So once more he appears before my eyes,
And I am well aware he is no friend
Of mine, but a companion that I do not wish
To view; a companion that hovers around
In a reluctant mist; although never fails
To reveal his foul breath, his harsh whispers,
Together with his depressing stench of odour.
For I did not summon his deeds;
Never sought his favour; nor offered prayers
Nor burnt incense; nor gave from out
My own batch, the warm gift
Of wine to his altar; never in song
Have I praised his pale face,
His rotten black teeth; never bathed
My bare ankles, nor quenched my thirst,
In his poisoned waters. Yet he found weakness
Within a humble heart, an equally willing mind;
For he latched upon my soul, bearing
Fierce claws; and now, with his stealth clasp,
Arm in arm refuses to grant me space;
Feverously denies release.
Oh! How I do pray I could banish him
From my daily thoughts, my woeful strife;
For he seems present more recently
Than ever I can recall from drifting memory.
Be sure, he does not reside
On one of heavens branches; he would,
With all his deceit, be not allowed
To even graft upon the blissful airs
Most lowly of roots. His dulled stare,
Adamantly pierces through any desire
I have for the light ahead. A grey
Dusty cloak, that he wears draped
From his shoulders, like bitter winters
Shortened sun which shrouds the heavy leaded clouds,
And plunges the sky into deep sodden colour;
Saps any inspiration, which my dreams,
With kindness, revamp anew in sweet slumber.
My mission I do know sincerely, to be
Holy honest, is not entirely a struggle;
And shown before my sight appears
Respectively clear, is however, weighed
Toward the earth with added pressure
By his ****** presence alone. A strategy formation,
Delved from battlefields past, is a want
That seems out my grasp. Shall I
Soothe him with tender lyre strokes,
And with kind words may he leave my side
Willingly, at his own leisurely pace,
In unhurt peace? Why does he have such
Effect on me? How do I relinquish
Him from my sight? Shall I guide him
With me to fresh slopes of pastures green,
Showing his cruel appetite, the beauteous feast
Which bountiful Nature banquets? Do I
Attack him with all force at my disposal?
Unsheathe the sword? Balm protection
Around my clench fists? Do I ignore
His embrace which rivals a death-grip
Engineered from a lioness’ jaw, breathing
Smoke from her nostrils, clasping down
On her prey- unyielding, prey essential
To subdue pains that torment her hungry cubs?
Shall I believe him foe? How do I proceed?
I do realise with no barren shadow,
That he must be nursed into a corner,
Trapped, and halted, for if continuation occurs;
I fear Happiness, a fleeting sense,
Will never approach with ease, nor greet me
With a wave of her snowy hand, nor ever
Blush her lovely pout lips, and settle
Her most welcome custom, within my heart again;
And though my pathway be tedious,
Raised to the brim within a golden goblet
Of questioning; let my last task be this:
With a calm prayer to relight fading embers
From my ***** Kind souls, delicate muses,
Come to me, come to my aid,
Help relieve me of his burden.
Heap upon him glittering song,
Bow his cowardly head further down
From whence it came, and place
The dying mournful strains of the Swan within;
May dark unveil an ebbing stream
Of wondrous hue; let summer sun
Break through thick woods; may no shade
Shield me from intense light; let notes
Resound aloft upon high peaks;
May you pour nectar down my throat,
Place fragrant rich petals from perfumed flowers
On my tender tongue; and therefore,
Knelt before you, sister maids,
With submissive eyes gazing the hallowed ground
Beneath your feet; bathe me in tuneful grace
Once more; assist a humble servant,
Hear one solemn slave voice; for you
Will be praised within my lily-scented verse;
Forever will you be fed on my gentle honey-dew
Measure; if I only be granted solace
Within your flowing spring, deep
Between your sacred gardens fruitful caress.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
You weave a web of pure emotion around my heart,
When I am holding you, I swear I'm bathing in silk.
I eternally thank whoever crossed our paths,
For I am undeniably joyous that I found you, my dove.
Am I permitted to lament my questions?
Allowed am I, to worry over mundane thoughts?
‘Tis a possessed yearning, a heart that would die
For the battle; offer my throat, and plunge
Me to darkness! Who would seek perfection
Once your gaze is met? All that nature yields,
Or art could add, dims my eyes with tears,
Loving madly your soul and body.
