#coleridge
FIT THE FIRST – The Tale Untold
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.'
He holds him with his skinny hand,
'There was a ship,' quoth he.
'The crewmen hunted down a snark,
And sailed across the sea.'
The wedding-guest here squeezed his breast
And broke the seaman's hold.
'I've gotta go,' he said to him
Whose tale was left untold.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 1:05 AM UTC
On this very spot,
I thought I re
co-knew, we
two, were meant to
become compleat, once,
each breeding pair
preselected,
to harmonize, meet,
certainly, we may say,
we can believe we know,
we bear fruit for seasons,
time after time, as ware we
are apt to rethink how clouds
without rain dismay some minds,
hot, midsummer working winds,
efforting effectually pulling power
out of perpetual ice now known not
perpetual but not precisely predictable/
here, in mind,
not a wit behind, Dequincy, a leap beyond
Elon, in mind adventured intelflux basic acid
tested will to meet after ever leaves Earthian,
alienation situations some say we all pass through,
some small percentage still carry coins, for our passage,
and to hold our eyes closed through the viewing, proving
s-sure,
strange just
suddenly, no life, just
surity, good credit, then
he is dead, that body, there's no sense in the embalming,
the earth shall eventually break down the royal sarcophagus,
even the satin lined, ultra deep tucked, for eternal rest assured,
and the triple hermetic seal… micro metal flake pearlescent lid,
shall crumble, under the weight of final rest and return to dirt.
But, rest, really assured, all you ever are, never was but
the stuff stars become when they go molecular.
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 5:32 PM UTC
In Xanadu did Whatsoever
a stately pleasure planet decree
Where Amazon, the sacred River run
through Forests, measureless to Man.
And here were trees tall as the sky
and leopards, snakes and
birds of the brightest colours.
But oh! Mankind began to burn the trees,
drill dramatic chasms, build walls and towers
Melt the polar ice and turn the oceans into lifeless seas.
So in this tumult, once,
a sixty nano metre string of RNA came,
invading thousands and thousands of humans
and prophesying the end of our kind.
A vision in a dream then I had:
a simple utopia of rare device.
Could we revive our lost ties with Nature
we would heal our world and soul
And so with voice loud and long,
with flashing eyes and floating hair,
I say: Hey you out there. Beware, beware!
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 9:02 PM UTC
In dryest desert
Lay hidden jewels,
The monuments of days gone by,
Beneath the holy
Sands of Time,
Where altars to the Old Gods lie,
I found myself
Without my faith,
And could not pray, for I would die,
When I awoke,
Beneath the palms,
At the temple of the Ceruni.
To see their Gods,
Such power and fear!
For I've felt no presence as I have felt here,
So strong, so pure,
So rich; Alive!
The Gods have felt so near this night.
I wandered in,
Through sacred gardens,
Which no other man had yet seemed defy,
And came upon her,
Her robes as the snow,
The Goddess of the Ceruni.
She beckoned me
From silvered dome,
Where she was seated, upon silver throne,
I passed the great hemp
And red poppies which shone,
To lay my eyes upon her.
"O Dear Goddess," did i cry,
"Have the heart to tell me why,
When I have spent my days and nights,
Not quite dead, Yet not alive,
Am I shrouded in your Holy Light? "
She gave no words,
But simply smiled,
I, gripped by silence all the while,
Could find no speech
Nor pause for thought,
As she whispered lessons which one time, were taught.
You may think me mad;
I swear I am not!
I'll point out the towers if we find the spot,
Such silver and gold,
Such wonderful shine!
To be in a place where the Gods would recline.
I've witnessed the spires
Of fallen empires,
So proudly they stand in desert dry!
But I've no recollection,
Upon sudden reflection,
Of where the Holy Temple lies.
But when I die,
O, take me there!
Where hemp and poppy kiss the sky!
And on my slate,
Let them write,
"Here lies the last of the Ceruni!"
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC
Up on Church Hill
I think of my love
& Tennyson, long gone
Up on Church Hill
Up on Church Hill
I look out at Steep Holm
and then at Clevedon pier
Up on Church hill
Up on Church Hill
the last swallows are soaring,
last summer days calling
Up on Church Hill
Up on Church Hill
by the poets’ walk
I sit as it gets dark
Up on Church Hill
Up on Church Hill
I shall leave my heart
& then depart
Old Church Hill
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 10:59 AM UTC
From the ship he shot the great albatross,
His purpose for this we will never know.
But his mistake his shipmate’s life lost,
Yet he was cursed to journey to and fro.
Telling of the strange tragedy at sea,
Miles from his home in land of crystal ice.
A sin committed his life never free,
He transformed to become wise and nice.
This epic they say if full of symbol,
Like when Adam ate from the sinner’s tree.
When we think of our sins we should tremble,
Yet we can be spared by the savior’s creed.
The old mariner journeyed on a great quest,
And touched the heart of a wedding guest.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
The Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!
And I had done an hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay
That made the breeze to blow!
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free:
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
All in a hot and copper sky,
The ****** Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
And some in dreams assured were
Of the spirit that plagued us so:
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Said The Raven
To The Raven
Which Raven are you?
I said The Raven
Am The Raven
Of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
And I said The Raven
Am The Raven
Of Edgar Allan Poe.
Apparently there's a rave on -
Shall we go?
Yes - let us go then you and I
As the evening is spread out
Against the sky.
But not like a patient
Etherised upon a table.
Let us like Thunderbirds
Not gentle go into this dark night.
So dressed in sable
White gloves
And whistles
They went on their way -
Not looking forward
To conversations about
Michelangelo at all.
For as we all know
Old age should rave and burn
At close of day.
And not just fizzle out.
More big shout...........................................
And rave until you fall.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC