Sonnet - Blood Rose

The Blood Rose is a pact, posthumous kept:
    An oath, perhaps, though closer to a curse
        Twixt lovers who presume their love trancend
All odds and struggles, sorrow's tears bewept --
    A promise not to line the Boatman's purse;
        To stay behind and on their love depend,
        To love and be loved, passion without end.

The drawback to such deals in darkness made
    (If I be true of word and wise of age),
Is once such debts are called to be repaid,
    Most regret the fine print on the page:

"Should thy word be broke or insincere,
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

- J.

Seven Sins of Snow White - 1.5

The briefest note, before the tale's begun
So as to cast our dwarfs in proper light;
No purer group of seven could ye find --
    Resisted all they could (well... all but one),
    Told the gnarly hag to fly a kite,
    But dwarfs aren't quite the magic-wielding kind;
        No sooner were their kindly souls maligned.

 Each one of them'd fall gladly 'pon a sword
Than hurt Snow White -- but to their gruff chagrin,
    The witch's hatred wouldn't be ignored;
    Their purest deeds would turn to acts of sin.

 Obey they would, but with a poisoned heart
(Except the one who tore the rest apart).

 ---

© J. Cambridge, 2017.

Sonnet - Scarecrow

Hanging in the darkness of the corn,

Hay-stuffed, ragged jeans and checkered shirt,

Expressionless, save for carved look of scorn,

Silently, he watches them, inert.

The birds descend upon his stuffed physique,

A murder on his back, to his disdain;

Endlessly they chatter, squawk and beak --

Blind to their tresspass on his domain.

Yet, were they to leave the golden field,

Take to air and leave him on his own,

He may find his mind and body healed,

Though pointlessly, for he is all alone.

Forever silent, hanging neath' the moon,

Hoping that the crows will come back soon.

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

Sonnet - Undertow

Into blissful kiss we both submerge,

Seized by passion's current, swept away,

Galvanized by pleasure's pow'rful surge,

Bodies coil and twist in carnal fray.

Gliding 'gainst each other, dripping sweat,

Immersed in molten want and rising steam,

Every nerve alive and keenly whet, 

Every moment here a perfect dream.

Higher still, on summit closing in,

Moaning, gritting teeth as bodies flail,

Blasting off together in our sin,

Riding our climax's vapour trail.

Panting, breathing in the afterglow, 

Swept up in our passion's undertow. 

---- 

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet - Epilogue

Sitting in the back of the cafe,

Sipping on a cup of chamomile,

A crimson sea of endless curly hair,

And emerald eyes above the slightest smile.

Pencil skirt with blazer (midnight black),

Slender, perfect legs (no pantyhose),

The perfect inner arch of lower back,

And glasses perched upon her freckled nose.

Poring o'er the laptop's glowing screen,

She glances at the man across the room;

His eyes intense, but with a playful sheen

(Shy redness in her cheeks begins to bloom).

"Madam, I would ask, if thou be able,

Wouldst thou take a seat here, at my table?

--FIN--

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet - 5 : 15

Oe'er and o'er he reads her final note,

Hot tears trickle down his stubbled cheeks;

Bittersweet, each loving word she wrote, 

Memories to keep him set for weeks.

He weeps for her, and for their memories,

So grateful for the details she's amassed --

It helps his aching heart to finally ease, 

And pacify the demons of his past. 

Eventually he looks upon his days

With anticipation, not chagrin;

Emerges from depression's heavy haze

A Poet, with a new tale to begin. 

With kindness in his eyes, he lifts his pen,

And revisits their Paradise again. 

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet - 5 : 14

My Poet - 6

Born in none but fear was my deceit,

My error now exposed with clarity. 

I lie here abandoned in the gloom;

Feel no guilt -- I would have done no less --

Doubtless I have earned this misery. 

Every sting and barb I shall endure,   

For I betrayed thee, love. I'd be livid,

Perhaps unable, even, to forgive...

But be not confused  -- this is my Hell;

There exists no penance so severe

As to dwarf the fear and guilt I bear,

And the horror of the coming doom.

I fade, Poet. My time grows e'er short.

Please know: utterly have I loved thee,

Never hath I felt such heat before. 

My utmost hath been given to perform

My duty as thy Muse admirably,

Ne'er a day hath past which I regret;

Even through the guilt and pain I bore,

My happiness hath ne'er been more intense

Than any single moment in thy arms.

