My eyes grow moist at such a fecund sight!

(a poem inspired by Botticelli's Primavera) 

My eyes grow moist at such a fecund sight!
There was a time when willing nymphs in white
would swell themselves under my warming gaze,
and would gladly entertain me in ways
that seemed unlikely to my boyish mind.
But now, Apollo's car has overshine'd
My heap of outliv'd days in numbers vast.
And maids with brimful baskets walk on past
with scornful glances or with angry sneers.
Great Gods have mercy and turn back the years!

O, stand not eager with your filthy lime

O, stand not eager with your filthy lime 
or your wing-bruising net though you 
have now caught a glimpse
of the glory-seeking butterfly!
For he must be free to wander the airy vast.
And in his journeys
should he find a tree-lin'd garden
such as you tend,
or a lonely cave stuff'd with
more fruit than caves are wont
such as you own,
sleep peacefully, and dream the same 
for there will he choose to
rest and feed for an eternity.

Haiku

My life is Haiku.
Just 17 syllables.
To sum up my day.

I traced your last map
with my bloody ring finger.
You should come home now.

You stomp on my face
with your new boots made of lies.
Where did you buy those?

December's rainfall.
It still reminds me of your
last icy embrace.

July's first rainstorm
It still makes me think of your
unexpected kiss.

His landscape a-blaze
Sunday's options infinite
now reduced to one.

Shall I compare thee?
No, the metaphor website
seems to be off-line.

Without my glasses
I know who you are only
by your plump outline.

I am sorry, dude.
If my Haiku baffles you
Wikipedia!

He promised comfort
She promised unending love
Now you're both liars.

Unrequited love
You think there's another kind?
I'm not sure there is.

Seven days in May.
Empty highs and searing lows
What the fuck was that?

Saw Venus and Mars
Drifting apart this morning
Just like you and me.

Beautiful sunset
enchanted my soul last night.
Killing spree postponed.

Cannot get to sleep.
Damn cats keeping me awake.
Killing spree back on.

Cartoon character
With a penis for a nose.
I miss Joe Camel.

Perfectest Angel
Bestow your inspired wisdom
on those lost below.

Misbegotten boy
40 years without comfort
Lifetime without joy.

Options unlimited
Now withered to down to none.
I must point and laugh.

No, my mistress' eyes
are nothing like potatoes.
Adios mistress!

LASIK surgery?
Unhand my eyes, if you please.
Glasses make the man.

Skydivers should be
comfortable with all the
possible outcomes.

An infinite joy!
Behold how it may be found
in such a small room.

Forever joyous!
Inside the important hoop
that winds me to you.

Adrift on the sea
This beacon can guide you home.
Weariest sailor.

Friendship rekindled
the remembered happiness
the smiles still to come.

You deserve more love.
He deserves a box of snakes
with an unkind card.

A leaf falls to earth.
So why can't you overlook
my criminal past?

A warm, springtime breeze
blows into my heart when I
see a note from you.

Why do you sit there
with your tattered boat sinking?
Carbuncled helmsman.

It takes a man with
huge balls of steel to ignore
the audible gasps.

Generosity:
Giving me comfort when I
deserve chastisement.

The sweet miracle
was not that I beheld God,
but that He saw me.

Sleep, sleep tristful jade
and comfort yourself with the
dreams of yesterday.

talk talk talk talk kill
talk talk kill kill talk kill kill
the rest is silence.

Friday: when the boss
stops his rain of blows to ask:
Have you had enough?

When the angry day
has taken your hope and strength.
Come lament with me.

Forty days have passed
and still the grace-filled heavens
rain down their silence.

Cribless and bear-swarmed
Your act was loathsome, daddy,
but I can forgive.

My childhood body
lies crumpled as Bucky Dent
circles the bases

The Most Lamentable, Tragical, yet Predictable Death of Percy Shelley

This is something of a play...still in progress. 
 

LORD BYRON

Sad Mary, holding the burnt up ashes

of the sea-changéd scribe who sweetened all

our days, only to bittersome your nights,

Take his luckless remains to the tomb. Place them

so high so they can a dusty beacon

be to all who seek and wonder in Rome.

MARY SHELLEY

Thank you, Lord Byron, for these most warm and

comforting words. What should I say, my friends?

Bysshe was a husband overwhelmed too soon,

and a poet too untimely dampened.

I will keep his heart as a tender, yet

ghoulish, reminder of the days we had.

EDWARD TRELAWNY

And I will be the one to pluck his still

unblemish'd heart from the dying embers!

My moustache bespeaks me fit for this task!

But Mary, have you yet heard about the

dream that Percy had in which Allegra

rose from the sea as if to speak with him.

LORD BYRON

Yes, sir, we know my daughter beckoned him

to the waves. The newly dead have a

fearsome power over we who live, and

might convince a weary man, burdened with the

woe this life heaps up, to foredo himself.

In spite of this, we should not blame the girl.

Set aside your dewy napkin, dear wife

Set aside your dewy napkin, dear wife,

For I see in your eyes a calming sway

That soothed me always in our early life

When I could be convinced, but not today.

No longer will my pride-filled subjects gaze

Upon this supreme throne of dread and awe,

But heedlessly pass luxurious days

That openly mock and flout at my law.

Smoke and filth are my tributes here. Those sweet

Spicy wafts and timely slaughters that filled

My senses pure have stopped, and I regreet

The morning sky with all my joy now killed.

So, today, I will sit myself in that regal seat

In all my splendid rage. I will glister

Over them in my robe of flames,

And they will touch the ground. Nor blister,

Burn, nor quenchless thirst upon their bodies soft

Will steer me from this vengeful course once I'm full aloft.

My locks are loosed from their melony sphere

My locks are loosed from their melony sphere,

And autumn's creeping chill begins to frost

My skin and bones. Winter is almost here

Wherein everything that has not been lost

Will wither and become a timeless heap.

And I, new subject to the brutal blast

That beats us all in winter's icy deep,

Will feel the gust that no man can outlast.

But till then, this old heart pumps through the frore,

Safely warmed by the joys here and to meet

Of keen thoughtful beauty unknown before

In green springtime or the summerday's heat.

   Though my body begins its fall apart,

   We must not speak so of my vibrant heart.