Margaux; or the Vision of a Cheetah in the Serengeti Plain

Supermodel Margaux Hemingway (1954-1996), granddaughter of Ernest Hemingway

Margaux; or the Vision of a Cheetah in the Serengeti Plain

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Monday April 28, 2014 @ 9:39 PM

Sawtooth baby, just you cry for me

As you penetrate the womb till thou

Sweetest sunlit shine brightened this

World, and the song was so sweet of

The angel's soliloquy upon your beck

And the call for a face so perplexed o'

Gracious abundance, the novel could

Be scripted either through the mind

Of the man trekking the snows of ol'

Kilimanjaro to you, as Fate caresses

Elegance abound, and as the light is

So bright - Please cry! Cry! Bleed of

Those initiating your baptism as He

Now casts thee into the fire of such a

Cruel, dark world Despondency saw

Fit to cradle you within its arms! O'

My babe! The cheetah of my dreams

Meandering 'cross the Serengeti's

Savanna, and how you ring of my

Lyre heralding a new soft face very

Demure, and your life's sojourn to

Captivate we men, your eyes entrap,

And brows hypnotize my conscious

Air as my thoughts translate into a

Breath, for you the first of scores to

Come, the life sum we're to see since

We're so blessed to open the page to

Your glamour, elegance, so soft to

My touch, but as with every rite of

Spring, the flower shall wilt upon a

Parchment Imperfection lent freely

Until you are as were prior, a dream

Lost Sea to Despair

Lost Sea to Despair
Written by Jonathan Henderson
Saturday May 3, 2014 @ 9:37 PM

O' I do not remember before the present time
When I last committed the sin of crime, when
The beat of my soul hurt so well in accordance
To the drummer and his wiles - how I long for
A peace I never knew, the happiness of heart
So foreign as if a man from Kathmandu! O' do
You not think it possible to be true if my lover
Shall forever be assigned by my Creator, you?

Perception seems so far away, love, that which
We're all to enjoy, but my empty sky above just
Crashed my soiree by the landing... and if we're
Never to fear the despair always to be, if we're
Not to see the changes made bear fruit, o' how
Will I ever smile an inch or even a minutia of
That country mile? Those chain gangs toil 'neath
That sun so torrid, how it skewers thy frigidity
Away from my heart, replacing her with a sea
Coursing through the veins, a lost sea to despair
Fast - but as the sands descend to the bottom of
The cauldron's vat void of pleasure, embracing
Life's calumny, but I digress at the behest o' Fate's
Ennui towards me and all who slave to thy sins.

Eternal Sunrise over the Rooftops of the World

Eternal Sunrise over the Rooftops of the World

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Sunday April 20, 2014 @ 3:48 PM

Mornings awaken to the ubiquity of a rooster's call

For a new life borne of hope renewed, and upon his

Cry o' I sing to your graces, mon amour, and I'll love

Thee evermore. -

As I sigh amid my tear drop's rippling of an ambiance 

As I lie in state, and she beseeches me tarry hastily on

Home, and I shall traverse that golden bienvenue ever

Awaiting me, and she invites me to her opposite side

Of the pillow. -

Quixotic dreams fly as God's doves of peace shall to

Me bequeath another moment's exaltation of my old

Labor to see an eternal sunrise over the rooftops of

The world... o' tout le monde, merci, mon amour, s'il

Vous plait! O' how my perfect aphrodisiac guides my

Sweet chariot home across Helios' massive lantern,

Though it was cast unto him by mon amour as she's

Lifted me of a spirit mired so dark within a tempest

Of despair... and she called me home, as she is that

Source of the triad of necessity, and all the earthly

Sustenance I'll need till my Lord shall call us to his

Triclinium as we sip of the Eucharist, to break of a

Bread my fair Jesus shall forever nourish our souls

As we partake of the lone fuel to cast our souls to a

Land of a pax infinitum, His grace issued our morn

Never to see a twilight into the deathly hallows of

A final night.

Springtime in the Southland

Springtime in the Southland

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Thursday March 20, 2014 @ 9:33 AM

Springtime breezes exalt me higher upon

The green grasses blue reach to tickle my

Ankles en route to my soul, and how the

Cold winter deprived me whole, and I'll

Sing the song the hummingbirds in love

Heralding the end of a blizzard only long

In brevity, never to deny my love for you. 

Shall we see sing of the rise of springtime 

In my Southland, and how the seasons sing 

To a fiddle amid mountain terrains? Shall

I serenade my sweet baby upon the rise of

The first warm sun with the kiss of a rose

As such a lovely incantation amid my old

Scots-Irish clansman charm and the wiles?

May I sing to you, s'il vous plait? J'taime,

Ma chere, to thyself and me be true...

