Thursday, 23 January 2025

Five Poems by August Gladstone

 






Warrior 

 

Ivory clad and magnificent  

Ivy wreathed, nearly intangible 

A Swordsman steps through discarded bodies 

And wrought iron works of man 

Half buried and sinking into the mire  

Of some war’s aftertaste 

 

He plucks a gleaming silver coin 

From an open ribcage 

Pocketing it, proceeding 

His feet barely indent 

The soaked, mossy soil 

The men beneath 

 

Cutting the mist 

Inhaling the miasma 

These people were not his 

Their joys, toils, silver coins 

Will sink and slink away 

‘Till only blooms replace them 

 

Stopping to reflect 

The swordsman places the coin 

In the fog 

Where it hovers 

Glinting in the twilight 

A moonbeam in a spiders web 

 

The Warrior, obstinate, 

Glints back 

And continues forward 

Away 

Away 

Basking in forgetfulness 

 

 

 

When I’m Gone 

 

Who will brush the cobwebs from your eyes 

Who will lift your blanket from the snow 

Who will flush away your palest lies 

Who will shift your tangled silken bow 

 

Who will harmonize your matchless cries 

An opera of gently falling dust 

Who will sing you silent lullabies 

Throats without the honour of your rust 

 

Who will hold the tongue you tantalize 

Envied is the holy heart you crave 

I ask only once when you arrive 

Kindly kiss the dewdrops off my grave 

 

 

 

Caravan 

 

Thank you for the invitation 

To your lover’s caravan 

I’m not the first and only 

To anoint himself your man 

 

I enjoy bleak perspective 

Bringing up your heart’s caboose 

I watch you dance the night away 

Swinging from your noose 

 

My quiet ruminations 

Float to you each hour 

It pains me to see these handsome bandits 

Pluck your flowers 

 

One Man played music 

You fell into his lap 

Not guessing for a moment 

That the piper laid a trap 

 

Picturesque Photographers 

Brush rouge upon your cheek 

Have they ever seen a woman 

They didn’t want to tweak? 

 

Sportsmen sprinted circles 

‘Round your festival of meat 

Fail to match their pace be left  

With only bloodied feet  

 

Some Men purchase candy 

Succulent and sweet 

You feed from palms with rotten teeth 

Is your diet complete? 

 

I beg you keep exploring 

I beg you lead the way 

You know that I will follow 

I have nowhere else to stay 

 

You are my Lady Atlas 

Your shoulders sore and broken 

Burdened so by earthly love 

I give you a mere token 

 

A reminder that I see you 

I ask only for your ear 

Let me aid in wrangling 

All the lives you steer 

 

I’ll still be hitched behind you 

Although this was not the plan 

I still thank you for the invitation 

To your lover’s caravan 

 

 

 

Lighthouse 

 

One day I’ll live in a lighthouse 

Far out on the coast 

Replace my closet’s skeletons with ghosts 

 

I’ll huddle on the balcony 

Wrapped in warm white wool 

Fending off the ocean’s pull 

 

On clear nights I’ll stare at the stars 

Wondering if they’re the galaxy’s scars 

And how the Earth must look from Mars 

 

When I turn on the light 

In my final monsoon 

I just might outshine the moon 

 

 

 

Night Owls 

 

I’m here with 

Shock-top chancellors 

Swinging from chandeliers  

Ransacking sunsets 

Off a few drags 

And two beers 

We are  

Dartboard Lotharios 

Amplified Queers 

Whirling as 

TV shows talkers 

Spit lies  

In our ears 

We are 

Aimless Aristocrats 

Fire-forged fools 

Sucking down  

Skirt steaks 

Rewriting rules 

We float through  

French windows 

Batten the pool 

Comprehend consciousness 

Ignoring soul 

We’re good guys!  

We promise! 

Bunnyhopping bike lanes 

Our women are rowdy 

Our ladies are tame 

Radical, Rascally 

Waving our flags 

I’m going to yak 

Baby, please  

Hold my bag 

Skeletal, sensual 

Shouldering gear 

Only concerned  

If our chariot’s near 

Pompous, Impetuous 

Full to the brim 

Moaning through midnight 

Discovering skin 

Haunted, despondent 

We fill up our cups 

Never admitting 

It’s never enough 

Perplexed by the paradox 

Drawn on each face 

The illusion was shattered 

We conceded the race 

Overstaying its welcome 

The evening dragged on 

We were only  

Night Owls 

Waiting for dawn










August Gladstone is a 24 year old Los Angeles based Writer, Poet, Musician and Performer. Using his theatrical upbringing (on Broadway at age six) to craft absurd stories, he’s placed in numerous screenwriting competitions and has had poetry published in Hare’s Paw Literary Journal and Poet’s Choice. He’s performed across the country as a comic, actor, clown and poet. He was part of the Netflix is a Joke Comedy Festival as an ensemble member of the critically acclaimed, internationally touring clown troupe Stamptown. Most recently, he headlined a poetry reading at the prestigious LongHouse Reserve in East Hampton, NY. August is currently seeking publication for his debut book of poetry which is represented by 3 Arts Entertainment.

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