The scribblings of an eccentric writer for your perusal

Poetry

Love’s Murder

A shadow of a man once dwelled
who in life’s dusty bookshelf
could his only solace be found.

Stories of love and legend, read he,
unlikely by far, thought he,
impervious to love’s fickle charmes, was he.

For what was love but petty selfishness,
wilfully fermented to yield a liquor
which made heads spin?

The years grew older, and as they passed
He met the very aire that gave him life,
the missing limb and part of his person.

A gleam of understanding touched his heart,
a new depth of vision and perception of things human,
a new appreciation of life’s devices and cruel moods.

For life is cruel indeed, and the lover’s brief existence
is bereft with pain and all things evil,
conspired against by universal forces.

The fair  creature was out of his grasp,
sceptical of love and pernicious to his essence,
his heart’s unfulfilled desire.

Inside his very person a heartstring snapped
with every tender gaze in her direction,
and he longed for purpose.

Down the vicious slope of love he slipped,
unable to resist its endless beckonings,
impervious no longer.

His ailing health was the price for his
selfish desire, a melting pot of emotion
which grew ever more leaden.

For what could he do? Nothing,
nothing but grimace at the sun
and grin at the night’s domain.

‘Twas a lonesome night upon which
a washerwoman ‘Murder!’ cried as
she ran through the streets for help.

‘This young lad, murdered has been,
murdered by a vicious thing,
which knows only death.’

‘Murder’d by love, his heart devour’d,
overwhelmed by things of love born,
his heart and mind torn.’

His spirit wandered the mortal plaines,
seeking his lost love as she
soon forgot his adoring glance in her direction.

A lover’s life has no happy ending,
fraught with a lover’s hopes and wishes,
rarely obliged but always present.

This occur to him did not, a wandering thing
free from all aspects of mortality but one,
the strongest of them all.

The dead feel no pain, it is said,
but the exquisite pain of heartbreak
remains vigilant in its uniqueness.

The pain of love unique truly is,
a pain born of bliss and inflicted
through the happiness it gives.

A shadow of a man he was once more,
cast down by that which helped him see
and doomed to lie on the doorstep of his heart’s desire.

Peace would not come, and neither would release
as his heart beat for his love even though
beat it could not.

Luke Scicluna
07/08/2011


United Discord

As four elements of old unite
Diverse in their intent,
Their nuances together form
The earth that to us has been lent.

Earth, Fire, Water and Air
Revered by Ancients of bygone days,
Their discord forged a pact
That for eternity will remain.

So must a team find its roots
In brethren not alike,
Who at the slightest sign of dissonance
Together must stride.

As alchemists once professed
Their elements of belief,
The elements of new must find
A fraternity of relief.

Through brotherhood things might change
A trickle before a stream,
A portent of our future
Or maybe just a dream.

Luke Scicluna
07/03/2011


Haiku (1)

First try at Haiku.

A lover wrings water
onto a cold floor –
But tears remain.


Martyr (Analysis)

Find the poem here: Martyr

Radiant disc, without sign of chore
Climbing into realm of deepest blue,
Creation hearing an inaudible call
Yearning to bask in its living hue.

Radiant disc, without sign of chore – The sun is the symbol of all that is nature, and in itself shows the cycle of life, which is birth, life, and death, or sunrise, noon and sunset, doing this with a regal effortlessness.

Climbing into realm of deepest blue, – The skies are undeniably the sun’s territory, and they seem to sorrow in its absence. Now that the sun is back, they have come to life once more.

Creation hearing an inaudible call – This line is one of the key lines to the poem, showing that where there is nature, represented by the sun, there is creation, light and peace (inaudible call)

Yearning to bask in its living hue. – The light that life provides is derived from the light of the sun, which represents nature.

Bird aloft calls to loving mate,
Cry apart from malice or hate,
As a hidden tapestry of life
Unfolds, and forgotten is strife.

Bird aloft calls to loving mate – This represents the love present in nature.

Cry apart from malice or hate, – Creation is shown to be pure and free of sin, without artifice or deception.

As a hidden tapestry of life – Whilst nature might seem to be quiet at times, a hidden world lies at our feet. Microscopic life forms, plants and trees, insects and all manner of creatures lie behind the curtain.

Unfolds, and forgotten is strife. – Where there is nature, all troubles and worries are forgotten, and joy is attained.

Innocence’s living melancholy
Alas, is downed by treacherous foe,
Claimed by poison strong and unholy,
Territory sacred forced to forgo.

Innocence’s living melancholy – Here, nature is being represented by melancholic innocence. Melancholic because of its grace and profoundity; innocent because it does not deserve the crime that is about to be perpetrated.

Alas, is downed by treacherous foe, – Nature has been betrayed by its own relation. Humanity, which is derived from nature, seeks to rebel against its master.

Claimed by poison strong and unholy, – The weapon used against nature is one that cannot be seen, one that attacks slowly but surely, and can only be detected by its symptoms. What has been provided by nature has been perverted into something that destroys it, and so is unholy.

