Day: May 2, 2017

If you’ll teach me more Serbo-Croat

When we  humans are united
In the warm embrace of flesh.
We see the world all glowing gold
As our two souls enmesh,
Soul and body are a whole,
That sing to us their song.
Please bring your dear body back,
To where it still belong.
We’ll sit beside the oval lake
Where coots and moorhens float.
I’ll hold your hand and gaze at you,
If you read what I wrote!
If you’ll teach me Serbo-Croat
Whilst you tell me anecdotes.
While we play with the tv remote
While I look down your little red throat.
What is the gist of my thought?
If you tell me how many words I have wrote.
What terrible trouble you’ve brought.
Do you think my new suit is too smart
Because I like your new overcoat.
Because you are whom I have sought.
Where’s all that hash you bought?
If you’ll buy me a lovely new coat.
If you only knew what I thought.
If all other things come to naught.
If you’ll give me that salmon you caught.
As I’m feeling so overly wrought.
If you write me a tender love note.
I’m admiring the moth on your coat.
If you promise to carry my tote.
I saw a bumble bee  in your coat.
A bee wants a sniff at your throat.
God knows why I wrote what I wrote.
I blame the frog in my throat.
Shall we hire a small rowing boat?
Did you manage to sow a wild oat?
My plans seem to have all come to naught.
I am that lady you’ve caught.
What ethics and rules were you taught.
We could make love in this old rowing boat.
Would you like a small slice of cheese tart?
Wherever I look, there you aren’t!
I’m willing to try a la carte
Your gaze pierces me through like a dart.
Do you think we will do what we ought?
I feel like more artifice  when I’m alight
I’m going off to fly my own kite.
We can make love but please do not bite.
I love to sit in this brilliant sunlight.
You have such a loving  good heart
You have such great loving art.
You love all pesty modern art.
Do you know who I aren’t?
Let’s all grow up and take part.
I’d love my own horse and cart
In my Play I’ll give you the best part.
I think this is heavenly art.
Oh,I just woke up with a start……………
I’d love to bake you a tart.
You can’t make a pint into a quart.
I’ll let you have the best part.
An owl wants to borrow your coat,
Did you pay for the work on your moat.
Can you teach me to read what I wrote?
Who wrote me the loveliest note?
Woz you just a horny old goat.
I like cuisine if it’s haute.
I think your pants are too tight.
I love this silvmoonlightght.
Sitting with the Lords by the moat.
Sculptures and prints of my goat.
You tell me the story of nought.
I’m admiring your brazen bold heart.
Brass comes in useful for art.
I regret when we do have to part.
My lips are beginning to smart.
Is this or isn’t it art?

We live to love but death is faster

The  hope of loving, guns combusted
She thinks  of love, but never acts it
He thinks  of her and then thinks past her

Laid out, her roses  alabaster
She folds her infants in, what tactics
We live to love, but death is faster

She burned his books, his mistress  mastered
The dictionary charred, now brown and spastic
Was that the smoke in which he’d  tossed her?

The  feel of loving surges swifter
The clothes they wore agon, elastic.
Metric, rhyme thus he confused her.

He  feels her still and feels  it juster
To betray , to  make her more didactic
When he’s the one who marred her lustre

Would you say  the dialogue’s defective
Or is it good to add invectives?
The lust of loving makes us  bastards
He longed  for her but lived on  after

Flat like dried bats

Won’t you come back
Through the crack, that silence
Between what is and
What can be said?
It’s so peaceful there
Under the roots of the grass
And the flowers.
Tree roots dig tunnels
They mine, looking for new
Places to  connect
And we see the light in the gap
See people from underneath
See their shoes’ weathered soles
Want to be held
Not seen but touched.
Want to meld.
I imagine we  meet
In this place underneath
Flat like dried bats
Inching our way to the light
Out of the night
Quite out of sight

Those many coloured fishing boats of dawn

The many coloured fishing boats at dawn
Floated on the cold and Northern sea
They sailed beneath  the  rising sun, adorned

The empty beach looked grave as if forlorn
Yet soon  the  boats would   decorate it free
Those many coloured fishing boats of dawn

These boats were fishing when I was newborn
And rings were  growing in the   churchyard’s trees
Boats sailed beneath  the  rising sun, adorned

I stood beside the window filled with joy.
The image of the boats made me well pleased.
Those many coloured fishing boats of dawn

From sacred moments  images will  form
To help us with our sorrow  when bereaved
We too shall sail beneath  the  sun divine

 

Unlike  our gold and  jewels none can steal
Our inner wealth, the hand  that turns the wheel
The many coloured fishing boats at dawn
Sailed beneath  the  rising sun, adorned

 

Where sheep so docile graze?

When eyes which once gave glances of sweet love
Now send cruel reproaches to my heart;
When grace unsought descended like a dove
But now with pain my skin does smart….
 At times these days of grief and loss seem harsh
As if some demon owns my inmost heart.
And without grace my lips are dry and parched.
with fear I shiver, tremble and I  start.
Shall I give retaliation for this hurt?
What weapon shall I use to vent my rage?
my lips were never fashioned to be curt.
My soul, no warrior eager war to wage
How shall I find my way out of this maze,
back to green fields where sheep so docile graze?

Poetic forms: the villanelle

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https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/villanelle-poetic-form

 

 

“Contemporary poets have not limited themselves to the pastoral themes originally expressed by the free-form villanelles of the Renaissance, and have loosened the fixed form to allow variations on the refrains. Elizabeth Bishop’s “One Art” is another well-known example; other poets who have penned villanelles include W. H. Auden, Oscar Wilde, Seamus Heaney, David Shapiro, and Sylvia Plath.”