View Full Version : Poesy
13-07-2004, 01:43 AM
So I thought I'd actually increase the genres of art in this gallery, by offering to show my poems. Here goes:
Into the east my heart did sail,
And was forever lost,
For it had seen the last portrayal
Of love’s familiar cost ?
And dearly paid, to no avail,
To sea and debt ‘twas tossed.
Where’er to go, I shan’t return,
For none could dignify
My heart, and she who bade me yearn
What I could not deny.
She left my heart to one concern ?
The sea of endless sky.
A quiet passion drives me on,
Toward pastures gray and dull,
Toward lands wherein is beauty gone,
Replaced with dying lull.
And every night shall fade to dawn,
A ransom paid in full.
The Western sun leads where I roam,
Where loneliness resides,
Where restless nights have made their home,
And emptiness abides.
Thus thicker grows that ancient tome,
To which heartbreak confides.
The moon shall be my guide throughout,
Its ashen light above;
Across the seas I make my route,
In search of dreams thereof;
And when this distance pains about
My soul, I know ‘tis love.
14-07-2004, 08:01 AM
I ask thee, moon, who shines at night,
“Why dost thou show a stolen light?
Why must thou hide behind the clouds
And creep behind the misty shrouds?
Thou hast a light that is not thine:
A void of warmth, a shade of shine.
Thou look’st upon the whole of earth:
What dost thou care of gloom or mirth?
I see within thy dark exchange
An emptiness that cannot change;
As full and bright thou art this eve,
No other light could mourn or grieve.
The stars are gone from where I lay,
And still thou art the one to stay.
I see thy face in sad despair,
As one thy face would feelings share.
But never have I seen thee cry;
No tears are witnessed in the sky.
The clouds, they hide thy painful drops
But leave when once the sadness stops.
Why art thou paler than a ghost,
Still with a loneliness to boast?
Dost thou the clearest sky still haunt?
Dost thou thy stolen gift still want?
Does age remake a lover’s lull ?
An emptiness that was, now full?
Or does it leave without a tear,
Forever darkness e’er to fear?
Is that the reason thou hast light?
Thy own was taken in the night?
And now thou art my only friend,
For now I feel a similar end.
15-07-2004, 08:58 AM
Love is¡Kconceit that dwells within
Each lover and his bride.
¡¥Tis arrogance but is not sin ¡V
To love is beauty¡¦s pride.
¡¥Tis love that I have envied most,
For love needs love no other:
Still pines, this heart ¡V it cannot boast
For me to love another.
Love is¡Ka flame, full of such wrath
I cannot but to sever
Each worldly bond, for heaven hath
Beteemed my heart to love her.
And love is treasure gold, of which
Such greed is good, not vile.
I hope to know such love, love which
My heart begs no denial.
Oh love! Come hasten, slothful one,
And give to me thy blessing,
That I may love, slow as the sun
Will rise and set, caressing.
To feed my heart, my love I¡¦d slight,
Yet gluttony is the worst.
The food of love ¡V cursed appetite,
To live in love immersed.
Ah, love! ¡¥Tis truth, which I concede ¡V
I might be lustful still,
But love ¡V I lust for love indeed,
With all my spirit and will!
01-10-2004, 06:43 PM
[Apparently, there's been a lack of poesy on the Gallery. So whatever, I'll bump my old thread up.]
Below the sky where stars are bound,
I sing of Byron and of Keats
And lives completed with repeats,
Reminding me of mysteries found.
As fingers trickle to her feet
And catch the wiggling of her toes,
No sooner spent the hastening slows
Beneath a wave of whitened sheet.
The cool days bow and warm nights glow
In deference to joyous hands;
And oft to stars, like lofty sands
Shine bright, our prayers make pleasant row.
As heart to heart her eyes demand,
Our hands to hands the palmers’ kisses:
My eyes shall stare and ask what this is;
My touch shall claim this unknown land.
They wander through the sky in bliss –
These stars that stagger and confuse:
They seem to shine, their light abuse;
Forgotten are the ones they miss.
Oh twinkle bright in dark and blue,
Ye ships at dock upon the shores
Of heaven’s sea! As they outdoors,
My hands outstretched inside comb through
Her wind-blown hair, found heretofore
And there immersed with gossamer sounds;
Her movement by and by astounds
Before the moon shall reach the floor
Beneath the earthen blissful ground…
I sing of Byron and of Keats:
I feel such beauty that one greets
In fantasy to dreamers drowned.
06-10-2004, 03:29 PM
wow that is really good. I don't know whatelse to say but I'd like to read some more of your poetry.
20-10-2004, 08:42 PM
love the Trad. feel they have... so brilliant and gorgeous keep writing nad posting :)
04-10-2005, 05:58 PM
Monie has come to visit me tonight:
Her twenty years are none too visible;
Lying on silken sheets, resting on white
Pillows, we gaze at the ceiling fan. Cool
The downward breeze that soothes our awkward shame.
