Bruges Ennui

Lost in the grey

of an evening

in Bruges;

On streets I no longer recognise

searching for those bars

whose names I no longer remember,

where I was enveloped in a

pervasive aroma of wheat beer

that hovered aloft like incense

at altars I once worshipped at;

The Belfort Tower still towers above

an intricate labyrinth of crook backed,

criss crossed narrow streets

whose timeless mise-en-scene

admonishes me for not staying longer;

From a distance,

thro’ a smoke misted window pane

a jingle jangle jukebox

whispers inarticulately

remnants of a melody

that once was the anthem

of lives lived long ago.

Posted in Allegory, Bruges, Contemporary Society, Culture, Ennui, Existential, Identity, Nostalgia | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Existential Interlude

The pain Antonio Cabral felt

for the loss of his loved ones

could not be negated

by a latent dependency on

opiates and liquor;

Amid the dank squalor

and vicissitudes of an ascetic refuge

in the doldrums of a nameless

friendless city he finally

confronted the phantasms of

his ineluctable failings and

was reconciled to them.

Posted in Allegory, Contemporary Society, Dystopia, Ennui, Existential, Horror, Identity, Philosophy, Poetry Noir | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Daily Routine

Every evening at 5.09
he leaves the office,
takes the streetcar
into town,
goes for a stroll
down to the park
by the canal;

there he sits
on the bench nearest
the ornate water fountain;

He dreams,
of a lost childhood
long summers ago
by the sea,
days filled with singing,
laughing and

Crying now,
the little girl
by the fountain
who has lost her way,
golden hair,eyes of grey,
reflected in his thick lenses;

As he watches her
he dreams,
of long summers ago,
a childhood by the sea
filled with laughing
and crying;

now in the park
he lies beneath a summer sky,
side by side with
the golden girl
she lies
very still.

Posted in Dystopia, Ennui, Existential, Homage to Film Noir, Horror, Identity, Poetry Noir | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Notes on the Passage of Time

In empty rooms

filled with the scent

of nicotine and loneliness,

once shining

memories of bronze

turned verdigris

through harsh winters;




the dots and dashes

of life

rendered indecipherable

by the passing of time;

Its fragile tones

a melancholy tune

on an old music box

that echoes in empty rooms;

Bereft of




Posted in Allegory, Dystopia, Ennui, Existential, Faith-centred, Horror, Identity, Nostalgia | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Genesis 1:1

No record was kept of
the name that they
gave to that bird,
vivid yellow and green
welcoming a primeval dawn,
captured on flickering footage
the memory of it kept
alive in black and white;

no-one recalls any longer
how many villagers were
removed from the site of
that first copper mine;

no written record was kept
of their ancient wisdom and
their cosmology long swept away;

sat neatly in rows
they learn anew
from the gaunt apparition
standing in front
of the blackboard,
and tied.

Posted in 19th.century european History, Allegory, Colonialism, Contemporary Society, Culture, Dystopia, Existential, Faith-centred, History Poem, Horror, Identity, Imperialism, Philosophy | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment


Gliding on empty

until the empty is gone,

and clouds wave

final farewells

as we pass them by


that they’ll never

see us again

nor we them,

as we bid them adieu

with the empty gone,

only the emptier left

we carry on


Posted in Allegory, Ennui, Existential, Expression of Faith, Faith-centred, Identity | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment


Lemonade on the verandah after supper,
discussing Rousseau and Voltaire
before retiring to the soft embrace
of an easy langour;

Expecting tomorrow and its harvest
of promise,the lush savannah
the tall sheaves and sturdy horses,
and yet that tomorrow never came;

No matter how much we believed
and what we believed was enough,
but what they believed was much more,
we recall with wounding monotony
those men of honour
whose sabres broke too soon,
those chivalric figures whose
steeds wearied in the long campaign;

We recall those shards of splendour smashed,
held captive in museum-cased aspic,
the haunting echo of a terpsichorean melody
vanished and gone into The Wilderness;

Mene mene tekel upharsin
those heirs of promise,
weighted in the balance
and found wanting;

The visions of Daniel,
the words of Ezekiel,
prophetic and predestined,

Lemonade on the verandah after supper,
discussing Rousseau and Voltaire
before awakening to
the dawn of a new day,
and grey.


Posted in 19th.Century American History, Allegory, American History, Colonialism, Existential, Horror, Identity, Imperialism | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment