Some old poems for your perusal...

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Some old poems for your perusal...

Postby Saturn » Fri Jun 09, 2006 11:17 pm

Here's some old pieces for you since I'm sadly bereft of new stuff :?

This is about the cemetary where my Grandafther was buried three years ago:

Just past the little old town,
Down the usual country road
It lies: nestled by the valley,
Sunken. The descent easy
To reach – overground is
The underworld; No Elysian
Fields of tumbling verdure,
Or Arcadian grove of bliss –
Just a simple cemetery,
Exposed on a vale, with
Aquilo’s constant hush
Braething life to the place
Where Necropolitans live.

Big-boned, prostrate, Mourne
Stands as overseer, landlord
Of the long northern peninsula.
Sentinels stand guard also,
Prickly praetorians of the soil,
Who, in massed cohorts cling
In perpendicular watch –
Impassive, impervious, sleepless.

This ground is a hallowed one,
Recent, but somehow antique.
The spirits of my ancestors
Would’ve chosen such a place.
They would have raised stones,
Mighty dolmens, the pyramids
Of frozen northern climes –
Mystical monuments of druidic lore,
No simple stelae, mere markers
For tombs; but proud, awful
Pinpoints of the distant stars.

Why must we create abodes
For the housing of loam,
Cadaverous car-parks,
Neatly-lined avenues of death?
This vain grasp for immortality
Gnaws the human imagination
While all other things perish
Safe in oblivion’s bosom.
_______________________

Another one - pretty self-explanitory:

Driven

On, we are driven on, with
Impenetrable mist ahead,
Relentlessly in pursuit: of what?
We have no choice but to go
Prodded forward by Fate’s decree,
Rushing blindly towards what?

What insurance policy is there?
No safety-net, but gossamer-thin
Insubstantial tissues of belief:
Pleasant fictions for the weary,
Comforting rewards for the ill.
Belief is a web of deceit –
Solid until you see the holes.
Not all small insects are snared,
Enmeshed by incredulous hopes.

It is the truly brave who fly
Without that parachute of lies
Who plunge into the ocean wave
Minus the buoyant expectation
Of eternal reward and bliss.
___________________________

Some proabably embarrassing juvenilia now...
I wish I could say I was 14 or something when I wrote these but I was in my early 20s :oops:

The next two show my extreme inexperience and naivety in matters of the heart...

Love is...


Love is surrender of body and soul entire,
No quailing pale pretender, a raging fire.
A total submission of power and will,
A draining sickness, no sign of being ill,
A child-like thief stealing hearts at night,
Robbing senses, thoughts and sight.
A tyrant shackling us to its yoke,
Yet, rebellion seen not to provoke.
An un-announced, but genial guest,
Which, resident, never leaves its nest.
Reason retires to a cold, clinical cell,
Rationality, Lust, Pride ring the knell.
Love’s rationale paralyses a logical mind,
Rejoicing in a life impaired and blind.
Fetters the heart in a pleasant cage,
Banishing Selfishness, Anger and Rage.
Imparts desire to share and lend,
To mix freely, merge and blend.
Two souls knitted in one tight thread,
Two footsteps joined in single tread.
Regulates plans, sports and idleness,
Moving Love higher in the run of press.
Usurps the place of Avarice and Greed,
Spawning gentle thoughts of higher breed.
Tells proud Vanity resign its idle place,
Great wealth gold and silver will debase.
Love’s words are sweeter by far,
Than cups of immortal, pure nectar.
The tender lover’s furtive glance
Is sharper than the keenest lance.
A loving touch from one held dear,
Is gentler than the softest steer.

Boundless, it o’erflows all sensitive parts,
So overpowering are the bow-boy’s darts.
_____________________________________

Love’s paradox.


Love we cherish, Love we fear.
We run towards it, trying to flee.
We listen to it, but cannot hear.
Stare at it, unable to gaze.
Welcome it, yet turn it away.
Darkened, but lit by its blaze
Feel it inside, but do not bewray.
____________________________

I only post this next one because I'm quite partial to the last line of it.

Optimism.

