we are the less
without father, mother, sibling, child.
we are not blessed,
neither meek or mild.
we are mustered
by the evocation of memory
at the ebony gates of our adversary.
psycholgical scars run like fault lines
through our gathered throng.
our parched voices sing the changes:
an ancient song in our mother tongue.
for many a long year
we have not known fear
or loathing, now immersed
in the updraft of terror's wings.
all but the graves are gone
our land is nought without nation.
as the spirit has died
we are twice tongue tied.
we are the less.
[b]My Impatient Rose[/b]
my impatient rose
you brush the sky
too early with your chromatic face.
now the Frost has you held in his embrace
for a day and a night
to your delight
you flower for your new found love.
how he cleaves
to the bud within your leaves
an upfront suitor,
his charm an osmotic inversion.
in an oxygenated form of devotion
he weaves his crystal spell anew
and you believe that this young love is due.
and i believe it too.
Intrepidly, with unshod feet, i tread and i sink
amidst the dunes, strewn with the shards of tallow lamps.
Where once a thousand lights waxed and waned
there are but the half-blind rays of a mid month moon
to guide me from eroded cliffs to the broken shoreline.
I leave no trail of white pebbles in my wake,
nor unravel twine as i descend,
the merciless power of time and tide I seek,
to bleach out the long shadow of unrequited love
and be remembered as a friend.
[color="purple"]hehe, you're posting so many poems, it's great - Grido[/color]
[color="blue"](blue good for you Lib?)~use edit button dont make double/triple posts, this is first verbal warning after this real ones will come in, thank you for understanding - Lib[/color]
All Wonders Now Cease
All wonders now cease, for me at least.
Why? when the heart that wears upon my sleeve
once swelled with passion enough for passing years.
What strange change is this? what will replace
the love I so tenaciously embraced?
now revealed as nought but the dance of shadows ended.
If I can meter the murmur of this day,
allow the concrete to abrase my skin,
will the sirens of the street sound within?
The humbling language of the dispossessed.
Without hierachy the hungry, homeless
ask plaintively for food, shelter, happiness.
An unbleached canvass painted black,
depicting fractured beauty as if in a draining glass,
charmed by the loose associations of the current not the past.
All wonders now cease, for me at least.
Why? because the heart cannot rest sure in dust,
without delay I must explore the living to the last.
In a dress of diaphanous grey
she appears as mist upon the morn
and the dew rich moss preserves
each delicate virginal press
of her dancing steps upon this earth.
Touching the Southern breezes
with her tresses of blonde,
she teaches the sky to colour the world
with the primary hue of cloudless blue.
She is supple as the tobacco leaf
as light as dry white cotton,
a memory line of a million souls,
she is the breaker of chains,
the warmth of the rain.
Her blood-beat is the toll of a liberty bell
she is the heart of me.
Milk whitewater, drifting in
know this man whose lifeblood hangs
by a tumble of silken thread.
He resides upon the swell,
eyes wide open in blissful sleep,
swimming with the grain unto the deep.
Beside his bed, in sharp relief,
his sister speaks with ambitious reach
of a place between here and after.
More recent friends who knew the pain
are pleased to hold his hand again.
Yet how soft and slowly now the love does flow.
A nurses laughter from afar
impinges like a seventh wave
against his smack and salty seascape.
This is closure, his final encounter
with the human condition. He sees,
smiles and breathes for all the world.
My knees are worn from likening myself
to a shadow torn from a dancer born of grace.
Humoured by a steady hand to guide me
I attempt to pirouette but rise and fall all at sea.
My body habitually shaping itself
to satisfy it's own amusements.
I am liquid, sloshing behind my glassy eyes.
A barn storming cleft hoofer. Surprise!
Take a tumble or two with an old friend
And we will knee tremble even as the music ends.
Allow my stumbling block to be your stepping stone.
I believe you know I cannot swim.
But you may rest upon my shoulders strong
and I will reveal to you a new horizon.
From this altitude your hands can signal smiles
to the cobalt-blue cloudless sky. Why,
You may allade to a future perfect partner
who now seems to stand as magnificent as you.
The crisp current of this stream affords me kindness,
I remain but subtly changed again.
Knowing that each passing pleasure has its place,
I am worn gently to a smoother, more rounded plane.
I am flawed, like beached quartz whose time has passed,
A feather detached from a long flown bird,
a breeze trapped in an impenetrable cave.
I am misplaced, a mermaid's purse,
Borne reluctantly upon Neptune's great wave.
Not a word, but a whisper of a gypsy's curse.
I am an irritant to nature, an uncultured pearl.
Formed is my loneliness, farmed, smoked, cured,
Brought to the brink of bitterness and then hurled.
But! Not back into the briny drink,
Nor to the arms of a paid embrace.
No! Much worse is yet to be expressed,
Recast in the plaster strappings of grief.
To my domain where friendships lie scattered
and one in particular is tweezered, encaptured.
Without the measure of pain and pleasure
I fetter, as fettered and tease at my leisure.
I am the stone, deceptive of substance,
absorbing Love's concepts, conceits and notions.
I am the dead reef in the shallowest of oceans,
Betrayed by this, the most complex of emotions.