Well the eagles fly around my beloved Smoky

Mountains high, the lone Olympus to my cold

Heart of mine bitten with Jack Frost's chilled

Nip at the toes, and how it aroused thy spirit

To subvert the icicle chandeliers' descent far

Beneath the abyss winter dug below the old

Marianas well, and the sun sold to her my old

Tales of brave Odysseus assailing a ten year's

Fortnight, but the nightingale will croon upon

The lark of a new tomorrow germinated from

My amorous incantation to a sweet sunrise of

Me with you at my side.

Empty Chamber

Empty Chamber

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Monday April 14, 2014 @ 9:08 PM

Ich bin ein liebhaber, but as the gentle heart throbbing within,

How it cries for a mercy so tender and yet effervescently free

Of the sight of you, and for me? A gentle dribble of a tear rains

Down my right cheek for a second more consistent of many a

Week, a fortnight of eternal despair! I'd like to see if you really

Do read of a presence the flesh shall never appear as if prose

Within a novel or the lyrics of fair Ms. Dickinson, if I ever saw

What the fork in the road of which that laureate spake, or the

Majesty of fate which The Father said is an advice never to be

Necessary to achieve of man's flawed and vain reconciliation? 

My heart explodes within my throat, paralysis abounds, a pain 

I, well-acquainted, shall reap which I sow, and her majestical 

Eyes have it - o' how they sear of my soul's caged parakeet-type

Of despair, how I may bear against you, my love, a wisp of your 

Hair's gentle musings down my back, your lips my body's lone

Masseuse, and how I am stricken of a passion unrequited, and

I nigh see her script before me - o' what a dream my nightmares

Always conceive when that image of your invisible silhouette's

To appear, and all I am to see shall be the fear of my dry barren

Empty chamber! And as with Russian roulette, one day I'll see

That one filled of the six may fire and either kill or seal a fate

Of a heartstring, hollow, flooding it either of her my tears till 

Dry, or ending my winter of discontent till spring everlasting

Remains above the equator - never again shall a season to be

Demarcated till the day scheduled to die, for love is sprung as

Eternal, and so is God, for to we his children, it is His greatest

Heirloom bequeathed of us all.

To You, My Liege, I Pledge My Undying Affection

To You, My Liege, I Pledge My Undying Affection

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Tuesday April 15, 2014 @ 1:33 AM

To you, my liege, I pledge my undying affection 

Upon bequeathing thee my just flirtations, as it

Is the dawn of a new morn, merci, and my mind

Wanders upon the rooster's call to arms within

The warmth of your embraces so tight, you lay

Away my troublesome light-punished eyes upon

An otherwise ecliptic sunrise, a bloody moon to

Always persist past the day shy of her April ides,

For the taxman has cometh, as sure as we are to

Abide by the natural law to pass over the ancient

River Jordan - our penultimate voyage unto our

Destiny's destination as we cry for our unbridled

Song to sing by me to thee and to me of thee, the

Sweetest melody to end our days, the requiem to

Inform to all of God's children that in death still

Our story shall never reach a sad last page, as it is

A tale of a finite love unrequited only in how we

Are to never succeed to acquire a capacity simply

To adequately communicate our love from thy

Hearts to thee, the smile welcoming always thy

Broken half home from the remnants of hours so

Long past, they're too excruciating to again suffer

Further indignations of a time we are bereft of

Our souls' presence, for you are my heart's desire

Traversing down the Appian Way to our newly-

Acquired Pax Romani, 1,000 years of peace, only

To die another undetermined day as we're to be

Betrothed to one second shy of an Eternity blessed

With infinite others obscene only in our show of

An unbridled song Pachelbel's Canon - Handel sees 

Fit to resolve our Auria to cry we not ever again of

Tears rejecting our faith in His design for us, but

Rather sing of our song as we chime to our seeds

For future progeny to join our peace hand-in-hand.

The Solo Artist (Video Recitation)

The Solo Artist 

Written by Jonathan Henderson

Sunday April 6, 2014 @ 9:23 PM

God bequeathed to all a Sunday to visit His home

For a quick parable, a tale, and I rode home insane,

Fathoming all in abject vain, traveling South from

My blue Heaven to the raging infernos of a Hell so

Familiar to the senses that it is my sight within the

Fair mirror - and I, the narcissist, the rage always

To engulf my silence on the surface demure, soft, 

But altogether jagged, points so razor blade sharp

At the ends of the pits, I know not how nor where

I am to measure the depths within a facial contort

Or the Bowie knife purging the cowardice of thy

Humble spirit, far less that in only the skin's depth

Never to be quantified, only the story of I, the solo

Artist's pain having never seen nor believed in my

Own heart's desire prior its decline of an age never

To have been lived in sin with my party in crime.