Poetry

I like to rhyme, most of the time, is that a crime?

Fairer the Tree

This one was inspired by a song I heard a long time ago, by Echo’s Children. It was inspired by books in David Weber’s Honor Harrington series, and though I enjoyed the song, what struck me most was the final line. I always thought it’d make one hell of a love poem, so here is my attempt at it.

Young love blossoms quickly but fades away fast.
With petals down falling, so short do they last.
But flowers, when picked, handled gently indeed,
As they drop petals might also drop seed.

And from that small seedling our lust can take root,
When tended and cared for in passion’s pursuit.
And there, in the springtime of lover’s delight,
True love can spring forth in flowers, so bright.

And as the years pass what as seed once began
Will spread in its reaching, forever to span.
To grow up much stronger, a sapling no more;
Instead, there’s a tree where but flowered before.

And the tree, it will blossom and always renew
The passion and love that I first felt for you.
And I hope that when others look on us, they’ll see
That fair was the flower, but fairer the tree.

Punctuational Perversity Pervades

I just,
can’t seem,
to keep,
from adding commas to,
my work;
Pausing,
every other word,
like freakin’,
Captain,
Kirk.
Punctuational perversity,
pervades,
within my mind;
I have,
to see,
a comma
at the end of,
every line.
If not,
a pause,
Then a full,
stop, a,
period-ication,
A semi-colon,
dot dot dot,
perhaps a hy-
phenation.
And so,
dear reader,
please,
forgive,
when such,
said things,
invade;
it’s just,
that,
punctuational,
perversity,
pervades.

Where Runs the Warhorse

Where runs the warhorse when his time has come?
When his barding’s gone and his reins retired,
When sounds the beating of a different drum
Than the ones of war, that had once inspired
His gallant service to a noble knight,
With whom he galloped to honor, glory,
In deeds of skill, chivalry and might,
Inspiring many a young man’s story
Of bravery, mastery, battles fought,
And many a lass’s dreams and song
Of ancient days when true knights sought
To prove their mettle with courage strong?
To Elysian fields, where the sweet grass grows,
To await his knight, when the Trumpet blows.

This weekend, the valiant steed of a dear friend, the knight to whom I am squired, passed on to the Elysian fields. I am not a horseman, myself, being massively allergic to those noble beasts, but I know too well how strong the bond between man and his animal friends can be. Fare thee well, Luke, and be ready for your next ride.

Aim true, my dear…

The stars grant wishes, this is true;
And yet, they are such tiny spots
Of light, that when you’re wishing, you
Must carefully aim your dreaming shots
Lest they should tumble to the void
Of black and empty wish-less space
Where no wish granting is deployed,
So wishes vanish there, erased.
The brighter stars are closer, dear,
So when you aim, those ones must be
The ones to shoot, for I do fear
The duller ones, so hard to see
Will take too long, will make you wait
To see your dreams as truth become,
So when you wish, the dull, berate,
And sight the brighter with your thumb
And then, with all your heart and mind
Whisper your wish, and shoot the star,
And then, my love, I hope you’ll find
Your heart’s desires, what e’er they are.

A Leaf on the Wind

A leaf struggles against the blowing wind
That whispers, “Change is coming round the bend.”
Where once was thick and leafy, now is thinned
All flown save one, that fights the bitter end.
The others, fallen to the summer drought
When once they flourished in a spring’s delight,
Were plucked away, neglected and without
A proper watering, they gave up the fight.
Yet one remains, though yearns for the caress
Of that sweet wind, that blows and whispers dear
Sweet melodies, while seeking to undress
The bit of tree that, trembling in fear
Still holds out hope that yes, this drought will lift
And though the siren’s song is soft and sweet,
Refuses to release, to float and drift
And other destinies to chance and meet.
But lacking water, how can it endure?
Not even morning dew to quench its thirst
As broken promises of rain ensure
This drought may very well then be the worse.
So why cling to the fragile, waving limb
When sweeter things are whispered all around
And chance of quenching rain seem ever slim
And all his fellow leaves lay on the ground?
Yes, why indeed – the tree no longer cares
And so the leaf give up a final gasp
While blithely at the sun, the tree, it stares
The leaf undoes its tiny little grasp
And on the wind, it sails away at last,
And leaves oblivious, the tree, to past.

The Queen of all Argyll

I have mixed thoughts on the sharing of music and videos in my blog. It’s not something I think I will do regularly, as I intend this, mostly, to be a place for *my* creative outpourings. But today I am slogging through the last of my work week. I’ve had so much to do, and so little time to create. So music has been a comfort to me as I get a chance to reflect on where I want to be, what I want to write, and what my creations might likewise inspire, as I have been inspired by what others create.

So here’s a song that’s been stuck in my head all day. The Queen of all Argyll. Maybe it will inspire you as it has inspired me.

The Wicked Mother

Feeling poetic today. Enjoy!

Oh sweetest maiden…or is it mother cruel?
At times you seem as both, and others, neither.
For smothering, your embrace would kill the fool,
As suckling, you give nurse to water’s breather.
Yet knowing, we fools still prod within your womb,
Probing for treasures, so deep within your salt.
Oh wicked lady, your bed becomes our tomb;
We lust for your bounties, then die within your vault.
With waves do you beckon and sweetly caress,
With your promise of pearls in a lusty embrace;
With such calls to our souls, we must soon acquiesce
Till we’re one with the dark in your deep, briny place.
Would I could ignore you, oh murderous mother,
But the song that you sing is lodged deep in my brain
As it was with my father, my uncles, my brothers,
Written fast in the blood that flows through every vein.
So I come to you, lover, my killer, my queen,
Though I’m damned to the depths as my fathers before;
For my soul is too willing, my body unclean,
And I’ll never find peace while I stand on your shore.

Free – An older villanelle

Since a lot of my poetry these days is written to my other blog, I thought it’d be nice to share here some of my less erotically themed pieces. I don’t write them as often, as I am one who finds his poetic skills work best with passionate play, but some of them I am very fond of. This one, a villanelle written shortly after the finalization of my divorce, is such a piece. I was at the time a bit overwhelmed by the feeling of freedom, much, I imagine, as a prisoner might feel when first released after a long, difficult sentence.

I give you “Free.”

How strange, the way that freedom seems to feel,
No longer shackled to miseries past
When once I suffered ‘neath another’s heel.

For when no more my will is made to kneel
On hurtful deeds that grind like shattered glass,
How strange, the way that freedom seems to feel!

Now freed, I find I can at last reveal
The inner scars I thought would ever last
When once I suffered ‘neath another’s heel.

No more these mortal wounds must I conceal
That e’en my will to live, nearly surpassed;
How strange, the way that freedom seems to feel.

But aired and breathing, now I find they heal,
No longer poked, where formerly harassed
When once I suffered ‘neath another’s heel.

Divorce, I fought so hard against, in zeal;
But now I see my efforts were miscast.
How strange, the way that freedom seems to feel,
When once I suffered ‘neath another’s heel.

 

 

 

A Sonnet for a Sweet Friend

Dreams are the starships of the mind,
Unrestrained by the laws of life,
Where we can search, and better, find,
A chance escape from pain and strife
Around, perchance, some distant star
Where wonders blend with sweet desire,
Where all we need is near, not far,
And we are that which we aspire.
So dream, sweet friend, and find your heart
Eased by the visions that you see
In that strange place, a world apart
From here and now, from you and me,
But pray, return, with hope to share
Your dreams will always wait you there.