The Emperor and his Euthanasia

Poem by Marc Aupiais

The Opera House~ fill;
The Modern Emperor- present;
There to watch the play;
With his men ~ quite armed~ quiet armed;

Before him;
Men and women did play;
And screech with the banshee Opera!

And before him; a man did sing;
Oh! Terrible sorrow;
Of love; Oh! Loss of love!

The Modern Emperor;
Did judge;
Surely; the actor; ought;
Though not the writer;
Had him quite convinced;
Instantly; for blasphemy he was put to death;

"Out of his Misery"- the Modern Emperor said.

"Misery", his Lady said, "Misery, he was a singer, an actor; but illusion! It was no mercy to him! He had no suffering!"

"I like to think he did!" Said the Emperor, "Besides, his blasphemy is clear, to Live with pain like that Unnatural, he ought be put to death for choosing life!"

Thus said the Emperor
and the Modern World!

For the source of art,
Of heroism, of ages past!

Courage to live;
To be chaste or good!
To survive!
Quite the blasphemy in the Modern Arts!

Martial-ing us unto death;
Unto death' not life!

And the Emperor and his killing ought not be misread;
"I think," The Lady said, "You killed him for guilt within; because you know his pain you deserve; because you know it awaits you; and empathise; and not able to bear one small bit of his pain; of empathy; you insist he die~"

The Footsteps of the Land of Nod

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Strange; noise; deadly sow;
Footsteps; in this castle fort;
I lie in bed;
Under every spell "protect";
Though my heart is the offender;
As footsteps en-croach;
From the land;
Oh! Deadly Land! Of Nod; Nod; Nod!

And as I doze; Upon my bed;
I see; Oh! Crystal;
Will you not clear!
I see you; always there!
My dear! In this! The Land!
The Land of Nods!

And I fear; and I seer my soul;
Upon the land of Nod;
As I nod and nod;
And wonder if I shall ever wake;
From this Nightmare;
A Nightingale; Upon Day!

Upon Day! And to Day I swear!
Alack! Oh! Night! You Hold Sway Dreams~somehow~ In Day!
What insanity(?)Sanity!!?

What! Obey(?)
Obey!
Obey!

Oh! Alack! Oh, dear!

A nightmare of day again!
In the Land! The Land of Nod!~

Reflecting "greatness"; they said

Tower of Darkest hope- by Marc Aupiais; no unauthorised use permitted;

The Tempest and the Hurricane: Reflecting "greatness", the said;

Poem by Marc Aupiais

In the alleys of Paris;
The slums of greatness;
Our hero scavenges;
Scours; seeks; Truth;
Beauty; Hope; Love:
An answer!
To a secret he's seek;

Oh; all the journeys;
Miles and miles;
He's sought; an answer, our hero!

And in dark pursuit,
He seeks and alley;
And chases shadows; ruins;

And ruin; it seems;

Oh! Our hero;
Seeking ruin; we mean truth; ahh! It is so!!?

And he seeks down every alley;
And upon the musky cold street!
Ah? Where is it! Where is it what he seeks!
Our hero; he seeks!
Magnifying glass upon the world!

Deluded perhaps;
Quite well dressed!
This man!

Searching the back~alleys;
Where danger is upon him;
Now even; today!

Dear ~ dear man!
Seeking truth;
Where Angels have since not tread;
For fear of him;
Who's heart so bled!

The Room I can never Leave

Picture: by Marc Aupiais! Unauthorised use not permitted.
Tempest and the Hurricane Poem- The Room I can never LeavePoem by Marc AupiaisI look at blackness,
Upon my blanket;
A feral animal; far from comfort;I try escape; sometimes yet;
I look at the bars,
The deadly fence;
Love you barricade me-
Imprisoned in fate!And as I head for the door;
You sleeping nerve-nearby;
Peaceful; they said! I look at the darkened silhouette;
Of the freedom door;My hand about to open; my heart to run for safety;
And not your suffocating clasp!
Your deadly hand upon my metaphoric neck!And I turn; something holds me firm;
Something holds me here;
Within ... This room;
You've allowed in your heart!

Death~ dearest death

Poem by Marc Aupiais

OH! To think of my hope;
Absolute perfection assured!
A thing's end is its perfection;
Says Aquinus my Hero!

Oh! But if my end is my perfection;
Oh Paramour Death,
Great Loving Washing;

A Promise to me Sure~
OH! OH Death my lover;
You flirt with my soul;

And when I am sad and down;
I look within for your hold;
Ticking ticking ticking hold~

For one day you will be mine my lover;
Though you must pursue me not you!
Oh! Angel of Death;
Great Final Washer;

You cleanse all my sins;
All my hopes;
Dreams unsaid!

