"chapt" poems
Wolf Goddess
A Book by Eclipsing Moon-blood red
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/lauryames/748418/
manuscript- this book and all subsequent chapters --copyright@2011--- by Laurance Dyson all rights reserved not to be used except in this environment without express permission from the writer.
Warning
This Book is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.
Chapters
•THE WOLF GODDESS-Chapt.1
•THE WOLF GODDESS- Chapt.2
•THE WOLF GODDESS CHAPT3
•THE WOLF GODDESS CHAPT.4
•THE WOLF GODDESS-Chapt.5
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 4:06 PM UTC
.
**•••• ••••••••• ••••
•our wrin- kled hides only co- nceal the
anguish•that resonates with conviction amongst
my herd•this humanly greed that might cause us
to perish•what's valuable to you, we find incredu-
lously absurd•embedded in our trunks lay mill-
enias of lineage... • hidden in our eyes bec-
koned the change in history •in our
•• beating hearts is ••
the longing to
turn the im-
possible
page•of
hapless
chapt-
ers w-
rit-ten
with the
points**
of
bloodstained
ivory•
.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
The Dragon's Egg
To understand my addiction
You have to know the
Back-story.
I was born in the dead of
Winter. Wednesday's child...
Full of woe. I was a preemie.
Mom fell on her stomach while
On a chair trying to change a
Lightbulb. As unpreposessing
A child as ever was born...
I won't go into my childhood
Difficulties too much, as they
Might prompt your judgment
Upon my parents. They were
Not really at fault. They did
The best they could based
Upon their childhoods and
Limitations....
Mom was sick.
A great deal. The victim of
Horrific migraine headaches
And an undiagnosed (therefore
Untreated) bi-polar condition.
She had aspirations of being an
Actor. She really should never
Have had three children. She
Simply couldn't handle it. I was
Born only 16 months after her
Firstborn, my sister Chris. This
Definitely didn't help matters.
Then, because my little brother
Mark was born just as her
Acting career took off, she had
Much less time for my sister
And I. She had a newborn, a
Career, a husband and
Postpartum depression. Chris
And I (and eventually Mark)
Were neglected. Not really
Mom's fault. It was what
It was...
Dad was a complex man.
A hot-tempered stoic. A hard
Worker who hated manual
Labor. A war hero who also
Became a runner (he would
Become a severe
Alcoholic - an addiction he
eventually overcame).
A generous miser.
A cultured plebian.
A spiritually minded atheist.
I don't blame him. But the
Last dichotomy was our
Downfall. We were
disallowed from church. Went
To an atheist Sunday School.
We learned about all the world
Religions save Christianity.
Or maybe I missed THAT lesson.
But as a result I had no real
Moral compass to live by. My
Parents tried to teach us
Ethical behavior, but because
Jesus and the Holy Spirit weren't
A part of the equation it was
Doomed to failure. One can't
Simply be "moral" or "ethical".
Without Jesus, we are all
Rank sinners. Sorry if this
Offends some of you. But it's
TRUE. Jesus paid the price.
Only faith in Him can make
A person right with the Father.
All else is vanity. My father
Spent his lifetime trying to be
A "good" man. He tried to
Be a "good" husband. A "good"
Father. But his efforts
Always stymied by lack
Of the essential puzzle piece....
JESUS.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain.
I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 9:16 AM UTC
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
*But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;*
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
*The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.*
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
*Ashes. *
The wind blows them to needed places
Embracing broken children's faces.
We ascended.
We were defended.
Light hearted the ceiling transcended
Repairing the reality...
Long offended.....
Grey my soul as I rest on this fence
Holy water burns as I began my rince
Of horrible days....
They hung the prince ....
Ages ago bells rang
Ever silent since.
Burn the witch....
Flip the switch.....
Light off in a flooded ditch
Red as blood to embrace a lynch.
Death is a nervous snitch..
Flip the switch...
**Burn the witch.... **
Carpe Diem
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC