They are Comming...

This is a rather cliched melodramatic piece that does not rhyme all the time. It's about the classic persecuted couple running from the some feudal lord's men. It's from the female perspective. I have to admit I thought it a bit "gay" if you will, but I wanted to try my hand at this sort of thing too. So here it is.

They come for you my love,
A wall of men and horses,
Shuddering, bobbing, straining and panting,
Hooves fighting and digging the ground,
Sparking and shattering the stone,

They know what you did,
They fear what you’ll do,
They snarl as they lunge for you,
Hearts red and eyes full,
Swords ready, over land flying,

Flying the rood and roving forwards,
Water splashing around their ploughing,
Cutting through bush, murk and mud,
They come closer, ever closer,
They never stop and they never rest,

They want what you took,
They want what you freed,
They want the blood of love,
To rape my longing,
And crush my cause,

They come for your blood,
Their hard and angry honour,
To cut and bludgeon my love,
Feed an angel to the earth,
Glut the grass with gore,

They come but they will not take,
They seek but they will not find,
I walked into them that wanted me,
They gave me to my old master,
And he was pleased to again hold me,

I gave him a drink of steel as my gift,
And dashed his life over the sheets of his lust,
I was over him, shuddering hate, in his last bed,
When they found us together there,
And now I am to die though I do not fear,

For I have saved my only reason,
And written you my proof,
Forgive me and strive my heart,
Grow and flower with each season,
They come for you no longer my love,
My brave, my free, feral young heathen.

Time

This one I rather like. If something looks a bit obscure or nonsensical here, it's probably an allusion. Those who "get" these will enjoy the poem better.


Shivering leaves,
A running breeze,
They come and they fade away,
Starting bright and ending in gray,
A question is thrown,
The answer is borne,
By the carrier of all things,
The mother of all things,
Then they fade and fall,
Dying, the fate of them all,

The sun warms and stills,
The light floods and fills,
Ghosts of night gone,
The angels have won,
They revel and rule,
Like all the other fools,
Then start to fail and tire,
Like a sputtering dying fire,
Having consumed themselves,
The light half-hearted dwells,
Knowing it is old,
Afraid, what before was bold,
The ghosts are born again,
A new cold plays then,
Brushing the leaves and feathers,
Running among tussocks and heathers,

They always forget, the fools,
They rejoice, men and ghouls,
As though they were needed,
They cry aloud, sometimes heeded,
By others who are passing,
The Silent One is laughing,
They live and play like they will always,
Reaching the same house, all their pathways,
Where they will eat clay and dream,
About nothing though it may seem,
The place of darkness and dust,
A lock eternal, covered in must,
What you wish you cannot have,
Gilgamesh or Adam, neither has,
Not Yahweh nor Zeus,
All will end as refuse,
We can only forget for a while,
Be fools and let our joy beguile,
So when you have nothing but day,
Rejoice, forget, laugh and play,
Reap your wheat and make your plan,
Man reaps life as time reaps man.

Poetry and Me

This is another silly experiment with no breaks till the end; hold your breath!

I could not write a poem,
More than I could make a golem,
I do not have the power,
To even describe a flower,
I’ve been rotten at verse,
Since I was born first,
I can’t make a rhyme,
With all the world and time,
My vocabulary is restricted,
My vision constricted,
Eloquence eludes me,
“Incompetent” concludes me,
I try to find inside me,
Words that would please thee,
Instead there are toys,
And things and worlds made for boys,
Nothing that I could show,
A woman so she should know,
That I am not just an empty vessel,
A whistling kettle,
Or a dirty ladle,
A plain thing by any label,
Or a stray dog,
Or a passing fog,
But I am myself,
Who cannot rhyme or much else,
But who is trying his best,
To live up to the test,
Of contradicting myself,
And before I say anything else,
I plead that though illiterate,
I am not inadequate,
To be your friend,
To the end,
My words are not doves,
But I can love,
Like a moth does fire,
Like a bard his lyre,
Like a warrior his blade,
A man a maid,
So sample this simple taste,
Slowly, without haste,
And then decide and see,
If my love pleases thee.

I Loved a Woman

NOTE: This is a slightly sentimental, whimsical and "wimpy" piece..

I loved a woman,
She was my heart’s desire,
Her splendor shone on my face,
My fancy did embrace,

I wooed her with words,
They flew round her like birds,
Shining and singing,
I hoped intoxicating,

But wine cannot be made drunk,
Nor a mirror hide truth,
She enjoyed my homage,
Ignored my hunger,

I told her my heart,
And I listened to hers,
Put wild flowers on her hair, and gossamer,
Driven by the laughter and love of her,

But it was I that swooned,
I brought her the moon,
She took it happily,
Somewhat summarily,

Whatever I gave her,
Already belonged to her,
And she never knew,
My ache as it grew,

She dropped petals on me,
Caressed with gentle breeze,
Her flowing curved lazily,
Her laughter shook happily,

Yet she never felt,
And she never thought,
That which I sought,
Before her I knelt,

She did not even imagine,
That one could wish without deserving,
So she gave me a passing waft,
An aroma cruel and soft,

And then it was evening,
She gladly declared her leaving,
Not even knowing, nor caring,
I watched her now despairing,

I said naught for pride,
She looked at me and knew this:
I could not say what I could not hide,
Tribute taken, departed with a kiss.