You are Finality; Final Final Death!
Oh! I wish for you;
Long for you;
And think of your love when I am quite down;
Dear Deathly Angel of Death!

For to the Christian;
Who does not pursue you!
You are a lover;
Oh! What a beautiful Caress~

Dear Kiss, Kiss me; Kiss of my dearest Death;

I await you patiently;
A surprise gift~
I know not when you will strike;
And pleasure me with love!

If only I were blessed with death or lack of memory of your goddess vision

Picture Winged Angel- by Marc Aupiais! All Rights Reserved!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Perhaps it is man alone,
So blessed and so cursed!
Animals do not feel love!
Petrarchan or of Pyramus,
Nor Adam for Eve unto death,
Or Foolish Romeo and Juliette!

Of Helen and Demetrius,
A clue of mankind's wise foolishness!
If only cupid were to blame?
We would not hold the guilt of shame!

And we do fall to love!
Even long after affection's gone;
When love brings pain and loneliness,
If only we could in love disown,
Or somehow injure to forget the heart and hope!

And I wonder love at the Ghost,
Of the love you once had throes!

And how you once did think of me,
I think of this,
In past or future sense!

For presents only give me pain!

And perhaps if I did not dream your life,
Sense as every day is pushed and pulled, alas,

Alack Alack Alack!
Woe is me who does love,
Like a dog quite and quiet chains!
Unable to escape the heartbreak pains!

Woe oh woe is my love!
I say, for I am become it,
It does become me!
Does it not?

Woe should I love with another's eye;
Perfect are you for me;
I finally admit!

And yet!
I wonder in my eternal bliss,
Painful heart wishing you to touch!

Of God compelled upon the cross!
Unable to resist his lover,
As she, mankind,
Struck him down.

Willingly he fell at her rejection!
Willingly for love!
But to bring life not death,
Unlike Adam, unlike Eve!

I pray, I pray to you,
Dear moon!
Shine my path unto my Day!

I pack my room, I headed... Nowhere

Poem by Marc Aupiais

The music of my ancestors plays,
The French artist,
The journalist who helped cause a massacre,
The German who guarded a bridge against Germany,
In That, Great War!

And I pack my room up,
I throw out bit by bit of my past,
I chuck out my hopes,
Dreams,
Wisdoms on Post-its!
Dreams I once held dear!

And as my bookcase becomes sparse,
And bit by bit I ..
Throw out my past!

I do not look expectant or with hope ..
I do not pack to leave ..
But only to clear space ..
To make this!
My home place ..
Bearable!

And though there is Ireland, France, Germany within!
This is my home!
This is my home!
This is their home!
My ancestors,
All but two dead!

And I stay within,
Light sitting on me!
From my quaint new reading tool!

And in sorrow and joy,
I pack up my hopes,
Moving nowhere, I expect,

Never destined,
To be anyone of note,
Nor to need say, "no place... Like ... Home",
Nor to know even where Kansas is,
Though I know now,
Possibly not in Texas...

And I pack my stuff!
Silently!

Knowing I am unimportant,
And me, the world hardly needs ..

I pack my stuff,
To make space,
As I work again on living,

So hard in Africa,
When the European,
Is now the conquered!
And the world realises,
Little of the vengeful oppression,
And nothing of mentioning the laws,

As I sit and pack.
To make space for life ...
Again!

This is my Home!

Roodepoort,
Home!

My Naam... Marc

Picture: Northcliff Pass, copyright Marc Evan Aupiais! All Rights Reserved!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

My naam...
My naam ... Is Marc...
Marc, is my naam,
Marc.. Evan ... Aupiais...

My naam is Marc,
En ek is Marc!
My naam, is my naam.
My naam is my siel!
Dit is wie ek is,
Dit is waar ek gaan.

My naam is Marc,
En EK is Marc ... My lief!

Courage, show: to be true

Snowball stretch (Picture:) by Marc Aupiais! Copyright Marc Aupiais.

Courage, show: to be true- Tempest and the Hurricane -
Poem by Marc Aupiais

Snow upon, icy soul!
I break, I cake, I fall upon a stake!
And fall upon the piles,
Your eternal Sacrifice;

And inside my soul,
Bloody snow; drip drip drip...
Broken in my soul's dear Depths!

A Christian is the salt, the light,
A gift to God,
A gift to life!

And my task,
I was made,
A gift to you,
Perfect yet!
Imperfect until,
Imperfection,
Perfection,
Is where and when I'm complete,
When I stall, when I seek!

And I wonder,
I am a gift of God!
But I don't feel like one,

Not just yet~

Flower of Eden

Picture: Smoke in Soutpans. Copyright Marc Evan Aupiais! All Rights Strictly Reserved!