Territory sacred forced to forgo. – Every scrap of land lost to a foe, like every cell claimed by a virus, is sacrilegious, and intensifies the destruction of nature’s lifeblood.

Living calm made martyr by fire,
Eternal call bruised and battered so,
Foe victorious by force and ire,
Hero now mere weave and fresco.

Living calm made martyr by fire, – The destruction of greenery is reminiscent here of the martyrdom of thousands of people who died for their beliefs. Here, nature is dying whilst trying to uphold its principles and beliefs.

Eternal call bruised and battered so, – The call mentioned in the third line above is gotten rid of in any way possible, abused and deformed to serve selfish means.

Foe victorious by force and ire, – Physical force and anger are used to bring about the destruction of nature.

Hero now mere weave and fresco. – Nature, the ‘hero’ of this world as it teaches, civilizes and expresses, is only present now in art, in the fibers used for clothing, and in tapestries.

Gracious tears of light and water,
Shed by once purest azure,
Searching in vain for slightest fissure
Or gutter along a holy cloister.

Gracious tears of light and water, – Raindrops seem to be nature’s tears as they fall, reflecting an echo of what once was (light).

Shed by once purest azure, – The sky is no longer blue; it is darkened by sin, betrayal and poison.

Searching in vain for slightest fissure – The unyielding solidity of concrete and asphalt does not permit nature’s tears to return to their source.

Or gutter along a holy cloister. – Whilst nature was once regarded as sacred, it is not any longer. Even the cloisters of an abbey or church do not allow the tears of nature passage. This is the epitome of nature’s betrayal.

Technology… the knack of so arranging the world that we don’t have to experience it.  ~Max Frisch

Swathes of grey and metal chrome,
Where once was life and vigor,
Survived only by dusty tome
Lying in its grave of rigor.

Swathes of grey and metal chrome, – This embodies destruction of environmental and natural sites, leaving dull grey in its stead.

Where once was life and vigor, – Whilst nature was lively and full of vigor, or enthusiastic energy, the rule of mankind has brought dejection where there once was so much more.

Survived only by dusty tome – The last remnants of nature can only be found buried in a dusty book, for the memory of them also grows dusty, and nature has become history, and not a living experience.

Lying in its grave of rigor. – The closing line sums up what the departure of nature really signifies. Death and rigor are all that remains.

Luke Scicluna
21/12/2010

Technology… the knack of so arranging the world that we don’t have to experience it.  ~Max Frisch


Concerto

They step forward,
Their hands aclapsed,
Their dance about to begin.

A fair maiden and her suitor,
Joined by fate’s devices,
Entangled for eternity.

The lass’s visage is a semblance of beauty,
Deemed proper by her Creator,
And ’tis Love her name.

Her partner Life knows
That without her,
He is nothing.

The dance begins,
the wailing of the instruments astringed
a harmonious discord.

Together as one being,
Eyes locked in endless embrace,
They flow.

For they know that as one
No obstacle will claim them,
Nor foe earthy or otherworldly.

But only as one.

For should their gaze quaver,
Their grip loosen,
Fall they would.

And dance a different dance
A dance of Lust and Loss
Would they.

Their grasp tightens,
Their gaze strengthens,
And on they dance.

Luke Scicluna


A Smile

The world against me seems
Torn at the seams
When that smile I do not see.

When those shining eyes fall into I do not
That familiar form I do not spot
My sorrow does not end.

But when I that voice I hear
A friend concerned, a companion dear,
Despair the battle has lost.

A friend I have again found
All bitterness is drowned
Because of that smile.

Luke Scicluna
17/11/2010


Martyr

Radiant disc, without sign of chore
Climbing into realm of deepest blue,
Creation hearing an inaudible call
Yearning to bask in its living hue.

Bird aloft calls to loving mate,
Cry apart from malice or hate,
As a hidden tapestry of life
Unfolds, and forgotten is strife.

Innocence’s living melancholy
Alas, is downed by treacherous foe,
Claimed by poison strong and unholy,
Territory sacred forced to forgo.

Living calm made martyr by fire,
Eternal call bruised and battered so,
Foe victorious by force and ire,
Hero now mere weave and fresco.

Gracious tears of light and water,
Shed by once purest azure,
Searching in vain for slightest fissure
Or gutter along a holy cloister.

Swathes of grey and metal chrome,
Where once was life and vigor,
Survived only by dusty tome
Lying in its grave of rigor.

Luke Scicluna
19/12/2010


Emotion

Eyes are gleaming
in the light
of day and night.

Hair is flowing
through the air
without a care.

Lips are smiling
lightly laughing
the world enchanting.

Heart is pumping
with rhythm sure
and emotion pure.

Day and night
thoughts are kind
to others never blind.

Sound in mind
kind in heart
a work of art.

Luke Scicluna