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 Aug 2018
Lyn-Purcell


-
My silver Knight,
shining with angelic splendour has sailed
towards the outer regions of my Kingdom
to lay waste to all my enemies. My heart in
hands, my hands are clasped, brought alive
with love, with light, with prayer.
Please, come back to me.
As I think of arrows piercing his breast,
or swords, or warhammers or even axes
I cannot, will not ever dance to the songs
of war.
A fire that claims souls, the earth that drinks
blood, a sight that makes my stomach turn
To see men fighting for a cause or no cause
at all. For war rapes all of happiness and loved
ones.
Oh! Begone tortuous thoughts! Revolting facts!
He will return. He will return!
For my nation prays with fervour, but all have
bleary-eyes, no more than me. He's gone to brave
the dragon's dawn - of men branded, fuelled by
the flames of war, riding into the fields on their
snow kissed mounts, roaring and clashing under
a broken sky; the kiss of steel, blades that dance
between life and death and give any and many
the kiss of Eternal Sleep.
The harp of his silver tongue plays soft, gentle and
true. Hand in hand, we walk through fields, of my
dreams divine! The ambition, the care, the charm
glowing in your eyes to be something more.
To you, I was a muse to climb and soar though the
heights, and you spoke so highly of my golden
sapient quill.
My heart, heavy, full of woe
As sleep has not come smoothly to my face,
my body, my heart, my soul.
You promised me, 'I will return to you.'
  'I will return to you,'
how your voice hung so sweet in my ear,
ripe with love, vibrant with hope, certain as the rising light
Please do not fade away, I could not bear it!
Please don't fade away!
Bring unto me that gold and joyous hour!
Fair the storms and roars; overcome the shores,
slay and return to me from the dragon's dawn,
unscathed and with a smile on your handsome
face.
-


A continuation of my 'Silver Knight' poem!
Lyn ***
^-^
 Aug 2018
Valsa George
On a walk companioned by my Muse along the sylvan meadows
We wandered away to delightful realms in unclouded ambience
Don’t know how long I rambled warming my fancies in sunset fires
Must be for long, all lights were out, the quiet hamlet lay bathed in sleep

Above  me, stood the starry firmament and the half hidden moon
Could see the vast plains stretching before me in moonlight, bare
My heart was flooded with joy, my fancies took to wings
Got drowned in Nature’s serene calm, my spirit lost in drunken ecstasy

In the gentle blowing breeze, the leaves twittered and murmured
All else was quiet and nothing disturbed the serenity of the night
But soon I knew the East wind strengthening around into a gale
And across the moon I could see stragglers of clouds moving past

I sat on a rock, lost, so lost staring into the clear night sky
Wondering how the celestial joy, made manifest by the twinkling stars
My thoughts began floating like a ship over the briny waters
And my temporal settings faded away like a cloud in the horizon

From the nearby woods, I heard the song of a lone night bird
In rising cadence, alone and aloud it fell on my rapturous ears
Was it a nightingale that poured forth that dewy delight?
Was it the same song, Keats heard long ago cascading from the woods?

      With my Muse in this unearthly hour let me sit awhile in this solitary bower
To my paper, let my fancies in unbroken crystal streams flow
Wonder if I can rightly recreate the image that my thoughts enfold
How I wish, I could like Coleridge, build a pleasure dome in mid air!
 Aug 2018
r
J35
O, Orca
Tahlequah —

so much more
than just J35 —

for 17 days
more than
1,000 miles
of heartache
you gave us —

waiting, watching
as you grieved —

carrying the weight
of the world’s eyes —

teaching each
and everyone —

grieving mothers
have their own —

ways and time
to say
goodbye.
To grieving mothers of all the gods’ creatures.  Birds of a feather. If I could walk on water to lift your spirits, you know I would. A special thought to TM, here: Tahlequah brought you to mind, Sister of my same waters.
 Aug 2018
Satsih Verma
Red moon wets
the eyes. I may not
sing back to trees.

You borrow the
light through negation.
Not by awakening self.

Don't invite the
fear. The Mars was rising
with salty streams of water.

And leave your
book blank. I have
to write again the history of truth.

A pure ****, when
you smile with eyes squinting.
Your lips tell something else.

