Shame...

For Jobi and Bonds

I probably don't smell too good today,

In last night's crumpled clothing, stumbling, wan

And pale – as pallid as this broken dawn –

Back to my house (if I can find the way).

With clean-cut cheeks and tailored suit of grey,

The Businessman strides past – he’s clearly on

His way to work. Eyes meet, and then he’s gone,

To meetings, desks, and chasing higher pay.

The disapproval on his face is clear:

He’s got a job, responsibility!

He got no time for mates and drinking beer –

He’d never throw away his life like me.

            I drift to bed on joys he’s never tasted,

            And smile to think that it’s my life that’s wasted.

Oure Elvysshe Craft

Quelle surprise, another sonnet.

The alchemist, uncertain, grinds his lead;
Around the room, alembics fizz, and bowls
Of baser matter bubble over coals
That steam the room and bead his scratchy head.
He thinks of wiser minds, and men long dead,
Of failed experiments, and thwarted goals:
If such a quest defeated those great souls,
Should he just strive for simpler aims instead?
Why seek for truth in this quixotic art?
Why chase eternities of gold? Why fret?
With all before discomfited, why start?

Maybe he’s mad – it’s vanity, but yet –

He knows, with romance in his shaded heart,

The merest gleam is worth the doubt and sweat.