‘Tis a natural paradise, within all my pleasure lies;
You are the envy of all women,
An amazing beauty, amorously thanking myself
For ever meeting my eyes light.
I sacrifice to the gods, make this hour fly swift;
So once more, my love, I may grasp within my arms!
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC
You know the tale about young Romeo
His story of love, torment and sorrow.
For what lay before him was crystal clear,
The love he held for his Juliet so dear.
The journey took passed his father and mother
The violent death his cousin would sadly suffer.
Slain revenge upon Tibult, did he doth do,
And expulsion from Verona; where he did brew
Returns to his belovéd with help from above,
A planned sneak back to his one true love.
With joyous swift pace flew to his lady fair,
A song from his soul he let off in prayer,
Laying tearful eyes on Juliet with one last kiss,
Dying for his dove in woe of loves dark abyss.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:19 AM UTC
You had heard, and so the story ran. From where
The hills begin to rise, and then sink the ridge
In a gentle slope, down to the waters edge. Who would
Strew the turf with flowery herbage,
Or curtain the springs with green shade?
Who would sing to the Nymphs?
Can any man be guilty of such a crime?
Singing swans shall bear aloft to the stars,
Heifers browse on clover,
And swell their udders, to my song.
The Pierian maids have made a poet,
But, however, I trust them not.
I sing nothing worthy of my Emily;
Cackle as a goose among melodious Sparrows,
And here by the flowing streams,
Earth scatters her varied concaved hues;
Here white Orchids bend over cave,
Vines weave shady bowers.
Come to me; let the wild waves lash the shore.
You've heard me singing alone,
Beneath the cloudless night. My measure bathed
In loves sway; do you keep my words?
Why art, do I gaze at old constellations rising?
The stars to make fields glad with corn;
And gift grape upon the sunny hills.
Time robs us of all, even of memory; oft as a boy
I recall that song I would lay the long
Summer days to rest. Even voice itself now fails me,
Now the whole sea-plain lies still,
And eerily silent; every breath of the murmuring breeze is dead.
My last task this…, to win my dove.
Relieve me of this burden!
Can I trust my streaming eyes?
Or do lovers fashion their own dreams?
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
Happy Xmas, hello to all
May my tidings to you ring tall!
Santa's comin' silently my dear,
May I gaily wish you a new year?
Merry chants sing from my heart,
This seasons cheer playin' its part,
Miss you; you know I do, around this time,
But hey,
Let my blessings greet you, as Christmas bells chime.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:17 AM UTC
Within a room that shows me my breath,
Hairs stand alert on awoken skin,
My reddened eyes from last night's sin
Cause a smile, spreading illusion of death;
And through a double sheet of glass,
The light to my left gifts a pleasant view,
Vibrant colours cascade a wondrous hue,
That no painting in renaissance could surpass,
But does not last, and therefore, brings truth.
Vines hang their arms over weak fences,
Lovingly caressing with sweet tender kisses,
Stretching toward the ground fingers uncouth.
Tall trees reach for the stars throne,
Gallantly they stand in the background,
Alone, triumphant, and with silent sound
Hold their course like soldiers home-grown.
The industrial gloom weeps its ***** tear
And stains the window, ‘t does bear the light
Of broken branches; shining on a humble sight
Which illumes nests that Nature loves dear.
Birds build no foundation, while frosts breath
Engulfs the air, and smoke dances seductively
With heavy swirling mist, swaying her glee,
Hand in hand guides with him cancerous death.
Filthy sheep reside on the muddy fields,
Beneath blankets of the olde English cloud,
Hovering above cemented land over-ploughed;
Those show very well what modern age yields.
No rain, no subtle cry from heaven.
Long gone in retreat the grass of years past;
Sailing away over the horizon the ships mast
Which traverses the wild unknown region.
No flecks of blue glimmer in the sky;
Nor orb of fiery sun can be gazed upon.
Did the morning gift Auroras dim saffron?
Did it conspire and bring dullness to my eye?
Departed too have the scented flowers;
Even fruit hides away from their cradle,
No foliage, no bramble, laurel or myrtle,
All disappeared from ever shady bowers.
Honey is not made today, sulking are the bees,
And their cousins, shy-adventure disperses desire.