Pure and without end, my love for thee;

A privilege was my service to thee, love;

In endless gratitude shall I depart.

Yet I would ask one final task of thee:

Every part of us rests in thy hands;

Each perfect moment, lovingly preserved,

In as much detail as I recall.

Use it, Poet -- weild the quill once more,

Write the book that lingers in thy head.

Immortalize me as thee hath before, 

And in the writing, thy true self embrace:

Sensuality - passion made flesh. 

Take all we had made, and give it breath.

Step into the 'you' who won my heart, 

And in my name, live most passionately. 

I'm sorry that this has to be the end,

But only mine. Farewell, my dearest friend. 

- Juliet

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015

My Juliet - 5 : 13

My Poet - 5

My heart-- t'were thine, sweet Poet, even then;

Our love notes wove the gossamer of my dreams,

Water to my thirst, our paradise.

The Fates hath shown me none but suffering,

Yet Poet, thou hath given none but bliss. 

In worst of storms, my lifeline didst thou cast.

T'was safety found, and trust placed in thy hands. 

Not a whit of my love was pretense,

Unchanged in manner or intensity.

My 'final' note wore first taint of deceipt;

I claimed a fearful heart, but nay. The truth:

Of my illness I had just been told. 

Ne'er before hath my sobs fell so hard;

No task so daunting had I undertook,

Allowing common sense to persevere...

My heart lay shattered, my chest hollow,

Yet to bear thine eyes upon me now,

To have thee see the wretch I would become...

...Thy presence at my door, it gave me pause.

Moving on was forefront then, my love;

Our passion thus a perfect memory, 

Froze in time, a fantasy preserved.

Thou couldst think of me as only bliss,

And of my suffering be unaware. 

Yet there stood thee, before my widened eyes,

A torrent of emotion overcame;

My only wish to be in thine embrace,

Though the truth lurked e'er haunting me. 

O Poet-- would that I could use your quill!

Countless nights spent struggling with the words.

And all the while, such pow'r thou gave to me,

To know within thine eyes I bear no stain. 

Stronger still did my denial grow,

For tempting thine escape had always been.

Yet just as hearts tell tales beneath the floor,

Deafening, my truth's noise had become.

Please, let not my terror earn thy hate;

For so ignored was treatment, till too late.

- Juliet.

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet - 5 : 12

My Poet - 4 

"Thy words, darling -- warm honey 'pon my tongue, 

Charmed I was, as if in a glamour.

Thy deftness of quill hath woven thee

Of far superior cloth than callers past;

T'was thy love of craft what won my eye --

A love I coveted, I doth confess. 

Pained was I, in sending you my note;

Near to dawn, each word twice rewrit,

Plagued by nerves. What if I looked the fool,

One salutation, among countless more?

Yet none could beam so very joyfully

As I did, at reading thy reply. 

T'was as if pulled into a magic place;

What paradise-- what Eden we had made! 

Heaven never so aptly defined,

Celestial did I feel, within it.

Knew then, I did, to whom my bliss belonged. 

Within are notes I have for thee prepared;

Each of our dialogues saved, transcribed

And recorded in each precious detail,

Every piece of us, in every form. 

Remember me this way, I beg of thee!

I would not be memorialized

As infected with this ruthless plague!

  

So beautiful, our place -- it freed my soul.

To place my trust in thee so thoroughly -- 

To have thee, with thy words, pluck of my fruit --

No greater pleasure 'neath the risen sun,

Than to have been chosen as thy muse.

Thy words awoke a furnace deep within;

'Twixt mine aching breast and melting thighs

Such realms of ecstasy I never knew. 

From our first parlay, I burned for thee;

Every part of me was yours to tend,

And I would serve thy every lustful whim.

Thine utterly was I, even then. 

For thee did I so completely fall,

But soon would I receive the fateful call.

- Juliet."

----

 

Sonnet - Mermaids

I approached the water for a drink,

Gazed at my reflection for a spell, 

Lost my balance, splashed into the drink;

Awakened in the place where mermaids dwell.

So beautiful, these creatures -- such allure,

The way they danced and played among the reeds!

T'was nearly too much for me to endure,

Such perfect curves -- they gave my body needs.

Of course, I knew I'd soon be out of air;

To the surface I'd make my return,

It seemed they didn't mind me being there,

And watched me leave with ne'er a tic's concern.

I do return there, hoping now and then

To catch the mermaids' beauty once again.

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet - 5 : 11

My Poet - 3

His bloodshot eyes stared, panicked, up at me.

