'Faint Pools and Shallow Dreams' / Curated Excerpts

"Mercury singes the blooming flowers, blood spilt forth my stillborn heart." Curated excerpts from a collection of poetic works.

Excerpt 0. 

Poèmes Anciens VI

CINNABAR

 

Mercury singes the blooming flowers,

blood spilt forth my stillborn heart

bubbles and drowns in sombrely colours

the blossoms - scattered apart.

There I stand in the pitch-black centre,

wearing my heart on a torn-off sleeve

my arms outstretched; my trembling voice calling

"I love you still, so please don't leave!

Don't leave me behind, I love you yet!"

 

Ah, but the flowers; crimson like cinnabar

Ah, but the flowers; which white tears shed

I must've been cruel; how could I not realise

Those flowers were wilting; killed by regret.

Excerpt 1. 

Faint Pools XIII

GOLDEN LYROCIS

 

The graves are many in the blood-soaked valley

nested under a cozy blanket

of spider lilies, their arms intertwined,

yet yours is the only of its kind

among the bowing, grieving scarlet.

 

Even the bearded general cannot explain

why, of all people, the gods chose you

a warrior-poet, and nothing special

the prettiest flowers with you are nestled

the honest priest at a loss is too.

 

Of course, it’s not for them to know

the tender graze of your drunk caress

of those left alive, only I recall

though I’m not the only one to fall

for your fox-like charm, adulteress

is the shameful brand you’ve left me.

 

It’s your fault, and you wouldn’t blame

me, whom you so urgently embraced

even as my knife pierced your bowels

a cowardly act your passion disavows

so kneeling at your resting place

the golden lycoris, abounds.

Excerpt 2. 

Micro-Poems VIII

STRENGTH

 

Though the maw of darkness swells

repugnant is the soul within it

Victoriously ringing bells

pronounce my own soul unforfeited

Hanging on the spider's thread

do not think - just grip it yet.

Excerpt 3. 

Shallow Dreams I

PETALS

 

The red petals floating in the wind were not petals at all.

My eyes frozen with tears, I walked towards you slowly, though your form was limp.

I looked all around.

There, in the petals that turned into stains, I saw the fear you clutched inside your heart.

It made me laugh, will you forgive me?

I laughed out of despair, that you never told me any of these things.

Why was it that you were afraid?

We held hands under the cherry blossom, pressing our palms together tightly.

Was I not warm enough? Was the world so cold you didn't notice?

Well, either way it doesn't matter anymore.

Because the red petals floating in the wind were not petals at all.

Excerpt 4. 

Dialogues IV

HEATH

 

“Here you go. The keys to the arbour are yours to take.”

 

“Thank you. It’s true we’ve had our differences, but I can’t deny your kindness. Will you walk with me for a while?”

 

“Of course. It’s rare you offer an invitation.”

 

“Then, come with me, right behind this olive-wreathed gate. It’s quite pleasant here, the grapevine is abundant, and the wisterias are delightful a compliment. It can’t be avoided, I think I’ll grow used to living here.”

 

“That’s good. Just make sure to trim the vines from time to time.”

 

“It can’t be helped. Here, sit down at the cypress table, the little chairs look quite inviting. I’ll set for tea, so let the bumblebees amuse you as you wait.”

 

“It’s a nice weather today, isn’t it? Not quite sunny, but it won’t rain either. With the sunbeams slipping past the clouds, it’s like Heaven is gleaming past the canopy.”

 

“Let’s not get too poetic, the tea will go cold. Here, I’ll serve it in these cutesy porcelain cups. It’s marigold, my favourite fragrance.”

 

“Thank you. I’ll help myself, then.”

 

“. . .”

 

“. . .”

 

“Yet, even still. . .”

“Hm? What’s the sigh for?”

 

“I’m sorry. I just thought - isn’t it annoying to have a gate buried in vines? It becomes heavy, and you’re struggling against the plant for the handle. It’s a chore to open. Besides, if it gets into the hinges, it won’t open at all.”

 

“That’s why vines need trimming. It’s not that much trouble.”

 

“Looking at them closely, they lose all their charm. The grapes will fall and rot, making a mess of the grass, not to mention the wasps and flies they’ll attract. On the other hand, the wisterias are parasites, constantly on a quest to destroy everything around them. Maybe the grove would be better without them.”

 

“Then you’ll have to harvest the grapes and nip the wisterias. It’s work, but everyone needs to work to maintain a home.”

 

“Don’t lecture me. It’s hardly a home with these uncomfortable chairs. All this furniture will rot the moment it rains.”

 

“Procure a tarp, then?”

 

“You don’t get it at all, naturally you don’t. The weather is dreary, it’s like the clouds are a cage, and the Sun is desperate to escape. It’s weather that won’t bring anything, not the rain and not the Sun. With skies like these, tomorrow isn’t worth waking up to.”

 

“That’s. . .”

 

“Ugh, my head hurts from the obnoxious buzzing. The tea would help, but now it’s too lukewarm to drink. It’s no surprise, cups this thin and dusty could never hold heat.”

 

“There really isn’t anything you like?”

 

“Each thing I like less than the last, and least of all - you.”

All writing belongs to Yoimira Entertainment and constitutes copyrighted material.

Author's Note

Hello, any birdies still whispering down this grapevine. As I writer, I found my hatching out the proverbial egg on this very site. Recently, I remembered it, and decided to celebrate my growth by showcasing some of my best work; which I have independently published and newly revised into an improved collection. It is nostalgic to remember that some of its contents were originally hosted here.

If you enjoyed these excerpts, or wish to support a small author with similar roots, you will be able to find the whole work on Amazon (specifically the Revised Second edition.) My deepest gratitudes for indulging my humble lines.