This Winter of Discontent Segues into a New Life of Spring

This Winter of Discontent Segues into a New Life of Spring

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Monday November 24, 2014 @ 3:13 PM

Those trumpets now herald the dawn of a new day, for it

Shall always be the brightest, for all other days blended

To one, and if one ever dreamt the sun shall never again

Shine, well that is fine, but don't you dare sip another of

His wine -  for no one told you that vino would ever be

Plucked from a vine in that Italian countryside in rustic

Lombardy and its villa and looking ever onward, nor of

The Sun King as he lived lavishly inside Versailles, only

Of history's charge of the Light Brigade until Sevastopol

Was sacked, and boy! Wasn't Nightingale sans so many

Naps as she cared for warriors whose hearts far more

Luminescent than any bar of gold bullion -and I believe

Faith dealt you a currency its riches can never exchange.

Charge! Charge! I beseech you press forth, for no good

Is ever won if not the malicious to be defied, no easy time

To pay the dime you earned, for nothing is something, and

Something shall never be nothing - 'tis the laws of nature's

God, and God is Sovereign; He grants thee His Truth to be

Acquired by the blade of a crusader, and He has faith that

You have yours, too - and look at you! The triumph shall

Be soon! Come the break of dawn or tonight's moon or

Tomorrow shall bid thee soon the reward of l'esprit

De coeur! This winter of discontent shall segue into its

Newest life of Spring, and so shall you along the road

To the next sweet lullaby song, the break of a new dawn

And a daylight infinite in its possibilities, and so it shall be.

The Drift of the Unconscious Sufferer

"The Drift of the Unconscious Sufferer"

Written by Jonathan Henderson 

Wednesday November 19, 2014 12:27 AM

My suffrage of the temperance of the soul, depravity sings

Of the long acquaintance in my mind, that it be thine own

Mind, pontificating as it will, or as you never were nor may

You ever - Charge up that hill! 'Tis uphill, but those men in

The hilarity of their passe white coats of infamy peeping so

Far down into the precipice of an abyss to crown my very

Boorish countenance a lost cause in the catacombs along

The banks of the River Styx, doing all I may to steer clear

Of the gnashing mongrel Cerberus and his knives amid the

Rim of despair's capacity to forever tear my apparatus from

Limb to limb - Habare corpus ut daret - and my home! O! O!

My home! Mala fortuna! Another one of me now bitten of that

Lazarus respirat ultimum... Nunc est mea tempus relinquere 

Pro bono. Bon opportuna ad futura ad infinitum....

Flying Home to My Fair Andorra

"Flying Home to My Fair Andorra" 

Written by Jonathan Henderson 

Monday November 17, 2014 @ 9:14 PM

Like an eagle flying o'er the Pyrennes' rocky mountain high, 

From Iberia West coasting to Barcelona's seabed blending

As with pastels with my daytime sky - and I cry! Tears just

Cascade into the entrenchments, just flooding my fair lady

Andorra's sweet tidings, for I escaped los toros de Navarre!

How I did not drive your car! But had I so, I'd never know just

What that atmosphere on the cafe patio as we sip of our pre

Siesta java al fresco, and those ocean waves 'cross those

Emerald and blue shores my Mediterranean soul feeds, and 

That breeze! How it doth tease away my life with ease! And 

So please, my fair Andorra, I beg of thee, let that chill in the

Autumn night air slip fly a kiss of bliss on my fat, rosy cheek

As I wave to mi munde loco "Hasta la vista para el es la

Despidida, mi senorita dulce, hermosa"... and the song shall 

Go on, and ever onward ad infinitum....

My Tribute to T.C., My Cat and Sister, My Equal in Every Way (1997-2014)

Post by Jonathan Henderson.

The Solo Lover

"The Solo Lover" 

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Thursday April 24, 2014 @ 9:04 PM

A night darker still than her blackened opaque skies

Till he crashes upon wounded knees, weeping a flood,

Only in his despair shall he sip his bitter wine to wash

Away his deadest sorrow, for he is bereft of her soft,

Tender touch, so delicate as she might cascade those

Fingertips down the stream, but how t'was just a dream!

Thy fire within sears white-hot my soul till I am to be

Raked over Infinity's bed of hot coals, for I am the solo

Lover, never having known what indeed I should care.

Each night is a soiree down by the landing, and O'! Those

Debutante lilies are plucked by their wealthy beaus in

Tow, and who shall it be in control but a pair, a team

To plug the dyke's hole should it spring a leak, always

A fingertip to grant mercy to the touch of when Hell

Finally eclipses a paradise now forever lost in time....

Lazarus Exhaled

Lazarus Exhaled

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Sunday August 24, 2014 @ 2:58 AM

Dear Judean Lazarus sighed, and did so before he died!

Was it stratified? Suicide? Or a midnight ride down old

Revolutionary Road? And did Lazarus wail as Gruesome

And the chilly bumps made of Geeze will honk? What did

He do? Pray tell, what did my buddy Lazarus say prior to

That moment Exasperation clinched that windpipe, tightly

And bred with an eternal winter discontented, frigid even

As beyond Levant unto God's gift to humanity he lies atop

The bed of ice, and he the Pisces flopping to melt it even

As Chilly Willy had absconded to absentia, till the grande

Finale climaxed followed the manufactured replacement of

The final breath exhaled: Lazarus was never to be again.

To a Tomorrow Never to Be

To a Tomorrow Never to Be

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Friday August 22, 2014 @ 1:59 PM

Sing to me your Marseillaise, la grande dame de Paris!

Jacobins meet Ishmael - the whale killed all she held in her

Contempt; a moment, fleeting, subterranean boil like the

Geyser from Babylon's rotten core, Shaitan, preaching of

A peace, a faith denuding the right to be mired in a misery 
As that false prophet removes the head of its evil infidel's

Head - and we are dead! Dead! We shall never make our

Own bed again! Montezuma's revenge be damned! The fall

Of the final ziggurat - Aladdin's lamp cannot abdicate of its

Myth to rub upon Genie's lamp, for he hanged out his one

Final time once the world committed its penultimate crime.

Clownery, court jesters and the application of a little old

Whoopie cushion to lighten a blackened sky with its even

More opaque, blackest of messengers of our doom, one 

Which is pending tout le monde... and I am disarmed in 

Spirit - l'esprit et corps; les etoiles tombent sur terre....

  But O! Those lucky stars! They ne'er shined so brightly as
Always we'll count upon He! The light for the world, our
Ships at sea, and He taught we'll never live unless we sail
As the Lighthouse burns the red horizon as He engulfs the
Tempest's rage as our faith doth carry my sweet chariot,
My schoener home to Thee!

To a world at blade's edge - we'll fight for you, to preserve,
To prevent His orphans, those wayward sons and daughters
From the Imam's fury and a fatwa's decree, of an end too
Cruel that Attila cannot stand to compare, the black horde
Of death and Azazel's revenge against those who chose of a
Path to the apostate of evil declaring us that and infidelity.
My God! My God! Give me love! Give me peace! God save
Me, Slewfoot Sue and Annabelle Lee! Johnny Appleseed,
Paul Bunyan and Babe! Susan Anthony's dollar and my land
Of the Free! But grant me my bravery to serve Your Glory as
The world burns its sulfur and we face Dajjal's wrath! For all
That black horde is are Muhammad's messengers for a death;
For He denies He is The Son, but rather of Adam and his sin.

Grant me strength as the final Crusade is waged, for the future
Will not be if our land is not brave! Bequeath me the power to
Save those orphans, for in God I trust, for in Him may Power
Be mine and yours.