Jamie L Cantore

Jamie L Cantore Mar 2017

I know not where you bestow;
Which ghost has passed the row
Of roses in your charms & deeds?
Each posy-as in our Winter-sleeps.

I know not where your atoms stray;
In bright whits of a Summer's day?
Yet in true piety, Heaven made rare,
Every strand of your lovesome hair.

Where do the stars sit, if not found
In those spheres of blue all round?
I do not pretend to know she's there.
She's somehere, but I know not where.

Jamie L Cantore Mar 2017

A Pixie Named Stick

At night in the hamlet, a noise broke the silence. A quite small pixie named Stick
Was napping in the forest just round midnight or so, she fancied she heard
Her name being called thru the wood by some lover. She sat there by her snail shell hut like an intoxicated hobbit, then she crept on down to the dale, and spied
Wee little fireflies dancing in the air like nightlights flown by daring pilots with no particular place to go.

Jamie L Cantore Mar 2017

On The Morrow

Ah! if my youth were a perdurable
trance! My reality not roused till a
sun's expanse; where an aeon could prompt the first blush. Perhaps, though
those extended dreams were flush
with futile grieving, yet better than
algid facts of Existence, & relieving
kindled verve, to whose heart just
is, and always has since birth; still
within the pleasing earth, a snarl
of longing rage from her surge.

But should it come to pass--that
vagary unceasingly continuing--
as trances have always passed
in my youth--could it be this
winnowing revelled in the sky
in dreams in their bright truth
found lost within a great lie
in dreams of happier times?
I shall slumber a bit longer,
to seek out the scatterings of
Life's little difficult answers:
but I age all the while I sleep on
hopes and wake I still anchored.

Mar 2017

Megan Sherman

Gestation Of The Heart

Heaven is the gestation of the human heart
It is more than the kingdom of kings
It is the place where souls dwell in grace
And all spirits, spellbound, get to sing
The gestation of the heart is gorgeous
Akimbo to the cosmic flow
The truth of Love magnanimous
Towards it our lives go

Jamie L Cantore Mar 2017

The Awakening

By avenues vague and secret,
visited by devils and regret,
whither the Wraith of Manes
stands firm and tall and reigns,
thither in the dark acres stead;
and like a vapor inside my head,
lingers there to haunt and spread.

Abysmal troughs and a great deluge,
and rifts, and dens, and silva's huge,
with silhouette's none can recover
for the weeps that pour all over;
ridges plunging into Nevermore,
into waters devoid of any shore;
swells that spasmodically aspire,
upsurging in welkins full of fire.

For in my soul regrets are legion,
but it's an irenic and placid region-
because the wraith which did haunt,
is now seen as wispy, thin, and gaunt.
I wend my way straight through him,
and I refuse to ever again view him.
The Wraith of Manes is now banished,
from terrible dreams, now vanished.

Jamie L Cantore Mar 2017

Ground Control

I stand upon a scraper of the skies;
Try to overcome a fear of heights...
Born within me; irrational perhaps:
But I wasn't born with wings or *****,
So I don't think it so irrational a fear.
Yet, I stand at the edge way up here
To overcome the fear in question...

I fell. I always said I'd make a
good

**IMPRESSION