classical

Polaris

Folder: 
Light and Dark

A solitary star

Distant and cold

Amid a universe of shadows

 

It shines alone

Small and white

It glows alight

Clean and bright

On its own tonight

 

Near the horizon

Resting between heaven and earth

War

The dream

Always the same dream 

A sun covered in blood 

Over a field of grey

Lifeless thousands 

Innocents where Death took them

Now waiting for judgement

Waiting to judge

Blackness with a red star

Shining down on the aftermath 

Death has a large appetite 

Its jaws bite down on all

Gnawing on their inanimate bodies

The dying are crying out against it

But their life is but a candle in a breeze

Soon to extinguish

They were but innocents 

Caught in the crossfire

But not I

Too long have I fought this war

Come Hades, come quickly old friend

My time is near 

And I am tired

Take me

Treading Water

What's the purpose in this life of mine
To keep swimming in an ocean without end
The tide pulling me far from shore
They say I'm fine
That I'll survive
But I'm only human
My strength is leaving fast
How long can I stay afloat?
I sink into nothing
A world where I can't breathe
Fire within but water without
Suffocating
Floating
Flying
In poisoned air
Finally a dream come true
A never ending dream
Isn't life beautiful?
It is now...

Philosophy of a Life-song

If your life was a song,

what would it sing?

Would it's lyrics edify?

Will it speak of the many people who's 

lives were touched by your existence?

Is it going to show that you stood for something?

Compose a motif that others will want to replicate.

Intimacy (In This Moment)

Folder: 
To My Wife

Lost in this moment

The warmth of our bodies make us sweat

The stiffness from what we have just accomplished

You and I,

A miracle

Your breath invites me in

Into your heart

Into your mind

Into your very soul

As our bodies mesh into one

As our souls embrace each other

You sigh as I touch you

Ectasy as we unite

Swirlling vortex of pleasure

Both of us lose sight

As life is created within you

As death is passed on through me

A miracle is created

A mirror of that moment

When we came together as one

GHOST HOUSE

Ghost House
by Robert Frost

I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O'er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad—
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.
-- By ROBERT FROST.

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A THING OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOREVER

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.

Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimmed and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end!
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
(By John Keats).

Author's Notes/Comments: 

One of my all time favourites.

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Clean/Dirty

Clean:

Classical music
    embellished
  crispt
       clean
    minor is sad
major goes
        either way.

It ends.
    It starts
  Can repeat.
    It's specific.
  It's stylized
        specifically.

Classical music
        is clean.

 

Dirty:

Jazz music
      is emotion
   slow
         fast
   dirty
         covers all
leaves none.

It never ends.
       It continues.
Improv is
       never the same.
It's unique
       purposefully.

Jazz is beautifully
       dirty.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was April Challenge day 7: clean and dirty poems.

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