Poem by M. E. Aupiais

Flower, beautiful,
Splendid thing,
How I despise you,
For you are perfect,
And perfect for me,
And I for you!

OH! flower of Eden,
Paradise!

Why does a gulf separate us;
Not of ocean depths,
No! Of lack of your affection,
And without love?
What am I!

What tragedy,
As bad as Eden,
For my soul lives in hope,

Of you alone,
And Christ!

But shall I ever serve Christ,
If I cannot serve you,
Serve my soul to you love?

Hunting Elephants

Picture Elephant Light by FNB, Wits by Marc Aupiais- copyright Marc Aupiais!

Tempest and the Hurricane Poem: Hunting Elephants- by Marc Evan Aupiais

Hunting Elephants:

I broke my back with my gear;
Its 1923,
Or earlier perhaps;
As I seek ivory;
A rifle in hand;
Shooting an animal;
A thing;
Whose species extant;
Is up to him; not me;

And earlier;
Did they kill him with sword;
Ligament;
Behind the front leg;

Our friend the elephant;
Culled now; not hunted;
Though just as dead;
Species matter; not dearest dear Mr Elephant;

And I look through my sniper's scope;
And for the species do I fire;
Rather than capture and beyond our borders;
Mr Elephant transfer;

And Mr Elephant stands before me;
Me the hunter;
Who's never held a gun;

His ear flap;
His legs strengthen;

I stare at Mr. Elephant;
With my Elephant rifle;
And realise its hardly fair;

And I turn instead to you love;
And hunt; a hunter with no gun;
For some treasure;
To re~win your heart!

If I sit here; in my cocoon

Picture;  My Cocoon, Soutpans Avenue view of long unfinished hotel constructions -by Marc Aupiais; Copyright Marc Aupiais,


Tempest and the Hurricane Poem: If I sit here; in my cocoon - by Marc Evan Aupiais

If I sit: with music on in
bedroom! Walls so
soundproof in house- that
you cannot hear anything
else!

If I sit here;
One voice ; only voice;
If I lay here;
Soundproof;
Curtains closed;

If I listen here;
Say here;
It stays here;
Love;

If I play my music;
All is blurred;
Its only you and me;
Within;

If I listen to my music;
All else blurs;
Darkness over my soul;
Over my heart;
Blackest stars;
Shoot upon the stars;

And green;
Is the darkness of Africa skies;
As a million; billion; trillion eyes;
But none; not;

Stare from a billion clouded stars;

But here; in my cocoon;
Green skies;
Grey and blue clouds;
A strange Cyan-red and purple;
Crimson, red, purple!

And all blurs as my music plays;
Sound-proof-ed walls;
All blurs;
Nothing extant;

And I look to you as I close my eyes;
Typing life upon your eyes;
And I wonder;
Tele-path-y of heart and mind;

The strange clouds circle and swirl;
They blur reason;
They breach sanity;

Red lights flash;
As closed eyes see the sun;

And my music plays;
As the world does change;
And my music plays;
All -all all all that is firmly stays!

Death no cure~ to my insanity

Picture : My Sunset : Copyright Marc Aupiais;
-by Marc Aupiais,



Tempest and the Hurricane
Poem by Marc Aupiais
Death no cure

Death no cure;
No vaccine to sanity;
Not insanity cured;
No answer in that.
Though I follow reason,
I get ill when do;
And moan and groan;
Avoiding doctors,
And their cures.
Death is no cure to insanity;
Though insanity it is not;
For reason; raw says its so;
Yet how can it be?
I wonder in throes;
And often I wish death;
For that; you or death that is;
Is my unholy choice;
And sometimes;
I choose death;
And others; the living Ghost!
Though I live my life;
Straight as an arrow;
Forward; onward; upward;
And then I dream a dream not a dream;
And tragedy happens;
Whenever I reject you!
Or a change of mind;
Last minute; yours;
As with the hour of my death;)!~

... the dead ... still ...living

The Dead Still Living Tempest and the Hurricane poem by Marc Aupiais

14th Avenue MTN fourway crossing by Marc Aupiais. Copyright Marc Aupiais.

I sit and I pray... Quite incomprehensibly perplexed

before me I see the quite ...undead... it's been said.

years before their deaths. to the world quite dead.
and with a fantastic machine... the walk again. Sing. Dance. Move again. Unsaid.

I don't like the living undead...
Their images played again and again.

and their prayers, requests.

immortal but long dead.
yet prayed to the evil undead.
by followers and sinners, and those they too made undead.

they call it illusion the undead.

as i do them. I do them. I do them resurrect.
but not the corpses of the ancient dead.
but images. Illusions. lies they said while yet undead.

and i watch ss the. I watch. the screen. flickers.
quite perplexed.

by the living undead.