unresurrectable

There shone a vale of living gold, in Himalayan rainbow-light, where she would dance in rising spring, the graceless poetess, and I. But every dance and spring must end, and so we parted, I to mine and she to her benighted path, and on she dashed down life's decline: 'til, sorrow smeared on sorrow's face, in almond-scented sorrow drowned, a hopeless, loveless, dream-drunk sot she lay, a failure lily-crowned. No. She lives yet - for there are things he cannot take, for all his greed, this wingless death, this little death, this death of flesh and want and need; and he has had the worst of her: a sland'rous, wandering, viciou

Take my hand. The stars are bright out over Wytham hill, away from Oxford's light, and soft! the woods exhale a thrill of frost. We'll trace the trackless wastes like fugitives, a pair of twilight-winged nightingales entwining in the upper air. You'll hum a strain of Stanford; I'll watch the blushing fall of moonlight on your cheek; you'll catch my eye and smile, with all the conflagration of the gyre, the lustre of the sky, the glow of clustered galaxies a glister in your eye, and say "you look so serious", and press my icy hand close to your heart, where skips a beat I scarcely understand. But o! that measured tread, that trough,

The Muezzin - Nightfall over the Persian Gulf The dying rays of a falling sun Tinge th'oil-dark sea with purple fire; Like a drowning man thrashes, his life near-run, The cloud-burst seethes, the seabirds gyre. And as I rear on this minaret A flush of shadow pervades my realm; My half-lit, echoing land where yet One aged hand retains the helm. With grating cry I greet the night, Lilting as I call to prayer A town of spectres, recondite And I the last, to live to dare. Time was this city flowered with the rowdy crown of youth, But like the lime trees' blossom did they ripen, pass away. Their flames had barely beaconed when Strif

The Lover - A Sea Voyage from Basrah O Ayn Jalin, the dream of Said, The jewel of Persia's mere; Radiant star, supreme delight Of all who venture near. Where poets toy with metric turn, Beneath the spreading fronds Of luscious ferns, where rhapsodes learn The lays of lost aeons. Where fops parade their porph'ry plumes Where preach the Patriarchist priests; Beside imams and sundry loons Peddling piety, war and peace. Where mathematicians throng in thrall To Qalanisi's library; Striving, thriving, threshing all Throught tomes of far antiquity. There where swagger, coruscant Proud heirs of wealth dynastic; Inshal's great house

The Warrior - Dawn over Ayn Jalin City The wind stirs up dead leaves in the streets of Ayn Jalin The blood-red sun's arisen and he casts a baleful light; And Fate's elected widows grimace rather than be seen To mourn for all the warriors who won't be home tonight. The dust-motes shyly waltz in the Cami Al-Khifals, The mihrab is afire with a clarion shaft of dawn That permeates the age-old dome, illuminates the vaults - Both riven by a mortar-scar, the ruin skulks forlorn. A sombre hush resides in the market-square of Said A skein of Sufi-crafted silk draws worms upon the tiles The spice-seller's stall, deserted overnight, Spills

The Last of the Individuals The muses of History sing of illuminati, bastions of civilisation, geniuses that furthered the iron grip of organised thought on mankind. Newton, Euclid, Copernicus - all thinkers well ahead of their time, chaotic minds who could not but contribute to the dream of Knowledge, who suffered ignominy and unappreciation in their lifetimes but were revered outside their mortal span as legends in the pantheon of the Institutions. I speak, however, of another breed. They, too, are lonely souls, treading a path of desperate solitude through a grey forest of barren drudgery. They, too, know ignominy and are unappreciated i

You should not pry, Leuconoe, for it is a crime to learn what the future holds For me, for you, nor should you be seduced by the Astrology of the Babylonians. Far better to persevere, to suffer, whatever shall befall, Whether Jupiter has accorded us many more years Or if this should be our last winter, tiring the restless sea of Tuscany As it smashes against the steadfast rocks. Seek wisdom- decant the wine, drink, and, as the paths of our lives are so short Relinquish your heartfelt ambitions. For even as I speak, jealous time flees past us- Seize the moment and give no heed to tomorrow's alluring grasp.

Knowledge- The Root of all Disappointment All good things that remain ours in life are founded on uncertainty - vague, halcyon recollections; the magic of the unknown; true love. What else could draw Man to the unpredictable that he has preserved in this ordered world like an evolutionary relic in a zoo? Masses do not swarm to football matches for displays of athleticism or skill in themselves; they watch avidly for the spontaneous, the moments of genius that inspire athleticism and skill, that evoke extremes of emotion. It is often claimed that constancy is the greatest of objective virtues - a complete deception. It is incostancy that is

What under these grey skies draws comparison With the urgent flames that now tormet me? No rainbow, no floribund rural scape Can surpass the depth in your shining eyes Twin pools of eternal luminescence Tempered by brown far richer than darkness. A new rhythm suffuses my tired life No pulse now, but the music of your laugh. Poetry fails me, words evade me at once So much remains unsaid, language defunct An insult to a Goddess of such beauty. Shall I compare you to a summer's day? No. To a thought intangible, a presence Which lies bound in my every action.

On Institutions Language- The False Dream; "How could we lie without words?" There is no such thing on this Earth as a fundamental unit of humanity. Humanity in its purest state is comprised of inconstant, selfish, dynamic individuals and it is a crime to assume any uniformity or category exists. When individuals' interests coincide they may often form institutions to aid their purpose, but it is a delusion to claim that these vagaries have any soul beyond an absolute unity of purpose. The individual is a chaotic, wayward animal, and the instant his wants and intentions diverge from the remit of his institution it becomes an encumbrance. In