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Tan Pratonix

Death in the Jungle

When leopards prowl,
When lean wolves howl,
When vultures swoop
Upon their prey,
When panthers leap,
When lions growl,
Then Death removes
His sinister cowl
And soon begins
To maim and slay.

Where eagles fly,
Where grey sharks lie,
Where deadly snakes
In dark holes lurk,
Where scorpions hide,
Where screech owls cry,
There Death awaits
And bye and bye
He moves about

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Grey Dog of Despair

Death? I don't know what it is.
But this I know - that death
Is twice as deep with despair.
I am frightened of the Grey Dog whose eyes
Are two red holes; whose body is a sheet
Which chokes; whose tooth
Will gnaw a living hell from cold
And tumble thoughts to ruin in his throat.

I am frightened of the Grey Dog whose tongue
Will burn the blood to dry; whose claws
Will cut the wounds which close;
Whose growl
Is a terrible token of no light, no love, no longing -
Only a mingling of mad misery and despair.

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The Compassionate Lover

Were I bolder
I would hold her,
For my love is overwhelming;
Like a pendulum that rises
To complete an oscillation;
I would hold her,
Only hold her,
Tenderly; and in that passion,
In the magic of that moment,
Envelop my life and all her
With a sighing; I would hold her,
For my love in sublime yearning
Would be holding all I wanted,
Holding for an eternity,
In the magic of that moment;

And then I would leave her,
Leave her,
Coming down with tender sighing,
Dying,

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Music - Part 2

Music
is a jaguar on a rock,
stars spangled in the night,
flowers in a field,
a girl with ruffled hair,
a sign of ecstasy.

Music
is the organ and the choir,
angels exquisite in praise,
glory,
and the rainbow colours
in the clouds.

Music
is the violin, gliding fantasies
of sculpture in marble,
coral in the sea.

Music

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Bird-Magic

Where no birds breathe, bird-magic breathes
Bird-beauty, bird-spirit, bird-splendour,
And brings where no bird wings,
Wing-beats that woo me to wonder.

What do I want when a woman can warm
Bird-magic from her bosom, her womanly arms?
Her lips that are petals, her thighs that are trees,
Boughful with blossoms of softness and ease?

What is the liquid that lingers with love
In her voice? Is the music that hangs in her eyes?
The dewdrop.that dangles from finger-tip touch?
The mellifluous magic that moves me so much?

This is no bird-magic:
This is woman, who with a sweep of her hair
Sends birds bursting to wings in the air.
This is woman, whose frown
Droops dark feathers down.

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