intermission: Orion's Poem "Unquiet Grave"

What an unquiet grave

A tomb so un-still

Howls rising in the night

The souls so dark and ill.

Now sing “Rest in Peace.”

You sing “Rest in Peace.”

What an unquiet grave,

We hear your foot falls pass.

Whilst we rant and rave

Your hands, they point, you laugh.

Laughing “rest in peace.”

“Poor fools, rest in peace.”

God’s cast-offs,

Live behind iron bars

God’s last thoughts

Were of earthly black scars.

For the lunatics need

These irons ‘bout their wrists.

For we lunatics plead

For death’s noble kiss.

Hell unsheathes in our eyes

The eyes of the weak

Wicked and then tragic

Avert yours when we speak.

You will rest in peace.

You know Rest and Peace.

Heretical writings

Ask you to touch the madman’s sick bare hand

Without your gloves.

Contagions damned!

Heretical writings

Ask that you visit this restless old grave

Out of your love

Even touch the mud

Leaving flowers with cards “from…”

What an unquiet grave.

Mad Earl poem: Doctor’s Help

 

(A break from fiction. Here’s a poem.)

Doctor’s Help

You only meant to help

You extend your hand

My advise; withdraw it, my friend

Some have lost fingers this way.

You only meant to preach.

 

You tonic is

A weak arsenic

You hand it to your friends

To keep them your subjects…

 

You only meant to treat

Doctor, as you are

Your advise; stay ill, in need

Of your cabinet—

Yes, you only meant to bleed.

 

Your treatment is

Breakage of limbs

Severed feet and leeching

Patients, for your keeping.

 

Tell me your intentions are good;

I would rather rot than commend myself to you.

 

Your aid is pain

Spewed diagnosis based

On your ignorance

And your empty well-meaning head.

(A/N: the fifth poem in the Mad Earl poetry collection. )

© 2011 Luz Briar. All Rights Reserved.

Ramblings of a Mad Earl: forward (poems)

Forward

In 1830, the remnants of a songbook and several poems were discovered in Tealburrow Inn, Dart Moor England. The writings were of the hand of Lord Constance, Jared Garth Hookwell II, 2^nd Earl of Constance. Enigmatic, considering the man scarcely mentioned his artistic pursuits in life. A shadowy figure in history, the earl’s late sister Andrea Hookwell also left a telling journal that sheds light on much of his hidden work. Relatives and associates believed Lord Constance to be mad. The writings found in 1830 were part of the earl’s luggage. He had returned to England after nearly two decades in Belize. Reasons for his stay in Belize, according to some, had to do with his mental instability. Reportedly the earl was a calm and sophisticated man but had bouts of intense mania, during which he would ramble for hours on end, froth at the mouth and hallucinate. For these reasons, he lived over the ocean, separated from his family in England for their own good.

Shortly after the discovery of his luggage, Lord Constance was declared missing. It would seem after his return to England, he vanished. Now until his wife Deanna Hookwell arrived to search for the husband she had been expecting to return, did anyone note his absence.

Among Lord Constance’s poetry and lyrics can be found an interesting use of coded metaphor, a fascination with the ancient Roman Emperor Caligula and an eerie self-awareness. The hints of a horrific childhood, the trauma of having his sister commit suicide, his slip into madness and elegant self-loathing litter the pages. Important figures in his life make appearances; a relative who isolated and abused he and his sister, his beloved sister Andrea, his first-mate during a stint as a ship captain during the war, his wife, the son he never met, a ward he raised in Belize, and numerous lovers.

By 1831, Lord Constance was officially presumed dead and his young son bestowed with the title. If this is so, Lord Constance would have been 47 when he disappeared and left behind the puzzle that is his life. He never met his son. His body was never found. His mental illness remains undiagnosed by historians who cannot decide if the man suffered from severe post-traumatic stress disorder, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, dissociative identity disorder or plain psychopathy. Only one thing is clear; Lord Constance had some idea that he was mad, and he did his utmost to hide it. Like his historical counterpart Caligula, he remains an enigma; feared, pitied, lost.

(To Read the Poems:  http://luzbriar.deviantart.com/gallery/29102584 )

©2010-2011 Luz Briar. Characters, Poems, and ALL content property of author. ALL Rights Reserved.