Author: Jeffrey L. H. Naylor

Look at his eyes, they are looking everywhere!
I watch his eyes move to his left
Zero dark eyes peering intently through his long hair,
Lying on his back, threatened by lies.
In his eyes I feel the contriving
He conveys when focusing on others.
He looks straight into my eyes and lies.
His eyes are on the lies,
But in my eyes he is caught up in his own lies.
Whose are the eyes that do not lie?

Tough Soldier, Man of War!
Sly Man of business, Man of War!
Chrome-Tooth, Wo-Man of War!
You all know the prize door
Where stands one man toward
Another. Everyone knows
The money man who goes
Always to feed his son the fool.
Seize his children the proper tool
To rob him of his innocence respect.
Sniggle as good Christian”s fleck
Their jeers at him without regard.
Putrid stench unveils a father retard.
He”s not the money man for
Sure. Thus, strike his heart to bore
Deep inside him forever to gore.
Make our life now warriors of war
Tough, Sly and Chrome Toothed soar
To sink the hearts of poor forlorn.
Never speak again, the key, the door.

I have always been eccentric, and surely always shall be.
Define me brute and selfish, merely inner focused is me.
I do not know that for such a maladay there is a cure,
Perhaps there is or not, but one thing is for sure;
Finding sweet love is the bane of the eccentric, that’s why
To fall in love with another eccentric is therapeutically denied!
There is so much clatter in my head you understand,
That sometimes, that is sometimes why, I silent stand.
I cannot articulate the inarticulate, but you who love my words,
You think I’m unresponsive, uncaring, and unfeeling. Absurd!
It is not that at all, it is simply, purely, simply undefinable.
That is what it is you see, so I cannot define me the indefinable!
I do love you, but I have the rest of my eccentric life to live,
Tis life can be so lonely, yet, not lonely because you don’t give.
Lonely because of the undefinable eccentricity,
Which defines me indefinably, nitty-gritty!
Sometimes my soul aches, not my heart, but my inner, deepest soul.
It’s situated over on the left side of me, beneath my mind, I’m told.
The piercing jab of my ambiguity is often unbearable, yet bearable.
Such is the bane of eccentrics, a conundrum miserably unavoidable.

I was a Sunni fallen into
The mineral colored waters
Of the furthest Oasis from
The Tigris and Euphrates
When I, and my parched apprehensions
Were filled with a cup of cool,
Pellucid authenticity,
When I received your message. . .
Neither Tigleth-Pilesar
Nor Sennacherib
Could ever so boast
Of such a thirst thus quenched!

The sun rises over nature providing
A golden canopy creating
An eye’s view of all the treachery spawned
Under cover of night before the dawn.
Empty lies the Loggerhead’s nest
A victim of Savagery’s shadowed molest.

Schizophrenic Love
A fire
She builds
Against her will.
To a door
She moves
Tomorrow,
Or not?
Only the fire
She wills
Can build
The door
To which
She moves.

Beating the drums is the breath of Time.
………….We hasten to pace ourselves with…
………………its call to keep moving,
………………its call to keep proving,
………………its call to keep knowing,
………………its call to keep following.
One day, when the drums will be silent,
Time will be a distant memory captured in imagination.
Lost in the spaces, sounds the rattle and clatter
Of a million, billion aspirating lungs
that have no tempo by which the finite struggle
………………to move
………………to prove
………………to know
………………to follow.
Alas, Time is set free from imagination’s embrace,
And a fluttering noise fills the air with Peace Eternal,
Which splits the clouds exploding with angelic hosts.
Beating the drums is the Breath of God.
………….With which we hasten to pace…

Blue is the truest love my heart can bleed.
Dreamt I once, the vintage wine of love to drink.
And through my lover’s veins my mind concedes
To her and her alone my heart in mystery, linked.
Throbbing within her heart of Bluest Blue,
Pouring forth from her veins of Redest Red,
Came sweet potions of contrivance, so my soul in nescience fed.
In this verdant garden a love of pain she nurtured and conceity grew.
The aristoi of complicity bleed needlessly a heart of Blue.
My heart bled deep a sorrow cloyed with lonesome fears,
Insensible, Red-rich love never yields to mortal tears.
Piteous is the love that yearns to find another true Blue of Hearts,
Learning always in endings, yearning always in beginnings.
My wishful, hungering soul was robbed of its Blue of Hearts,
For my love could never be Red. Colored in contrasts, love is ending.
Today ending, tomorrow beginning, life only pours cups of dread.
Now Gray is the color I drink, staying out of the paths of Red.

The Loneliness of One
“The” is a poem about the loneliness of one word.
One word walking in the snow alone, such is absurd?
Wake up, and look around to see for free.
The forests are full of such trees as we!

It leaves upon scorned bark
The Elder’s aging mark
He horrors with an aulten face, and she
Augurs subitaneously to her flagitious place.
The coruscation of her I mean to gain.
Oh, suspicion, thou fleeting swan of ancient lakes.
Lead me to blue waters for sweetie’s sake.