All 15 entries tagged Marcel Hkusfor

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June 05, 2005

Saddness (ii)

The leaves are turning yellow and brown
As they fall all the way to the ground.
The air is colder than it was before
And soon the leaves will be no more.

The Lonely Crab

The ocean died and so did
The stars of heaven clan.
Says the lonely crab on Mandora Beach,
"Crush as many as you can."

[Note:
Substory to The World Ended On This Day (1993).]


The Oyster Queen Wills It So

For all the pearls around my spleen,
For all the salt on my tongue,
You will shut your wide mouth,
And be still in this gulf.
So say I, your queen.

————————————————————————————————————

If I part my lips, this trap, this door
and gather salt on my tongue
Then present the most marvelous pearls in this gulf
Surely they too will want some.

(Sept '94)

[Notes:
There is evidence to suggest that the two verses were not written in one sitting.
In the first, Hkusfor makes fun of the fact that authority makes ruinous decisions for us. The rule of thumb is that the power hungry must never be allowed power again, nor to pocreate.
Oyster Queen ends with an observation of Greed. In some sense, we are all tourists.]


Virtue of Contentment (i)

What I see is not what is there
For me to speak or shout or bare.
Unless I pretend that it be so,
The face I perceive is unaware.

A Shift in the Wind

Do not cry, when I’m unsound
Or when the fig turns brown.
But if I don't wake,
Or if the figs quake,
All must then weep for my crown.

Witchcraft

You thought I could not hear you scream,
And could not will your death.
But I can see your petty dream,
or just what that which is left.

Virtue of Contentment (ii)

Do not ask for longer legs
Or for hands uncuffed.
And forget wings or wheels or altered space
for your legs are good enough.

(Sept '94)


More Demands!

The Second Beast roars to the Lamb
Who did not run nor fret,
“How many need be killed this morn?”
“Twelve by twelve, exact.”

Virtue of Contentment (iii)

Nor dare you hope for a larger head,
Nor brain nor lungs nor veins,
Or claws to grip and tear young flesh.
May your heart control your reins.

(Oct '94)


The Hunter is Mistaken!

The huntsmaster shot me with a silver gun.
Which, at killing werewolves, was well to do.
But my heart is with the blacksmith’s son
And to possess it he must take his too.

Hence he sought Teddy with his silver gun
And shot him in more places than one.
But his hands were bare.
Had it been never there?
And there was nothing my love could have done.

(Aug '94)


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