Sowing optimism is a foolish deception
Welcome not Future with kind reception,
Since, once youth reaches its peak,
For better cultivated crop no longer seek.
Those whose expectations are highly heaped
Will falter when no benefits are reaped.
When hopes are dashed and thrust down,
Ambition, in its own excess will drown.
_________________________________

An unusually ambitious-reading one for me next:

Sublimity.

Sublimity is the only key
To immortal fame, eternity.
Achieving greater than one’s peers,
Rising above the torments and jeers.
The only immortality that life affords
Is the afterlife that art accords,
Or damnatio memoriae; infamy,
Mediocrity or odium - not for me.
___________________________

This next is a good idea for a poem perhaps, but didn't quite work out:

Shadows.


There is on earth a shady race
Under the sun’s beam we trace,
Which follow each several heel,
Assuming our form, they silent steal.
This transient and volatile breed
Mimic movements, gestures, to read,
Distort and pervert our wonted shape,
Then, when detected, easily ‘scape;
For their flimsy life forever depends
On beams unwitting Apollo lends,
Which fill their bodiless, inky frame,
Then vanish with absence of the same.
Likewise, our lives rely on aery breath,
Which stopt, we fade to stifling death.
_______________________________

This is the final stanza of a rather rambling and confused poem but taken on its own asks some fundamental questions:

When mouldering in sodden earth
Is the worm herald of rebirth?
Verdure in winter that hides its face
Emerges in spring to repopulate the race.
Our bodies fail then finally conclude,
Is’t emptiness thereafter or an interlude?
Are Elysium and Heaven merely a fable,
What of Avernus, Hell or Tartarus sable?
Is that silent and dreamless situation
Just a human form of hibernation?
____________________________

The following poem asks similar questions really:

An afterlife?

If what I learned in school is true:
Energy can’t be destroyed or created.
Surely then we must be an energy too,
Though this point is hotly debated.

Some say we have an immortal soul,
Others that we have nothing at all.
What then is our ultimate goal?

If every Autumn leaf that will fall
Returns again to its parent earth,
Eternally recycled in circuitous succession,
May all things alike have similar rebirth:
Does Life but adjourn ‘til a later session?

There may be hope after death as yet,
(Though not from a dogmatic stance)
But, I will by no means place a bet,
Or put trust in slight religious chance.

So, if housed in charnel house or urn,
My bones lie bare, stripped of marrow;
The world could incontinently burn,
These eyes will see no tomorrow.
____________________________

All very cheery I'm sure you'd agree :?

No wonder I don't write poems any more :shock:
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
Saturn
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Postby dks » Sat Jun 10, 2006 6:01 pm

Stephen--I really love your first poem--about your grandfather's burial place. It's really well written with a flavors of allusion and otherworldliness to it. I particularly love this part of the first stanza:

Just a simple cemetery,
Exposed on a vale, with
Aquilo’s constant hush
Braething life to the place
Where Necropolitans live.

Beautiful, indeed! :shock: :wink:
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby Saturn » Sun Jun 11, 2006 9:53 pm

Thank you Denise - the rest of those poems are pretty poor though :oops:


We're still waiting on your new one... :wink:

And damn I just remembered I still have to finish The Judgment Of Paris too :roll:

Doh!!!
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
Saturn
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Postby dks » Sun Jun 11, 2006 10:46 pm

Not true. Simply false. This stanza is great:

When mouldering in sodden earth
Is the worm herald of rebirth?
Verdure in winter that hides its face
Emerges in spring to repopulate the race.
Our bodies fail then finally conclude,
Is’t emptiness thereafter or an interlude?
Are Elysium and Heaven merely a fable,
What of Avernus, Hell or Tartarus sable?
Is that silent and dreamless situation
Just a human form of hibernation?

:shock: I love it, Stephen. I love your clever questions--and you make them poetic...not easy to do.

I also really like "Sublimity." :shock:

These lines are superb, Stephen:

The only immortality that life affords
Is the afterlife that art accords,
Or damnatio memoriae; infamy,
Mediocrity or odium - not for me. :shock:
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby dks » Sun Jun 11, 2006 10:48 pm

My new one is forthcoming...I posted one on here a while back with no replies...I hate it when that happens... :oops: :(

You'll be the first alerted when my new one is finished. *Crossing heart with forefinger*--I promise. Not that it matters--my poetry is 'fledgling'... :lol:
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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