Watershed

[A Poetry Collection]

About the poems

Many of the poems in this selection are ekphrastic in nature, that is to say that they were inspired by other artworks, including cinematic oeuvres. The Dancer was motivated by the eponymous character in the French gangster film Borsalino, whilst Empire of Light and Babylon were written after watching their namesake films. Mythological tales also played a significant part in shaping these poems. However you prefer to approach poetry, whichever interpretation of Aesthetics you subscribe to, I hope you will enjoy this selection!

A BITTER TRUTH DESERVES THOSE BITTER TEARS

Some men are Romeos, others are Lears;

Some who have never loved, await their knell;

A bitter Truth deserves those bitter tears.

Some men, so lonely, must allay their fears

As Hades, coercing the Spring to hell;

Some men are Romeos, others are Lears.

Some men, even as in their youngest years

As agents of Satan, their souls did sell;

A bitter Truth deserves those bitter tears.

Of regimes of Death for love, the World hears:

Like the Hittite, who like autumn leaf fell;

Some men are Romeos, others are Lears.

A Queen lost her son for want of ideas;

A man doubts what the Walrus did but tell;

A bitter Truth deserves those bitter tears.

And I — I of whom the panging heart sears,

Must on never confessed devotion dwell;

Some men are Romeos, others are Lears:

A bitter Truth deserves those bitter tears.

A BITTER TRUTH DESERVES THOSE BITTER TEARS

Some men are Romeos, others are Lears;

Some who have never loved, await their knell;

A bitter Truth deserves those bitter tears.

Some men, so lonely, must allay their fears

As Hades, coercing the Spring to hell;

Some men are Romeos, others are Lears.

Some men, even as in their youngest years

As agents of Satan, their souls did sell;

A bitter Truth deserves those bitter tears.

Of regimes of Death for love, the World hears:

Like the Hittite, who like autumn leaf fell;

Some men are Romeos, others are Lears.

A Queen lost her son for want of ideas;

A man doubts what the Walrus did but tell;

A bitter Truth deserves those bitter tears.

And I — I of whom the panging heart sears,

Must on never confessed devotion dwell;

Some men are Romeos, others are Lears:

A bitter Truth deserves those bitter tears.

THE MYTHOLOGICAL SOURCE

Verily, Sir, Truly there is not truth;

He who says not so, says not sooth.

For else how should Ariadne’s wire retrace

Back to the killing source from the killing place?

Were each root and consequence really the same,

Could Theseus have thus (from the Maze) outclamber’d to proclaim,

I am glory, Glory is I,

I am glory personified?

While the Minotaur lay slain.

MINOTAUR

Pity the Minotaur!

Trapp’d in labyrinthine

Cage,

Railing against Nature;

Yet

blood must be had, and

Blood shall it have; Pity

Not!

For he who must live, Must

Die; And he who smiles, Shall

Cry;

And once the Feast has pass’d,

Nature wants not, loves

Not

Pity; No more shall he

Question Nature’s ways, nor

Whys.

THE DANCER

He strikes up the dance, the Dance of the Dead,

He strikes up the dance, the dancers have fled;

He strikes up the dance, he shan’t halt till he’s dead,

He strikes up the dance, to his Death hath he bled.

O Dancer, o Dancer, why liv’st thou thus?

Thou art a beacon for mine angry lust-

Raging revenge shall come for thee,

Thou oughtn’t’ve told that which thou didst see.

He strikes up the dance, the Dance for Power,

He strikes up the dance, soon’ll sound midnight’s hour;

He hath struck up the dance, Now end’th his Power,

He hath struck up the dance, Fate’ll reap bearing flow’rs.

O Dancer, o Dancer, with thine immaculate slick,

Thy errors in thy scheming shall feel no fix,

For through thy glacial heart, Wrath shall amend,

And thy talents shall see their violent end.

EMPIRE OF LIGHT, EMPIRE OF FIRE

How to treat the Castle of Sand- for of Sand,

It is made: If the reasons why shall fade,

Then let no longer folly play the hand,

Or joy in filthy dereliction wade,

Nor bloodshed as tyrant rule o’er the land.

The child shall bring back to the path whence strayed;

The wings of desire are mended to dream,

Return now, days, when your gaze was a beam.

BABYLON ULTRA

Atop the table, beneath ancient grates,

The peak of elation and sadness pry:

Caught in a superposition of states,

I seek comfort, and I welcome the lie;

Recognising the folly of the fêtes,

But too late: always ‘twas too late to die-

So I shall let emotion consume me whole,

Regardless of whither shall go my soul.

Godless it may be, but nor does a Code

Here dictate- Hammurabi reigns not here.

Decadence to rival hell, slain and rode

Are all; even great Belshazzar need fear,

For a fork’d tongue shall deliver his ode

Here, to a vision on the wall, a cheer

Here, with novel appraisal, Babylon:

Ultra. Or perhaps ‘tis forever gone.

CAUGHT BETWEEN SCYLLA AND CHARIBDIS

Caught Between Scylla and Charybdis,

Current drifting towards an abyss,

The knife’s edge and the mind’s edge, the same

Setting for the Catch-22 to flame.

Torn asunder, longing to know bliss;

But it is Bliss that bears Scylla’s name.

Treacle staining honour in straining;

Reason and passion are battling;

Those who sin most are quickest to bless,

All is in vain, failure regardless;

The die has been cast; and Fate shall wring

Hope from an innocent heart, no less.

And Fate shall pounce as upon Bronte’s

Governess; still the ship sails the seas,

Mindless or Defiant of the Gift

Of Nature; we know to death we drift,

And choose rock or pool to hear our pleas;

Imminent judgement before the rift.

Settling for love, and seeking Scylla,

Longing for the shores of Messina

A meagre sacrifice. Or emerge

As did the Mariner from the surge

Of torrents, Intact, and deliver

From the guilt of trespassing love’s verge?

About the Poet

Zavie

© [Year] [Author’s Name].
Published by Merken Magazine with the permission of the author. All copyright and intellectual property rights remain with the author.

© [Year] Merken Magazine.
The editorial selection, layout, design, and presentation of this publication are the work of Merken Magazine. The poems may not be reproduced elsewhere without the author’s consent and may be removed from this website at the author’s request.