A Bleak and Lonely Midwinter Landscape

your delicate softness masks the bitter wind
and amber glows on your icy countenance
the frigid fingers of your caress warms me
as i dwell on the beauty of your substance

i see the night fall on the driven visage
of your bleak and lonely midwinter landscape
and the beauty of the stillness i behold
gives me hope that i too might find escape

for this world sometimes overwhelms me
with the constant struggle to get somewhere
and i get lost in the chaos of its institutions
feeling lost, alone and without the will to care

but moments like these as i look on beauty
stirs the inner depths of my disquieted soul
and in that place of discontented heartache
i am calmed, encouraged and made whole
– 1/11/10 – 44

Spark

my mind is blank, a hollow tomb
a space empty of the ideas of poetry
and whence comes the creative spark
which occupies and breathes so vibrantly

my empty soul yearns for its touch
the soft caress of its deft fingertips
the sensual thrill of its embodiment
i would be caught in its metaphorical grip
– 12/25/09 – 25

Foghorn Leghorn

dissociative phrases slip in and out
foggy dew, fog lifted, foghorn, leghorn. ;)
creative buzz,
cackling energy welling
glad to be free.
free of the fog. there it is again,
chase the pent up rush.
ideas in a fuss,
hear the thrush! now focus. crisp.
clear, feel the clarity, contrasty,
images, razor sharp, like a knife.
now soft, fluid like water.
oh bother. chase the convolution
harry it like a cat and his mouse
or a bird and his prey
wait. where was i again?
– 12/3/09 – 1

Stricken

I am cut to the quick, I am stricken,
Undeserving of the mercy that You have given
How can I make for my life a demand
When all that I am is Yours to command

I grasp in my heart for what I deserve
I forget that my life is here only to serve
And I’m caught in between desire and love
Loosing sight of what waits for me above 

The March of the Grey Standard

1) Far to the east, with the glowing sun bathing
    A battleground strewn with many knights dying
    A battle is fought, with the morning sun rising
    Fought for fair Avalon, for the High Kings calling

2) Great are the knights, they are noble in bearing
    Loyal and true, their fel swords are swinging
    They fought against darkness, to see the sweet morning
    Fought for fair Avalon, for the High Kings calling

3) But the knights of fair Avalon, their high banners flapping
    Are sorely besieged, their courage is dwindling
    They fight to the full, their whole hearts there giving
    Fought for fair Avalon, for the High Kings calling

    Knights look to the west, the western horizon
    They come from the west, the golden sun setting

4) Six hundred spears in the golden grain flashing,
    Glittering sunlight on their spearheads gleaming,
    Six hundred men with their leather boots marching,
    Marching toward Avalon, to the High Kings calling.

5) At the head of the column, a golden helm shining,
    With his roan colored chargers dark mane streaming,
    His back is straight, his noble gaze piercing,
    Marching toward Avalon, to the High Kings calling.

6) Through the deep valleys, the high mountains crossing
    The men of the column, their grey standard flying
    They followed their captain, with strength in his bearing
    Marching toward Avalon, to the High Kings calling

    Knights look to the west, the western horizon
    They come from the west, the golden sun setting

7) Now look to the north, a dark prince is screaming
    His dark brutish horse, on the battleground rearing
    He raises a challenge, his wicked sword swinging
    Death to fair Avalon, and the High Kings calling

8) Behind him the legions of evil are roaring
    Bent on destruction, pillage and whoring
    They massed on the borders of Avalon swearing
    Death to fair Avalon, and the High Kings calling

9) War engines were built, great stones they are throwing
    Brimstone and fire, on the walls are exploding
    Rampant fear runs, in the streets there is crying
    For death in fair Avalon, and the High Kings calling

    Citizens look west, to the western horizon
    Hope comes from the west, the golden sun setting

10) The grey standard marched, they march to the calling
    They come to the aid of a hope that is failing
    Their hearts are full, full to the brimming
    Full of fair Avalon, and the High Kings calling

11) Their eyes shine with courage as the dim light is fading
    Their faces are set, there is hope in the gloaming
    They come from the west, the call they are heeding
    Full of fair Avalon, and the High Kings calling

12) Hark! hear the horn, the horn that is blowing
    A golden helm high, a silver sword flashing
    A roan colored charger, down the battlefield charging
    Charging for Avalon, and the High Kings calling

    Citizens look west, to the western horizon
    Hope comes from the west, the golden sun setting

