;
all this done, in a flickering moment of time,
as if an insult to its glory so long cultivated.
So prophesied him, once peerless, now struck
low by age and dolour, atop a tower far above
his city of one hundred libraries. In his eyes,
his enemies are dehumanised into an army of darkness;
he sees them trample his descent, felling his faithful
with swords unmasked, defaceiting upon his civilization;
a destiny he cannot avoid.
Such a fate is offered for his deathbed, such a
view dominates the skies, and no wonder he prefers the
view below as his life flickers; his city
of countless splendors.

When envoys from that distant land... Op. 5

"When envoys from that distant land presented
Zhuangzi with the following question: 'How are men
elevated, how sages became sages, heroes became
heroes,' was his retort both swift and final:
'What is the difference between a tiger and an
audacious cat?' And such a puzzling response
it was, that no answer was to be found, and
those mighty visitors agreed to return in sixty
days to hear the answer.
Yet it is told, that at that moment, a discipline
of that sage of old, gripped by a spirit of
impatience cried out, pleading for answer,
and an explanation was thus formulated:
'Tis a difference between day and night,
on dusk and dawn.'"