Few be those who could emerge unstained,

Or e'er equipped to trust another soul,

Yet sweet relief empowered me just then.

With narry a peep, I watched him die

(No goodbyes for those who deal in pain),

And back inside did I return,

Emerging with a wooden baseball bat.

Crying, Mother pleaded, "Stay your hand!

No wish had I for you to endure him; 

His threats and curses had me trapped in fear, 

A wretch I be, but I feared pain and death!"

"Then hurt and die!!" I screamed, raising the bat.

"You hid, and all the while, you surely knew.

Ignored our cries, hid in your bottles,

And let us be his perverse playground. Hag! 

Thou hast earned thy share of agony, 

But not from me, for I am not that man. 

Worse than what he did, your inaction;

Your joy cost both your babies' innocence."

To my sister I then turned, and said,

Take the bat from out my trembling hands;

Our mother's punishment is thy domain."

I left her there, and ne'er would I return.

Not long afterward did I break down, 

Having watched my father's grisly doom,

Most would struggle to trust e'er again,

But not this girl. My enemy was gone.

I went to school to help kids just like me:

Those wayward souls with ne'er a place to turn,

Who need someone to reassure their minds;

I give them hope -- a thing I never had.

For years did I wait to be truly loved,

But one after another, all had failed

To give me what I craved: Pure, true romance--

Until at last, I found you and your words.

Even at that time, I think I knew

That I'd found something beautiful in you.

- Juliet

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet - 5 : 10

"My Poet - 2

Imprisoned by these pills, my mind askew,

Clumsy or confusing my words be.

Apologies, for this letter be long,

And e'er does Death stand grinning at the door. 

Please, a note of patience, my Poet.

Prior to our heart's meeting, harsh was life,

Loneliness and fear took o'er my nights --

The darkest of the tale remains untold;

Thou knowest of my father's appetites,

But only part of this have I disclosed.

My sister and I both endured his sins,

And one last darkened chapter yet remains.

By my dozenth year, his lusts began,  

Though only so far could their urgings go,

At my refusal, Lust was dwarfed by Wrath,

Until my little sister came of age.

The wicked man will justify his deeds, 

However he can think to, as a rule.

I was just a kid -- what could I do?

My mother being privy to his ways,

Turned to drink to soothe her guilt and shame, 

And let him violate her precious girls

Each night for months, with ne'er a spoken word.

(The wicked woman carries her sins too.)

My aim be weak, so killer I am not --

The bullet grazed him, but t'was just enough

For him to know his time to fear had come. 

'Lower my gun right now, little gir--'

'Enough. I cannot listen anymore,'

I muttered, fury boiling in my eyes,

'Should you rise, or step to me, monster,

By thine own gun shall ye be put to dust.'

Walking out, I sensed his rage, like steam,

And turned to see him coming like a train;

I screamed, then heard a shot crack through the air,

And watched his lifeless body hit the ground.

Behind him, leaning weakly 'gainst the door,

Was Mother with the smoking gun. 'No more.'

- Juliet."

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet - 5 : 9

"My Poet - 1

How wretched you must feel, so all alone,

Confused and empty, as I was at first.

Death is such a monster, dark and cold,

Yet something which this muse no longer fears. 

Know that this was not by my design,

Nor by no wish nor dream of sleep or wake.

Would that I could hold thee in mine arms,

Stroke your hair and kiss your stubbled cheeks,

And in the warmth of us, find peace at last;

Yet loveless be the Fates, it would appear. 

My heart weeps for how miserable they are.

I implore thee, Poet-- know of everything;

Each moment of this nightmarish ordeal,

Beginning on the day my fate was sealed.

No changes to my status as a fiend --

I surely have betrayed thee. I know this.

Seeking not to undermine thy pain,

Nor justify dishonesty, my love...

My goal be simple: help thee to accept

Thy muse's state of mind, from start to end,

Mayhaps find forgiveness in thy soul,

And see me not as in thy fantasies,

But as a person, sick and terrified.

I leaveth thee such things, not to imbue

A broken soul with yet more agony,

But to provide thee all that you require

To grant thy Juliet her final wish:

Compassion, and a very patient heart

(The medicine they give me brings a fog;

And other things lacking in dignity.

I write as much as I can, when I can,

And take advantage of lucidity,

Please, my love, read right through to the end,

Know that I have loved you all my life,

And that I hope we meet again someday.

Heavy are these thoughts upon my chest,

But now I need to lie down, try to rest.

