Firelight

The shy winds
of a late autumn eve
breezes over the tingling
warmth of my feverish skin
when they throw open the windows
to let in the dark.

Your shy glances brush my shoulders
and leave a burning warmth
on my golden skin under
quietly trembling lights,
my eyes seek yours in semi-darkness;
two can play a game tonight…

My shy blushes hide
beneath discreetly painted eyes,
trust me, pretty words don’t lie,
see me through the pretty lace,
and let me haunt your dreams tonight,
leisurely prowling to tear.

Your shy fingers tremble,
delicate and pale, shivering
slightly with my touch
‘though the night is warm,
your breath, shallow when
I kiss your palm and
each of your fingertips,
my prince for the night.

The shy music fades
into non-existence,
and all you can see is the silk
on my sleeves unravelling
as I glide around the room,
selling temporary love
to buy temporary envy in your eyes.

When shy lights flicker to shadows,
whisper sweet nothings in my ears,
your voice low and resounding
in my beating heart until dawn
steals my starlight…
I’ll miss you for a while, I swear.
Don’t you dream of constellations…

T. E. Pyrus

shadow phantom

In my last memory of you,
midnight poured like rain
with no lightning for company.
Your shadow shivered in vain

when the wind brought icy numbness
to the traveler in the dark
who scoured the stormy sleepless sky
for a silver starry spark.

You leaned against the darkness,
with your lantern glowing gold
that swung lightly from your fingers.
There, in overwhelming cold,

where the wind tastes like dewdrops,
yet, light still far away,
beyond that sea of darkness.
When tomorrow and yesterday

blend into the silent night
beneath the willow trees
I saw you in the shadows
For a moment in the breeze,

And never again came you my way,
you shade from mystery’s lore;
I awaited you with solitary
love for evermore.

T. E. Pyrus

let’s call this one Orange

EMERGENCY! The forever-bored-and-please-shut-down-the-world-for-me mode has taken over my brain. This is a very dramatic cry for help written when Sir f-b-a-p-s-d-t-w-f-m was resting. Stole the keys, shuffled into an empty barrel (that just happened to be lying around in the middle of the flooded main road) and carved this message onto a scrap piece of driftwood I found inside. Forgive the madness; the rolling made me dizzy. Also, note that, as I ask you to “forgive” the madness, I do not request you in any direct or indirect way to eradicate it. This would be a result of an interesting discovery stating that cat-petting deficiency can be kept temporarily under control with careful and controlled administration. Alas, I spilled a teeeny bit too much into my midnight lemonade. So blame that for all these crows that like to dress up like everyday is Halloween as flamingos and parakeets and likes. And there was this adventurous little lad who tried to dress up like the sky, so he stole some mirror and aluminium foil and made himself a perfect cloak. And guess what he realised then…he had built himself an almost-invisibility cloak! And thus the mystery of the missing telephone wire was solved. The only unsolved puzzle that haunted that bright orange telephone-without-the-wire booth was that one could talk over the line, and would receive a slightly distorted electrical voice of the person on the other end. And then Miss Hello-folks came around in a bright orange evening gown and took a class about radio waves and satellites and such. You can bet on science to melt down mysteries and imaginary friends. But, for a moment, imagine that science is really imagination so advanced and overwhelmingly powerful that it explains all of of existence and interactions in space-time which, again, was created by this exhausted God person, saying, “Hey folks, it’s all up to you now. I retire here. Yes, yes, – no photographs please- oh but statues are good. Paintings too. And you guys I love you all, my precious fans! I trust you won’t ever forget me (or else).” And then some other people said “Bah! We have a better story…” and poor little science tiptoed around trying to figure out how to enlighten these folks without being stalked and murdered. All that is history now. Let science have its turn in the spotlight, hand in hand with imagination. Let the stars live happy and the moon shine bright. Oh yeah. Maths. We were talking about maths. You know, those squiggly number things that jump around a this symbol of a bridge thing (eekuaal too, was it?). And sometimes you find them sitting around this round thing with giant swords spinning over their heads. Sometimes they sit on vegetables and food packages. Maybe you’ve seen them invisible too! Or not. You know, they were invisible after all. Apparently these number things can do a lot of stuff. Maybe these number things are a teeny bit tired. Maybe some other folks are too. Maybe some other folks like to fall into this state of being called “sleep”. It seems to be this funny thing where the brain is on standby and decides to try and get creative. Have you ever met a drunk painter? That is what a person’s brain turns into when they are in this interesting sate of being. And maybe some painters in some brains are raising a glass to insanity and such, so I shall try to find a drunk painter myself. Interesting creatures, don’t you think?

T. E. Pyrus

another dusk

trace the fading numbers
before you abandon that
ancient calender, crumbling
and wistful, and pale golden dust
in the fading light that feels
like nostalgia and smells like home;
wonder if they wondered about you
a hundred years ago.

T. E. Pyrus