13) As the sun dawns on destruction, the grey standard is blowing
    On the western horizon, the knights are still standing
    Hope came from the west, from the west the came riding
    Riding to Avalon, and the High Kings calling

14) They rode through the night, their strength was not failing
    Their courage was strong, their resolve had no doubting
    Through the dark and the fear, of the dark princes warring
    Warring on Avalon, and the High Kings calling

15) They came to the aid, to the aid of the flagging
    Knights who with courage, who had given everything
    To stand till the grey standard, broke with the dawning
    Arriving at Avalon, and the High Kings calling

    Citizens look west, to the western horizon
    Hope came from the west, the golden sun setting

16) Songs they are singing, and praises they are praising
    How the golden helm met the dark princes raving
    How truth clashed with horror, how courage met hating
    Battling at Avalon, for the High Kings calling

17) Tell how the standard, it noble grey flapping
    How bright burning spears bit into the writhing
    Black hearted heathen of the dark princes gathering
    Gathering ‘gainst Avalon, and the High Kings calling

18) Tell of the wounded, the brave ones whose fighting
    Who stood against darkness, who fought the despairing
    To see the helm rising, in the morning sun gleaming
    Gleaming for Avalon, and the High Kings calling

—–
Some Notes From the Author:

I don’t often write epics, nor do I often wade in the sea of narrative. My talents lie mainly in that of description. But on occasion my imagination begins something bigger. This is one example.

Your thoughts are valued. In this case, the poem feels perhaps a bit rough. There are parts that I’m not sure flow properly. If you find similar places, feel free to point them out, and/or offer suggestions for improvement. I’m open for such things.

Thanks! 

The Lark

Observe the lark, who flies from twig to branch
How he gaily lifts his head and wing
Observe his twinkling eyes and hear his chirp
How he proudly lifts his voice to sing

Sing sweet your song, O morning lark
Sing of the Creator and creature
Let peal your laughing jubilant hark
And greet the rays of the rising sun 

Deep Vibration

Sway to the rhythm of deep vibration
Pulsating waves of palpable motion
Move to the beat of a pounding drum
The resonant thrill of a strident thrum
Loose yourself in an aching voice
Find yourself in the loss of choice
The quiet surrender of mans volition
To beauty, song, and exposition 

Devotions

On a mid winters eve
  In a small country town
My thoughts drift and float
  As my eyes fluttered down
And I listen while I sit
  To the soft gentle sound
Of my fathers rich voice
  While he’s reading out loud
From the Bible thats sheltered
  And compassed around
The life of my family
  In this small country town 

Death, O Fallen Angel (Death Be Not Proud revisited)

Oh Death! Thou vaunted fool, proud son of sin’s defiling,
Oft thought of as potent, supreme, and unyielding
How hast thou fallen, been debased and made servile
Those who feared thy touch, who you thought to defile
Will not be brought low, nor in dark oblivion sleep.
For thy touch, no longer bitter, is so very sweet,
And though the greatest men slip the bounds of earth
To rest because of thee, yet you are bound by birth
And the life of one man, whom you could not contain.
And you do even choose the time and station in vain,
Being subject to the beck and call of every beggarly
Thief, proud king, and common chance. In the company
Of disease and contagion, you pass your time, for you
Have no better association. Thy touch is soft in lieu
Of pain, as once it was, now dulled and sweetened till
The passage of this life, with opiate and dream will
Slip peacefully into eternal bliss. O Death, where now
Is thy vaunted pride. Gone, and no longer can’st thou
Escape thine own touch. O Death, even thou wilt die,
Eternal death for you awaits, when we see Him in the sky 

This poem was written in response Trash Talking Death, a post written by Joy.

The Proposal

Thus falls the evening dust
To sparkle in the starlight
Enchantment fills the very air
Bound up in every dendrite

Excitement racing through my flesh
An arcane type of passion
Deep within my soul is felt
In mystifying fashion

Abundant strands like silken thread
Reflect the ghostly gloaming
And fall like water down her back
Dark as ink and soft as downing

Probing eyes look out at me
Beneath the thick black lashes
The gaze a gently pressing force
Felt on my racing senses

Into the limpid pools I fell
Such soft and dulcet beauty!
With her forever I could dwell
In this enchanted story

Reaching forth to touch her hand
I make my proposition
And as I kiss her finger tips
She whispers her assention