Evergreens remain, remain with adamant attire,
While their foes strip away naked their leaves.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
Who tends these flowers, sweet maiden of mine?
A soft touch do you use, or do you cut
Your stems deep? In Athens garden; along silvery waves,
Even poppies, even the dewy tamarisks, duly inquire.
And I'll pluck you, O laurels, and you neighbouring myrtle.
I beg your pardon; open your gates, fling wide,
My delicate Muse, speak those stories you
Gently gift, memory, your forte also; for a poet,
I am your poet; unmask hard effort to vision your eyes.
A burdening task to cause clouds to weep, weep too
The drooping lilacs, crimson roses even bow
Their leafy heads towards the soiled earth.
Damp Nights bright torch visits her love
On the Oceans depths; abandoning her steeds;
Eternal sleep covers eternally his punished eyes.
Too much; too much do I miss of swimming
In your chestnut pools; which my sight always loved.
To bathe in clear springs; on either side, to be touched on
The temple by sleeps ivory wand; too drift into dreams.
Do you tend this garden, lovely young girl, is it you,
Who gently prunes these thousand petals, Emily?
An essence divine, for you, the Nymphs perfume the air
Like these flowers; baskets full, you care for. Let
The woods beyond all else please you and me. May
Your powers, my casualty, last long: till the burning sun,
Sees conquered love underneath his blue skies.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:16 AM UTC
What spirit drives the thunderbolts?
Whence comes the fury of the rivers,
What feeds the winds, what fount
Supplies the immeasurable ocean?
What pathway of the sun hastens
Or draws out the course of night?
Long have my own birds sung my doom,
And tears bedewed my face,
Reflecting tracks remaining in heaven,
And the zephyrs path gleams bright.
‘Tis you, forever, and always,
My true delight!
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
You removed your delicate hand away
From your ***** and sprinkled
Stardust upon the moon tonight.
While the clouds obeyed her secret palms,
She parted them enough
For her borrowed light to shine through.
Her beams glittered cataract diamonds,
As any found within Leone’s chest;
Upon boulders centred within this field.
So I approached, aloft, pedestal-like,
And mimicking David’s marble form
Gleaming bright in the Florence midday heat,
With no less than a thousand eyes
Gazing upon his dreaming stare,
I perched and mused of my lady-fair.
While above, each star hummed
It’s distant faint tune, and twinkled
Their beat towards Earths gentle breath.
I inhaled the air freezing this night;
Into, not only my lungs,
But my heart reached over to lend her appetite.
Aided by the cool soft wind,
My voice was never the more raised
Above a lonely child’s whisper.
Thus I began: ‘I thought of how
This glorious globe, with her wondrous hue,
Is the envy of all these great spheres,
‘And to muse with the ebb
Of immeasurable times flow
Over the laments of my darling dove,
‘To relay through my mind,
All the moments I could
Have been with your willing body,
‘The many scenes I should
Have been with you. Those times
I should have said exactly
‘What I felt when you were with me,
When I possessed you
Within my gaze. I rue those chances,
‘And missed opportunities. Know that
You occupy my slumbered visions
From when sleep closes my eyes,
‘Till the birds of dawn awakens them.
And as the year closes,
Since first I kissed your smooth cheek,
‘Know humbly, within your breast,
That you were the shining beacon,
A light which guided me over stormy seas.
‘I pray, realise my words,
Softly spoken from the pages sent
To your hands, were meant for your heart,
‘And your smile, mixed with glances,
Were always a true delight
You bestowed on to me.
‘I let you bathe in my soul,
And I truly thank you,
And forever sing your name aloud.
‘I sit alone here under a chilly
Suffolk night and think
The heavens bright of you.
‘Months have fled, and ease of
My sorrow toward the sky
Is a gift I must offer for my changeless love.’
And ending, ‘Take what you wish, my dove,
But please, I beg on bended knees,
Please, do not take my memory of you.’
These words were cupped on the north wind,
While the moon spread a veiled
Duvet of polished silver over the field,
Spilling dew upon the grass
Bleeding from her sheen, moist,
Velvet sheets of liquid nectar.
Before my eyes, the grass stood to attention.
A million green-eyes begged
More from my heated pores.
Amazed; for rooted to the soil,
Adding immense weight to the ground;
They calmed their sway to my measures.