Don't touch the stone.
It was melting.
 Aug 2018
wordvango
are we and the grass and trees
ennobled graced gifted are we
the thriving warrior's
worker ants enrichers feeding the
throng
as we strive daily along
sniffing a scent we get in
our minds a nirvana a heaven if we just
keep on
and we wax and wane in lyrical bliss
tired to the bone whipped
just to hear a song of hope or
love or perpetual peace,
and as we stay the course for
the eternity as it ticks
we are blessed to breathe to be
a part of the chorus
a melody we all make buzzing like bees
a song once did escape the numerous
that sung so rare it made a song
like a bee and an ant on a pine cone
in the forest.
For that,
I hum.
 Aug 2018
Satsih Verma
Undying you speak tall.
I will resume to watch
the soul outside yourself.
And I will receive the body
of dried river.

Observing your shriveled
hands, I dig again the―
bed of stones. Glass eyes
appear beautiful in dying sun.
There were no spaces left
between the clouds.

I had always admired
your stoic glance, repeating
the verdict word by word.
The persona stepping down, pure
as snow. There was no rain.

A dewdrop reflects
the sky, and the train was
ready to leave for the last stop.
Then the journey will start
for blue darkness of naked swans.
 Aug 2018
Lyn-Purcell
'Oh, when will you return, my love?' wondered Kourê,
   as she lays on the daybed, in the cradle of                        
          Spring's clime; how the nights and days make                        
her so weary, as the yellowed flames sway idle              
So many flowers sent,                                            
each rich with memory.      
Violets coiling around the triumphal arch;              
His smile after their first kiss under
the flushing dawn.
Starlings who sing ever so sweet;                              
the song of him preaching of her being
                       a bright glory before others.
Crystal chandeliar that hangs from the ceiling;
                            Her on a small bench, his hands massaging
                              warm oils between her fae-sculpted
      feet and toes.
The roses; a rouge kiss in the light of the shade
          The harp; a white daybed draped
                            with a scarlet sheet.
She yearns for a hug from him, bathing ****
          in light, as their hearts beat in sync
                              and reach the sky.
All she wants is a sweet rest, his hand on her
fine head;                                                
            stroking, sighing, eyes shining,              
                  water that trembles between fingers,
happiness linger!
A feather drifts earnest, the glittering of stars,
And now she cools, recalling their sweet        
goodbye as he rides his mare,
            snow cloak shines eternally.
'Yours is a beauty that will never wilt,' he cooes,
placing a rose in her hair.                  
A rose.                      
A rose...        
Her eyes falls on the white rose in the vase,
              lonesome, thornless proud...                  
We marvel its beauty, its earthbound performance                       
 She holds the rose in her hand, staring at its                    
its crowning glory; petalled virtue
By her ivory velveteen fingers                                          
long finger,
               slim thumb-
She plucks petal by petal by petal by petal
as she looks to the day-sky
                      with a dreaming mind
And when the crown is gone,                            
                       her face is touched by a frown                        
                and the naked stem,
                                    marred by her sensitivity-
                                            ***** of its own beauty-
                                                    for her hand's sake,
her yearning for her lionesque lover,              
                                         and aurorian prayers?          
The stem falls, naked and bald on the ground
    as she closes her eyes, saddened...
She cannot bear the sight of snow-kissed            
flowered bays without the sun,
                   her hymn-
                                  her shield-
Know the true secret behind the red, red rose  
As none know of its venomous mantle    
this Rose lingered in the vase only to be
defiled.
Taken advantage of only to
                            be dumped-
A laughing stock as another more beautiful
                            flower will take its place
Boiling with vengeance, the stem is hale,
jade with envy-
                                               barbed with thorns, a poisoned desire
                      to shield its body,
Its pride, its crown stolen-
                                     From snow to blood-
                                                    its pain turned crimson,
No longer will tears of dew fall!
'It matters not,' Kourê thinks, 'another rose will bud.'
For they, like many perennials and sentient life,
                          are conscious of its limited beauty!
'Mine own beauty and his will last forever.'
From the light beyond,
she sees him.
                                       Her sun that rides the mare!
She runs into his embrace- a pair of happy doves
Her fingers in his gold curls
as he bends the knee,
The air lovingly cold at this display!                  
Ever so content!
                                          Blessings upon the lily in the snow!
Upon her hands, the blood of a rose,
that swears vengeance upon her
for it will be the catalyst!
Blood for blood!
                                  The rose will rise and curse
them with pain ten-fold...
Final part of the free-verse!
Hope you enjoyed it!
I came up with a little sad myth behind why the rose has thorns. Why the white roses are truly red. What did you think? I have roses in my garden but I don't pick the petals, they're too pretty!
What did you think of Kourê? Do let me know!
Love you guys! Thanks so much!
Lyn ***'
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