Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
beth fwoah dream Feb 2020
the star of the star of the morning
is restful and tranquil and free

the star of the star of the evening
blossoms dark as a shadowy tree,


the waves drive out far in their rivers
as blue as a star in the sky,

and the darkness relents for her shivers
must finally die.


waves turning and burning and dancing
clouds wandering e'er ever on

and the darkness that finds the new morning,
as cold as stark night's bitter song,


oh, brother who wept for my sisters
no tears as alive as their breath

swept out where the wild sea blisters
and pain knows of death.


wild whispers, wild birds and the fury
of waves that sing out to the clouds

the death then of life that we bury
laid out in the whitest of shrouds


the sea, oh, the sea, how she sings me
a song of a dance never sung

and her rhythms soon calm and placate me
her bell solemn rung.


and sweet love is the journey i strive for
as blue as a mysterious sea

and the love is a fruit full of succour,
and the moment will live e'er free,


you stand tragic as a painting so mournful
alone as a poet who rests,

and the lull of the storms here at night fall
the sea's treasure chests.


the day wraps the night in her roses
and night wraps the day in her sight

and midnight's soft moonlight supposes
that day is a journey e'er bright,


and love was a love still forever
and love had no rose in her bower

for the floor of the sea like a feather
the most delicate flower.
beth fwoah dream Jan 2020
the clouds white as white at their edges,
the moon like a gem set in cloud,

the cliffs with the birds on their ledges,
far away where the weary waves bowed,


love strong of wild heart and compassion,
love decent and as gorgeous as mist

that blooms like the waves full of passion
or like lovers that kissed.


dark sky, dark delight and an ocean,
that rushes to the coast on a wave,

dark blossom of the night like a potion,
love always romantic and brave,


gold star loved like the soft song of e’ven
gold star lighting up the night sky,

the night lit as pretty as heaven,
or juliette’s  sigh.


our love once won and then sadly forgotten,
that died in cold februarys frost,

not given time to enjoy the new blossom,
of spring’s pretty blooms quickly  lost,


yet love mourned forever for losing,
a heart like a dragon once slain,

all the passion, the heart-ache, the yearning,
washed out in the rain.
beth fwoah dream Jan 2020
the sun sings its swan song at ev’en,
falls low like a fortress of fire,

destroyed by a kingdom believed in,
by an army whose feet never tire;


and the sea calls out loud like an egyptian,
her pyramids built out of sand,

her headdress the skies sweet inscription
the cloud’s dark dreamland.


and love is the song that the wave sings,
as the ghosts of the sea start to rest,

and they crash with the chill that the night brings
like a book where a  flower was pressed,


and the waves bloom and die like spring blossom,
sing a song as eternal as cloud,

sing of life, sing of death at her *****,
the sea foam her shroud.

the meadows are filled with wild flowers,
the sky holds the warrior bird,

the rain with her solitary showers,
the moon’s with her pathway all curved,


delight of the sky and the highway,
as dissonant as a dark minor key,

oh, sea, of desire walks her causeway,
from you unto me.  


the moon glitters like an old sovereign,
conjures magics as sweet as the sea,

a song ne’er remembered but forgotten,
in the vaults of our lost memories,


the stars shine like miniature lanterns,
more of lamplight than this pretty night,    

shining clear in their old archaic patterns,
both cheerful and bright.


and the dark speaks out loud to her brother
sings of cloud bursts and moonlight and rain,

and the ghosts of her once ancient mother,
tells us life flows like blood in the vein,


the frosty dark sky with her night ****,
sings of freedom and knows not of slaves,

while the sea as it brims to the far shore,
all filmy, white waves.


oh, darkness, oh, sister, remember,
the fight for the shore is ne’er won,

from  january through to december,
while the wilderness sings to the sun,


the dark has known only of winter,
her battlements rise to the sky,

wait forever for the first songs of summer,
that blossom then die.


for daylight arrives with its flurry,
of bird song and sunlight at dawn,

while the ceaseless, relentless waves scurry,
draw in close with their breath of the morn,


no death could e’er be imagined,
of a sea as eternal as air,

that the scampering wind swiftly maddened,
where the wild rafters swear.