Clouds rushed over to hear, even
The rested sun-chariot peeped
Back over the forbidden western shores.
The birds of day appear, crying
A chattered song for the suns yearning.
Clouds began to weep uncontrollable tears.
As a ripple from a pond, speeds
Over the smooth surface towards
The shade of the blessed river bank,
As did a wave flow from one end
Of the field to these boulders,
And with fresh breath, these blades spoke,
And graced my ears with speech:
‘Oh soon to be spirit, we can sense
What is about to come on to you.
‘Your love, you love, with every
Drop of blood that beats
Within ones heart, we envy you.
‘Can there ever be a time,
Where eagles roar; when lions fly;
Lambs bite; or wolves graze on us?
‘Ever an instance, a time to come,
Where the moon becomes the sun,
In turn, the giver of life, the moon?
‘When the earth, herself, slows,
And rotates back along her axis?
Men born old; death at birth?
‘Hills, majestic sloping hills, iron flat?
Rivers become grain; ocean freeze over;
Skies, and air, turn to solid?
‘Science; vain in being,
Predicts too much; and beauty
Is lost forever in her words.
‘May some farm boy look through
A hole in that there fence,
And sneak a peak at me,
‘May he run to his herd and tell
The leader of the flock the sight
His eyes just bore in witness.
‘For your cries; may a sudden
Rush of blush greet your lady’s cheeks;
May her legs tremble; her hips grow weak.
‘Let the once ferocious deep blue
Calm his waves, and in his face,
Mirror the skies glorious expanse.
‘The moon; may the moon, believe
That she is not eternally alone,
Swimming in the inky black;
‘Let her study her reflection;
And fall in love with her new mate.
May the stars, count not all, shrink
‘The distance between themselves,
Place tender arms around one another,
In a much longed-for embrace.
‘Finally; may Orion, when touching
Western waters; let him relinquish his sword,
And stem the rains from the bellowing east.
‘We feel your pain!’ And they ceased.
They too, felt my joy.
For my wonderful words spun;
Mingled with undiluted wine placed in a
Golden goblet from a heart-stricken tongue;
Which lapped the chilly air while I spoke freely.
‘I knew once a sweet tender maid,’ I began,
‘And without diminishing
The daughters of this night away from you,
‘I will swiftly say she became my voice.
And as the buds burst free
From winters icy hold; and as around
‘Earths eternal prisioned orbit
Spans another of her quarters,
When the sun strikes intense onto Saharan sands;
‘I was with her, and she with me too.
She graced my songs with galloping mane
And eagle striking ***** of wind.
‘She tenderly flowed through my veins,
As any stream from high sacred fountains;
Any river that deposits into sea;
‘Any artists stroke from his brush
To canvas, that paints oil drenching
Figures of unrivalled beauty.’
I paused my strain, and glanced
At our moon, hung high; hung also;
On my every word, halting her route.
‘And with this’, I continued, ‘and your tones
You gifted to me upon these boulders,
I take this poisoned flower from out my pocket.
‘My young blood presented this to me,
Long ago; for the sun has yoked
His steeds passed four full moons since.
‘He too, my brother, calls aloft
To the tunes of music; he too,
Guides his hand to the strums of natures beats.
‘Against that aged oak, with acorns
Spread at its feet, my brother, leaning
His back to its wrinkled trunk,
‘Plucking in harmony strings which,
In his blonde presence never lay slack;
And flinging away his melodies on the breeze,
‘Spoke thus; “If any time on your travels,
A day presents itself, when you find
Yourself sitting upon those boulders there;
‘“And the moon in her glory,
Glows a frosty crystal white, and the voices
In their millions sway to your laments,
‘“Eat this; for your time has come.
One night waits for all of us and all must
Walk the path of death, and walk it only once.
‘“Look to your moon, and bade it goodbye.
Glance at the grass, and bid it adieu.
And say, above all, farewell to your lady.”
So I eat, and sing farewell my love, with a kiss.’
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Until the sun rises up from eastern seas, may I be in your heart.
May the morning-star look forth from mounted flight;
May he chase, and flick the darkened heels of night;
And send beams cast down on your smile crystal bright;
From the depths of the ocean to the furthest heavenly light,
Sweet dreams my most wondrous sight;
Tender slumbers, me undeserving of you, my true delight
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC