Baudelaire Reading Maturin

The mast torn,
The ship splintered,
The cries of those
Who know
   That there
   Is nothing more
Than the depths
That consume.

Green shores
Of the country
      Of bandits.
It is better
That the sea
      Swallowed them,
For this is the land
  Of disappointments,
Of sharp blades
Shining,

On the rocks,
      Crashing,
The soul is guaranteed
Its place
In memory alongside
   Of boiled cabbage,
Tragedy makes
      The poor man’s
Meal more palpable.

Melmoth,
Stiff in the serenity
   Of his nightmare
Gazes out craving
The end.
The mind
Cannot fathom
      What the heart
Is closed to.

In a far off room
With only a passing
   River
The poet drinks
   Down
This delirium.

Salvation.

The passing pages
Can not hide
The epiphany
That drowned
      Men
Find in oblivion.

- John Greiner

(featured in the poetry forum 07.14.09)

Conversation

Change the subject,
   I find
Your conversation
Unbearable,
As well as
   Delusional.
I have delusions
Of my own
That I find
Far more interesting,
But I don’t
Allow them to press
   Down on your skull.
Return the courtesy
And I’ll buy you a drink
Of whatever
   Nightmare
We can find mutually
   Agreeable,
For I am an agreeable
   Person
Who enjoys nothing
   More
Than thrusting daggers
Silently into illusions.

- John Greiner

(added 07.14.09)

Seraph

Seraph waiting for the pistol
Burst end of the show
   Shot that will
Bring the denizens of the depth
To their feet.

Holding heaven in her trigger
Finger she fears no structure
   Or score.
There is no need of pause
As euphoria walks down
The aisle while the bullets fly.

The show ends in a well aimed insult
At the crack of doom that need not falter
   In the eternal
That holds the killer
Captive to the grandiose
   Moment
That does not dissolve
When the applause begins.

- John Greiner

(featured in the poetry forum 11.23.08)