Memoirs of Kal-El

 

Lex Luthor: Clark, you can't save the world. 

All you'll end up with is a Messiah complex and a lot of enemies.

Clark Kent: I saved you, didn't I? That turned out all right. 

 

The lonely city candy affair

A pause in this loneliest city,
A dialog I add of footprints emerging
In chapter of turndown eternity.

Since I turn only to you undone,
In retiring light of the morning moon,
In stoic light of the evening sun.

It shadows my fairish glitter.
It blinds one if the sweetened white,
I’d shirk divorcing the mirror.

Shirk not envying the postman.
He pleases to please, ceases to cease.
For how your talk goes my pen.

The comfort I jilt of my shelter,
A bedpost and a seascape on the wall,
The universe for knocking later,

To become a mistletoe pendant.
On your oak where metaphors bloom.
My darling oxymoron, old friend.

On the bed cared-for when we lie,
Secretly open-eyed and close-hearted
In the compass of a needle eye,

Tickle not my fancy to flee often
To the slightest ice on the coldest lake!
Dilemma of half-lost, half-gotten.

Infant and redundant up the sky,
Down they blur to divide and conquer.
Sad! I can’t more than clouds cry.

Blurry streets I can’t but dread,
Where with each blink of my eye fades
The imprint of your silhouette.

Beneath the starry sky

Beneath the starry sky,

My love and I once lay

My lips fiery on

Her silky skin did stray,

Her eyes wilder I kissed

As she came nearer,

And asked of my dreams--

Then a secret to her.

Beneath the starry sky,

My love and I once lay,

No longer did my lips

Avid on her skin stray,

Her eyes keen cast about

Which so I did confer,

And read my kept scrolls

Of sleepless nights to her.

I Flicker

Eyes alight, feet that never tread the ground,
In these hazel shadows or steadfast starlight,
My concern remains to unfasten the bounds,
Who abjectly beg for aloofness from my sight.

Even the baron so sordid in his days existed,
In a veiled visit, I saw him coughing a lot,
“It’s worth it” a cleric by bedside insisted,
Sardonically I smirked, for knew it was not.

When a dame agitated agonizingly in labour,
Behind the bystanders I blankly did survey,
Making way my fingers calmly touched her,
Snatching her child unborn from belly away.

Reticent alike, I once intruded a gravedigger,
Enwrapped in shovelling with tied in frown,
For hours I, a languid spy, eyed with snigger,
Till my message a crashing oak brought down.

In fallacy of wakening to my tunes someday,
A watchmaker in his chamber torpid and sick,
Turned the keys of last watch and sans delay,
Softly resigned to the serenade of ‘tick tick’.

Each time, in my dim abode later on I flicker,
Ascertain to scoff the traces of this strife,
Dulled, I tranquilly write my name in water,
And stoop to see hollow legion falling to life.

Broken promise to a left behind fey woman

Cloaked in silence, these stars bear,
Spelt in book of my passionate dreams,
Demoiselle you have the wildest eyes,
What blinds are to see and deaf to hear?
Carven name I’d remember to baptize,
In the forest of promise, on every tree,
Woman of sacred heart, or so it seems,
I shall revisit for you’re dearest to me.

Queen's Lane Coffeehouse

 

And as walled chestnut pure,
Restricted imagery only secure,
Where the broken ones trade
Teacups and hearts glass made.

Steamed air from brew machine
Or precise miracles of caffeine,
Breathe counter born contribution
In hearsay or polite conversation.

Yet, of the shop in street corner
Soul lies not in beans however,
Rather ladies with skirts unfold
And sires who fondly behold.

Lovers, whose wishful eyes lock,
Let crescendo of wordless talk,
And loners, desolations surpass,
Gaze from behind the wineglass.

What’s sorrier than any woe?
For those who come and they go,
Comes who(ever), times cleave,
Because people always leave.