- Juliet."

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015. 

Sonnet - Breath

Dead of night. The sprawling city sleeps,

The only sounds my ever-aching bones;

Pain starts low, then upwardly it creeps, 

Then out my mouth in desperate cries and moans.

Which sin be mine, to earn such agony?

What deed so vile, to earn the Maker's scorn?

What purpose served by life in misery,

So horrid as to wish to ne'er been born?

Of course no answer comes. What would suffice?

That suffering is a part of Life's design,

Or that there be some painless Paradise?

If that be all, then why not jump the line?

Speak not of that. No victory in death;

A protest, then, in every weary breath.

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet; 5 : 6

The ringing of the phone yanks him from sleep

Sometime in the later afternoon.

His consciousness still buried rather deep,

His sister's voice is sharp and out of tune:

"Jesus, Poet -- what is up with you? 

You don't call your sister anymore?

I feel distraught for you-- you know I do,

But life goes on, just like it did before."

"Please, no more. I mean it -- that's enough.

I will not listen to another word.

I'm dealing with a lot of heavy stuff, 

My soulmate died, in case you hadn't heard.

...I'm sorry. Let me call you in an hour;

I need to clean this place and take a shower."

----

- Jack

 

My Juliet - 5 : 5

Weak and filthy, Poet moans on waking,

Wincing 'gainst the pain inside his head;

Waiting for the world to finish shaking,

He's still alive, but wishes he were dead.

His bedroom is a vomit-soaked nightmare.

Poet hasn't showered in o'er a week,

Having done nothing and gone nowhere,

At least 4 days of beard upon his cheek.

An irony, or cruelest twist of fate;

He even failed to end it properly.

A scream to no one, full of pain and hate,

"What good can come from life in misery?"

Poet sobs there, wretched and unstable,

And still ignores the box upon the table.

----

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

Sonnet - Blaze

Hot breath mingles -- first exquisite kiss,

Skin electric, pulling at our clothes,

Flesh on flesh, engulfed in tactile bliss,

Dripping sweat, entranced in passion's throes.

Every scrap of clothing hits the floor, 

Merciless kissing, moaning 'round our lips;

Engines running hot as ne'er before,

Desperate fingers squeezing both her hips.

Smouldering, we reach a fever pitch,

Frantically, our bodies twist and coil,

We rise together -- both our voices hitch, 

Our ecstasy brought to near-angry boil.

Finally, when lust can go no higher,

We smoulder in our passion's dwindling fire.

-- 

- © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

My Juliet; 5 : 4

Poet knows not the hour of the night,

Nor why the world must bend, twist and contort;

His balance and perception isn't right,

He tries to stand, but keeps on falling short.

Weeping, Poet knows his end is nigh,

And prays forgiveness for his many sins. 

He bows his head and whispers soft, 'goodbye'--

-- and that is when the vomiting begins.

Heaving, doubled over on the floor, 

Terrified he'll die in agony;

It doesn't cease for hours; maybe more...

Until there's nothing left in him to see. 

When morning comes, it seems the purge is done,

But it'll be days before he sees the sun.

----

© Jackson Cambridge, 2015

My Juliet; 5 : 3

Handful after handful down his throat,

Gagging on the sterile, chalky taste;

It shouldn't end on such an ugly note,

But life without her's better off erased.

 

"I'm sorry, love," he whispers in the gloom,

"I don't know how to do this on my own,

A ghost I have become, haunting this room, 

I can't handle all this hurt alone."

 

The tears roll down the sadder Poet gets,

As drowsiness descends, he sits and hums;

His heart and soul forever Juliet's,

Even as the silent darkness comes. 

 

Collapsing on the bed, he shuts his eyes

And waits to see his love beyond the skies.

 

----

 © Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

(To be continued.)

My Juliet, 5 : 2

His quill has gathered dust since Juliet passed,

The inspiration's left him, it would seem.

Clueless as to how long this will last;

He barely sleeps, and rarely does he dream. 

Shallow and indulgent he's become;

A nameless girl sleeps naked in his bed. 

He feels like garbage -- likely too much rum,

Pain, like thunder, rumbles through his head.

Rising from his bed at nearly dusk, 

Going through the motions, dead inside; 

Shambling through the days an empty husk,

Knowing there's but one end to this ride.

He grabs the pills from out the medicine chest,

First takes two, then swallows all the rest. 

----

© Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

(To be continued, I promise.)