Day: March 15, 2016

The spirit freed by man

Ariel, the spirit freed by man,

From  Tempest  to the work of Sylvia Plath

Made famous as a horse on which she ran

In such bitter, suicidal wrath.

 

Or was this  a rebirth that never came

The risk she took,  a gamble,  careless,wry.

For death of body is no children’s game

And from a  husband  brings a hellish sigh.

 

Was this a test to see if we survive;

As madmen  may stick knives into their hearts

To see the blood is real and so derive

A knowledge that they live and are a part?

 

The test we make to see if we’re not dead

May kill us and so end  the work of God.

Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.

How softly sweetly,gently flowers pose
Carnation,orchid ,daffodil and rose.
Their intricate petals form a shield
Yet bees with striped force shall make them yield.
Appearances,both natural and contrived,
Mixed with the wiles of human nature thrive.
As, knowing not, we pluck the apple rare
And bite its flesh,with teeth we have to bare.
We too deceive the innocent who pass
Not seeing watchers hid behind the glass.
The windows break,the deep earth quakes;
Seized is the maiden ,he  her virtue takes.
Beneath the surface,force and fierceness thrive.
What fearsome, burning God enjoys our lives?

The heart’s interior

When you are far,
so
far
away,
The longest night,
The shortest winter day,
will be places where
I might die.
The heart's interior
no-one else
Can view.
When you are lost,
I cannot find
your face...
Its outline on the pillows,
My fingers shaped to trace...
The new design,
the stellar rhyme,
Where have you gone?
You slipped from out my arms.
You slipped away.
Was night or day
Ever cut by such a narrow line?
In your embrace I lay.
You seemed so strong.
Yet,sighing, took the path away.
I can't see where
Is
it
night?
Or is it
day..?
I tried to write
to bring white light,
It's dark, and still.
I long for you to come.
Oh,will we ever quite
Find out our way?
Or is that pure illusion?
As we stagger through
the wandering furrows
in the fields
They shoot us down.
What is this confusion?
The war goes on
The world goes round
The mirror gapes at each new clown.
But in a crack, a seed may grow..
I can't see you,
But yet,I know

With fragrance I entreat

If I were to choose a  flower for my love

A rose of perfect form would be my choice

A rain of roses from the sky above

Would certainly  express what I  can’t voice.

 

I  could well choose a daisy with no thorns

I  could choose lush lipped tulip for design

But never would I send a flower forlorn

Should you reject this loving  heart of mine.

 

But,no,I choose these roses for your bliss

For Blake wrote of a tyger not a cat;

Yet if I am made bloody by a kiss,

I ‘ll  wrestle with the daemon  you’ve begat .

 

The rose with other name would still be sweet.

May my passage to your heart be sure and fleet.

 

 

And cultivate my hatred with my tears?

Shall I give home to grievance and  to woe

And cultivate my hatred with my tears?

Shall I remember  carefully each blow?

And add this sorrow to my anxious fear.

 

I  thought by hating you I would have peace

And surely I had reason without doubt.

Yet  rumination  gave me no  release..

For wisdom and compassion it did flout

 

I remembered then  past love and  shared sweet words

I gave  them freedom in my anguished heart.

I did it for your sake, yet then occurred

A sweetness, joy and gladness in all parts.

 

To  forgive,repent and  let go of such grief

Helps us more than hatred’s legal briefs