I pause and wait – mere moments without care.
Dear Monie whispers close my simple name
And etches softly hers into the air.
She’ll nub her nose with mine and say with eyes
How deep she reads my own. She’ll speak with tones
Uplifted, spirits moved, and wavering, cries
To keep our souls in sleep, deeper than bones.
I’ll hold her as a frenzied man who clings
To loneliness as his possession. She’ll
Redeem my madness with her rhythmic stings –
And rested, claim my feelings as ideal.
Tonight she will abscond from me again;
Her loyalties to lie how she my calls forsake.
What life seems gray – in love’s unscented stain –
When Monie leaves, and morning, I awake.
26-02-2006, 12:57 AM
I reckon days traverse like shifting shades
Unbroken as Apollo’s daily death:
Aubades resound as nighttime softly fades,
While Zephyrus guides Helios with his breath,
Only to rise again from shadowed stars;
Orion’s frame resists, unlike his friends,
To hide from corner lamps and foggy cars,
Where Plato’s halves rejoin. And so it wends:
The Earth about its axis, about the Sun,
About the evanescence of a glance
Eternally recalled; with only one
Existence for us all, and but one chance
To prove with labored sighs and stares austere,
The sovereign beauty seen above – as here.
28-02-2006, 09:05 AM
From tawny tresses writ a mythic thread:
Her hair of honeysuckle gleamed; her lips
Pursed soft the ripened hue of rosehips.
And spring was here. Yet – unbeknownst, unsaid,
Beneath her feet – his eyes, grown dark and dead,
Drawn ever closer to her fulvous frame,
Ascended. Grasping her, he staked his claim
To love: the seeds of desperation fed
His dissipated hunger; ashen hands
Disclosed the youthful maiden’s gazes toward
Their captive host, who knew of only night.
Her eyes displayed the light of coarse demands:
That even gods would dare the unexplored
To fell fell depths, to reach a vernal height.
11-04-2006, 09:12 PM
Erato, breathe afflatus true –
That I may feast on music due,
That I may sing the sunsets down
To every soft horizon’s view.
And Proteus, whose father’s crown
Has creased a fateful, ancient frown,
Is leaving now to wander clear
The depths of dreams, to which we drown.
Does Hermes send his missives here?
Or Hades omens dread to fear?
Athena’s eyes of pensive gray
May lean an owl’s wisdom near.
No more a learned man today
Than once before, when gods did stay
Their crafty hands to lift my own
Into their pantheon of clay.
13-04-2006, 07:44 AM
When once was heard her voice as light
And danced as early leaves in spring,
And lilting from a lissome string,
It fell from its appointed height.
Thus breaking through a thunderous cloud,
Among the tears that fell therein
Upon the land, her gleam was thin
Yet held its sway of soft in loud.
Such lightning struck through nights unspent,
Like sunshine felt behind a pane,
And beat its rhythmic, reined refrain
Upon the glass and left its scent.
But lo – I hear it all the more,
Like bells that toll for every sin
And each regret not to begin –
Along a beach, along a shore.
15-04-2006, 06:25 AM
Oh, poor the silent walker, who treads on cloths of gold!
His sandals soil the fabric of that for which he seeks;
And left along the pathway are possessions he has sold
For more a pathway more, for days that dawn to weeks.
And days that dawn to weeks, are hours that pass to nil:
Encased within each moment lacks a shell to hide a face;
Though eyes could gaze on clocks and force a second's fill,
They know their scattered beams could barely hold a trace.
So barely hold a trace, he does, of that unwilling voice,
That whispers through the trees along a winding path of gold,
Whose sliver pines indefinite, the same as every choice
The silent walker makes, as silently untold.
15-04-2006, 11:26 PM
Speak not those words, for they forego
The needful mean, by which is weighed
A lighter pardon – long and low –
Against the eyes that have inveighed
My heavy tidings, gone and by,
Received without a hand to shake,
And sifting, shifting, lifting my
Last breath upon its vacuous wake.
Forsooth a better way was cast,
Though I conceived a beaten path.
A dream deterred deferred a blast,
Incurring there a needless wrath.
I leave them now interred in me
And bury them within my gut,
That I may not implore a plea
The heart would bargain, deal or cut.
So silence speaks – it must be so,
Or else is left a shrouded hope,
Or else is left a craven woe,
Which lends itself a shorter rope.
17-04-2006, 10:08 PM
I cling to what my racing mind conceives,
Or how a reminisce retrieves,
Between a nightly cigarette puff or two.
Sprightly it flies, the calming vapor moves,
Through fainted climes and hidden grooves
Upon my head, into a blank milieu.
Forward it strives, toward somewhere I don't know,
As though I knew that it would go
To there, of which I had not any view.
It's on my shirt, now leaves a haunting smell,
Like apparitions not yet fell,
Regrets despairing, darkly tones to rue.
And fading fast into the eerie, vast,
Uncommon air, it sneers aghast
Some bitter joke I wished I'd told to you.
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