the grasses blow flat on the wetlands,
where the puddles lie hoary and grey,

and the heron sweeps up to the headland
with its wings full of the glory of day,


the wildflowers bud in the meadows,
thick purples and bronzes and golds,

poppies red as the rust of a wild rose,
rufescent and bold.
beth fwoah dream Jan 2020
the moon treads a path gently woven,
clouds gather their rain and their sighs,

the sea with her flowers  and  sirens
below the grey swag of the skies,


the sea drifts out far like a sail boat,
in love with the sky and the wind,

the wild surging breeze hits its high note,
with all the lights dimmed.


the love that we had lies half buried,
blows as soft as the wind through the grass,

the bird that the sky always carried
a ghost of the air that does  pass  


love squandered, love hungered, devoted,
as jealous as jealous can be,

love frozen forever  emotive,
once prisoned now free.


a love soon believed for its sweetness,
romantic, delicious and wild,

a sacrifice e’er  e’er  grievous,
hearts lonely that once were  beguiled,


muse singing of love now departed,
washed out like a rose in the frost,

waste lovers left soon broken-hearted,
love won and then lost.


love more of dark midnight’s soft flowers
more of twilight and shadowy bones,

death’s minstrel  that sings in the bowers,
kings seated on dragons and thrones,


love open and timeworn , delightful
as seas breathing of cloud bursts and mist,

uncanny, blood-berried,  insightful
and drowned with one kiss.


brought back from where the wild sea wandered
stood out like a bird on the sands,

love guilty, then freed though still squandered,
like courantes followed by sarabands,  


love full of the delights of the morning,
or evening where dark blossoms grow,

where the thunderous waves are still storming
and poetry flows.


wild whispers of love and strong passion,
on the wind that once gathered the storm,

loves whispers once alive and now ashen,
refusing to comply or conform,


the dark of the night finds its firefly,
a star that now falls from the sky,

strange dusk, stranger song than the sea’s sigh,
where the lonely ghosts die.


and love always finds the new morrow,
like a waif of the sky and the sea,

finds sometimes delight or great sorrow,
lives and breathes in the dark memory,


remembers those days once  so gifted,
believed in and lived in and free,

where the swallows broad wings were once lifted,
flying desolately.


love lost and yet sadly remembered
in the last golden pools of the sun,

as the sunset is no longer tethered
by the clouds that still run and then run,


love always of nightfall soft  breathing,
magnolia moons set alight,

love never all lost, now just sleeping,
enchanting  and bright.
  Jan 2020 beth fwoah dream
Solaces
At the beginning again..
A vast beginning..
In all directions I go..

Lust light devils..
Dust wing angels..
Trust onto me...

Purple skies..
Make purple oceans..
One inch deep...

I walk the waters..
Ripples of time..
Waves of my foot steps..

White broken Statues..
Old Sentinals of the sky..
Broken apart in ethereal pieces..

Sleep walking rain..
Storm on my skin..
Mist of my soul...

Sunset skies..
Magenta dreams..
The journey toward the auras anew...
Beginnings
beth fwoah dream Jan 2020
it was me who destroyed carthage of the ancient worlds in 1300bc. the way i destroyed carthage was this. my mother was a persian queen and carthage wanted persia destroyed. my mother did not want her husband killed so she sent me, her eldest child, to the war. i told them that if they looked into my right eye they would think it was very beautiful but if they then looked into my left eye, which was my most beautiful eye, for i was left-handed, even as most creative people are even back then, they would notice it was even more beautiful.
i then said if i wanted to be a little kind to them they would want to be very very kind to me. they liked me and tried to show me their great kindness but the truth was that they had been so unkind to their children with bad magics involving rings that they died instantly. that is how i destroyed carthage.
  Dec 2019 beth fwoah dream
Solaces
The memory shell is cracking...
And out comes the colors..
Out comes the real..
And in comes the light..

The memory shell is cracking...
We are from a beyond..
A place inward and outward of the sun...
Where the light is still travelling toward where light has not shined..

The memory shell is cracking..
The carmine and azure lightning bolts filled the sky..
Beyond is now attainable..
As we begin to catch up to the light...
I remember now. . . .  . . . .  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Next page