Basing on Blake

Quench quench wanhopes ?

of holy light –


possessed of day

where spirits stray


cannot (in & of) itself

destroy or complete


near shades of extortion

where sorrows meet.


Pent fires arc & hark

crater & ploy


timeless rallies with terror,

seek staggering joy.


Blades wired liken frogmen

to an arsenal of feet


whose fins buck and batter

blood-honey like sweets.


A green river hazard,

flats over oceans of sky


old weapons reload

swoon the drizzle & ride.


Its charms cherish



balconied mudholes

open wide –


Sudden – game ball

bounces out,


treason goes granular ?

turns a wild bulls eye.


Beauty senses trouble

lies delinquent, in wait


for deceits defiant bubbles

to riotously dissipate.


As sorrow aches to trust

and anguish turns to lust.