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Shane Leigh Aug 2017
I feel no peace,
No calm,
No mortification,
No … anything
While I contemplate
The cracks,
The creaks,
The massive holes,
And the falling stones
Of this dying city.
© Shane Leigh
Our love was a BATTLE;
Between our two hearts
Swords clashed together
Of clanging steel

I refused to bow,
To your royal seal
My sword raised
And cut our love in two;

The battle ceased,
Victory rang prosy
And all I feel
Pain -
Of what I had to undo
Chris Saitta Jul 22
All is gone, all my kingdoms, all my sons,
All of valor, all of disenchanted love, but for eyes
That see the world of nothing, slow in its demise.
Chris Saitta Jun 1
From the first, the fluid-filled sacs of stars,
The yolk of yellow lightning and oily rain,
Then the placental storm, birth-giver of roads and oxen loads,
Witch towers made from silk hair and the peasant sucklings of plague,
Whelped there by the milk of the river Arno, by turns pacified or stern.

The Dark Ages is a storm nesting in the sky, built by posthumous stares,
Piece by piece, a raven’s birth from eyes and saliva of roads and rivers.
Of the woman who gave birth, the sway of leaves where once fell hair,
Only her lips hover in the air of warm sun,
Like a fountain in the bare palace courtyard
Suspiring, flowing, extolling…
As absurd or self-serving as it is, I shine a sun on my own poems because this site is broken; you can literally post something that no one will see, but every other post is seen.
Sky May 14
Cold and callous he approaches
as the night falls.
He’ll conquer this vast kingdom
as darkness calls.

You can run
but he’ll catch up,
try to hide
and he’ll find out
or stand up to fight:
you’d lose your light
in the black midnight.

There’ll be no mercy when he comes.
Bend down, surrender!
Of all your kingdoms
He’ll be the ender.

Though this fierce knight has a frail side
one he desperately tries to hide:
a heart made of stone and cold
that can’t be touched nor consoled.
I will sit upon the throne of disaster
When the time comes, I'll be dethroned
By something
Far
Far greater
and perhaps i'll obtain some meaning in this life of mine
Perhaps i won't
Doesn't matter
For now, as long as the sun is lit
With an elixir of immeasurable fire
I shall bear the heat
of my broken kingdom
I am wrath
I am the tyrant.
Frozen hands yearning burning touch
Meet rusted strings for plea
At the dusted and forgotten wood they clutch
Silent prayers from the mouth flee

Build callouses, break promises
From every chord brushing thy fingers
From lips that would sing choruses
As the echo of one's soul lingers

As the evensong fill the room's deafening void
Much like the ringing of one's ear
Meet the tranquilness and calm you avoid
Letting your heartbeat be heard loud and clear

The quiet audience rest their heads
Down gentle pillows which only heard so much
And in between carefully sewn threads
Slumber dried out tears and such

In the iris-hued dark
Thou pupils seem to blend in
Not leaving a trace or a mark
Even as they see thy bare skin

Vespers audibly mistaken and imperfect
Form melodious lullabies for the ******
As we embrace wholeheartedly the wholesome defect
As the syncing flaws are together crammed

Fear not the cold and shaking limbs
Nor the purple, wet lips that swore
Especially the broken cries as your mind's hymns
For these silent prayers are indeed the heart's uproar.
Day 2 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. Lotsa references. But this was fun.
Ich am of Irlaunde ("I am of Ireland")
(anonymous Medieval Irish Lyric, circa 13th-14th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I am of Ireland,
and of the holy land of Ireland.
Gentlefolk I pray thee:
for the sake of saintly charity,
come dance with me
in Ireland!

Original text:

Ich am of Irlaunde,
Ant of the holy londe
Of Irlande.
Gode sire, pray ich the,
For of saynte charite,
Come ant daunce wyth me
In Irlaunde.

Keywords/Tags: Ireland, medieval Irish, translation, holy, land, good, sire, gentlemen, pray, saintly, charity, dance
I Have a Yong Suster
(anonymous Medieval English riddle-poem, circa 1430)
translation by Michael R. Burch

I have a young sister
Far beyond the sea;
Many are the keepsakes
That she sent me.

She sent me the cherry
Without any stone;
And also the dove
Without any bone.

She sent me the briar
Without any skin;
She bade me love my lover
Without longing.

How should any cherry
Be without a stone?
And how could any dove
Be without a bone?

How should any briar
Be without a skin?
And how could I love my lover
Without longing?

When the cherry was a flower,
Then it had no stone;
When the dove was an egg,
Then it had no bone.

When the briar was unborn,
Then it had no skin;
And when a maiden has her mate,
She is without longing!

This poem was sung in the movie "Animal House" by a college troubadour played by Stephen Bishop. A toga-clad John Belushi destroyed his guitar! Keywords/Tags: riddle, medieval, Middle English, young, sister, cherry, stone, dove, bone
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