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Poems By Poet Michael Buhagiar  9/3/2010 4:30:18 AM
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  Best Poems From
  MICHAEL BUHAGIAR (13 January 1954)
 
 
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  17.     

Echo Point 5: Eclogue in a Berlin Street

Stone, the emblem of the timeless become space
- Oswald Spengler


Christopher Brennan Deep in the wildest valley of my soul
I sense something nameless struggling to be born.
I feel the merest fraction of a whole,
Rank afterbirth of midnight stains my dawn.
Old Euler is lecturing on Homer today…

Aleister Crowley I divine that between two poles you are torn.
Your nerves are shot and fear has held sway
Since the great god Phallus began to annoy.
You should chuck your degree and go your own way
And dwell no more on the sack of Troy.

Christopher Brennan
How could I abandon that beautiful tongue?
The Greeks have been my inspiration and joy,
A diamond that shines from a sea of dung.
Now so often at my desk while thinking hard
I feel a sudden jolt as if stung.

Aleister Crowley The Scorpion is your sign, and Death your card…

Christopher Brennan
They revealed to me forms which the Church holds obscene,
The Beauty that shattered forever my guard,
Standing and sunlit and balanced and clean.
.
Aleister Crowley But where is the Classical symbol for infinity,
All breasts and hips of an Egyptian queen
Reclining for a Caesar to enter her sea?

Christopher Brennan Your image is strong, it sings of a world
Rich like the ground of a magical tree.

Aleister Crowley Like leaves in autumn, all yellow and curled,
Classical beauty is brittle and frail.
But I drive by night with sails unfurled
In search of Death and the Holy Grail.
From the loins of Babalon and the Serpent-Lion
Has sprung the Word to supplant your braille,
The fiery Lord of the coming Aeon.
Know that every man and woman is a star,
And trust in your own self to guide you on.

Christopher Brennan My soul shall be the barque to carry me far.
But of what shall I sing when the nights grow cold?
Aleister Crowley The only theme of Heru-Ra-Ha:
The cliffs of gold, the cliffs of gold.

 
Michael Buhagiar
   
 

   
   
 

  18.     

Homage to Eric Clapton

A seed once fell onto English terrain
Where wars had thicked the soil with much blood;
And its roots struck deep into Satan’s brain
On the side where feeling and melody bud.

And it thrust through years like a rebel army
Though deserted by sun and the rain close behind;
And a luthier culled one of its strongest rami
To craft an instrument with Segovia in mind.

Now the southwind spurs its belly, and there rears
Chaliapin, Sinatra, Caruso, all capped
By a song that crowns like cream the milch tree;

And a dark and haggard dryad appears
From a bole and croaks it is Clapton trapped,
And by the soaring topmost branch set free.
 
Michael Buhagiar
   
 

   
   
 

  19.     

I Honestly Love You

If this vow of affection is simply true
Don’t tell me why you had to speak it:
A spell was settling and you had to break it,
I know, for it would chill and entomb you.

A fate some ghost from your past was weaving,
Her lips once offered, then snatched away
Perhaps…A warmth whose feeling is believing,
That you sensed, before all, in the light of day.

No… like driftwood washed to an island
Where thick-rooted green sets free the bough,
You suffer in silence, and sing to me, now,
A lament for a time undead, at hand.

For truth, like poetry, must come from the heart,
As honest as tears that slip to the floor,
As plain to the sense as Cupid’s dart.
I hear truth’s beat, a wounded roar

That floods through your transparent art
To reach where waters surge and pore:
With open arms, and with knowing heart,
From here to forever, I come to your shore.

In memoriam Peter Allen
 
Michael Buhagiar
   
 

   
   
 

  20.     

In the Ebor Cemetery

From zero to zero an ice wind sweeps
As dark chords close the movement of day,
And the sky a mist of moisture weeps
On the loved one beached in a wave-lashed bay.

A two-barred fence defines the square
And gums on every side surround,
Here in the heart of the country where
There comes no faintest human sound.

In this stone all night the wild winds wail
As lightning jags through flattening rain,
And spitting cobras lash the rim.

And this graven name is a thinnest veil
A deathless heart through which shines plain;
These flowers, a gallery hung with him.
 
Michael Buhagiar
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Michael Buhagiar