Searching for the salty stinging
I find myself breathing deeply
The same lament I keep singing
While caged, I flutter weakly
"Beyond the hill, beyond the glen
Beyond the plains, beyond the fen
I hear her voice lilt and sway
And all my pain is washed away
She sings secrets no man may tell
Through the modest magic of a shell
Between the land, beneath the sky
O lover hear my lonesome cry
Sing out to me, the song of the sea
Draw me out where I should be
Among the waves, among the spray
Not in the cove, nor in the bay
Take me where I am free
Sing me back to the sea"
The poems of my generation are sad
The poets got hurt and now they’re mad
Easy lives filled with human pain
They cry out to the night in vain
The poems speak of love too oft
Yet at monogamy they all have scoffed
The poets can’t compose alone
They need to drink until they moan
Until they make yet more mistakes
More material for the poems they make
I too have fallen down
Into the poems that gain renown
I have tried to please the world
To validate souls bent and curled
Now I know the truth to tell
The night is not a wishing well
Poems should reflect God’s own heart
Each one with a moral to impart
Poems should express things pure and true
That doesn’t mean they can’t be sad or blue
Just that our hearts should be nobler things
Than a metal shell that hollowly rings
Father, Father, where have you gone?
Where are your arms where we belong?
How far from these banks we’ve known
have you moved your kingdom’s throne?
Have you found another home?
Did you forget your children doomed to roam?
Is the family whole again?
New children where we should’ve been.
Father, Father, we’ve flown so far,
with neither guiding sun nor evening star.
Where did they go, where are our people?
We’ve lost a forest to gain a steeple.
We’ve knocked atop the hollow hills,
but could only hear the sound of mills.
Tell us if you slumber deep,
or if you’ve found a better sleep.
Father, Father, who are these men?
They dump waste into the river bend.
They say our people don’t exist,
but we see the faces in the mist.
We’ll sing one last haunting tune,
on tranquil waters ‘neath beaming moon.
We’ll sing goodbye to the world we knew
and go to die and be with you.
This is my first attempt at writing one of my favorite Irish myths.
I give this last note to Leo that he may race to you while it's words are fresh. He lopes across the night's great canvas with sufficient grace to draw your eye for beauty. Know that my last wish in this waking world is for you to dream all that is daring, and to wake on the morrow and see it in truth. I now bid you goodnight and farewell. We may speak again in the light but now the darkness creeps and my own adventures await.
This is prose but you can just deal with it.
She tiptoes through the woods like a pilgrim through a cathedral
The great wooden pillars meet above in leafy arcs
Dappled light dances across the mossy carpet
The brightest sunspot,
Swirling and swaying in the rhythm
Her wide eyes close to take deep breaths
Only to have them stolen away on the breeze
I watch in a dream and she turns,
Eyes stormy with a smile playing at her lips
Not sure how much I like this one. I think the images are nice but the lack of structure goes against my grain, though maybe that's the point.
Hello my love,
It's that time of the year again.
I've brought flowers and melancholy.
Time to sit under your oak,
Time to sprawl by your stone.
I wonder if you hear my stories.
Do you see my hot tears?
Are my jokes and pleas swept away on the wind?
Do not say that you cannot hear.
Don't say that you cannot see.
I need you to hear the words I never said.
I need you to see the love I seldom showed.
For I do hear you speak.
I hear you in my most sacred dreams.
I feel the whisper of your breath through these grasses.
I swim in your sound on this hilltop.
Tell me the words that I have been sobbing:
Why am I talented in violence?
Is it not wrong to do harm?
Yet I feel within me the fire of a warrior.
Wield my life as a blade,
Guide my actions as a spear.
I offer my breast for the arrow,
And my throat for the lion,
Only let me shield your people.
Let me mimic you, O Mighty Warrior,
And place me among your host
That I may serve you and see your work.
Let me bring glory to your name,
Use my life for your name's sake.
For it was you who formed me in the womb.
You put the shield on my back,
And the sword in my hand.
You gave me all skill and strength;
It is fit that they should be used for you.
Therefore instruct me O King!
Show me the battle lines,
Point out the camp of the enemy.
Give me an order, O LORD,
That I may rush into the fray.
This was written in the style of the Psalms.