(Various Poems I have written, used in music compositions, and/or just plain like.)
Last modified June 8, 2001.
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| A. C. Gulls Age Archaic Balloon Man The Birth of Day (C. Teel) First Encounters First Meetings Gilded Box of Memories (A. Baltz) Oriana's Lament Paths (D. Eadington) Tell Me A World That Does Not Exist (M. Chalmers) Songs of Iridine Banditti Hunt Black Hare Hunter Combat Boots Darai's Door Locanda's Song Rat Hunt (Nomad) Sleeping Heroes (Nomad) |
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· Flocks of white all far away across the small pond Untouchable · Toss out my tempter's snare slowly they venture closer choose to close the gap Between us · Suddenly a mass of white squawks of joyous discovery devour the wind-borne Crumbs · And then go on ever in freedom to fly the winds . . . Not I |
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Once, they loved. Once, promised contentment, all lived as one--happily united. All save one thing free: the Tree . . . to be untouched. (Beware!) From the dark side marched an unknown. . . and saw them, together, and started Hell's ministration. Planted seeds of discontent and fostered curiosity "See the Tree?" Always prompting innocents to take. Many did. Now, undead, worse the living, seeking nothing . . . Come sweet oblivion! Guard the Tree lest all succumb to Fatal Curiosity! (Beware!) One, tempted, took of it. No longer does he seek; he wanders spiritless, one more wretched, wretched, wretched child of unbelief. Endless Death. Silent in his lovelessness. "They are Mine! Yesss!!!" No. Life is love. Though aught but a tiny gem, a singing crystal stone, sparkling under starlight's sweet, gentle nurture. Laughing love . . . . . . man cannot live the year . . . when all is death quiet. And the Age of Men Began. |
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Yesterday's balloon is heavy now, It lies tangled in its ribbon. With a nudge it lifts and rises Red and graceful To the ceiling, brushes it. Then like a seashell under water, It sinks to the floor. Every morning I walk along With my balloons; sometimes one or two, Sometimes several dozen, Tied to my glasses, my belt, My arms, my legs, my neck. Great red round ones, tiny white ones, Long and skinny blue balloons, Often I've but two balloons-- A red one tied around my neck And a white one bumping at my back Tied and tugging my belt. Perhaps you have seen me Walking along the water front. You would remember me-- Few forget. I remember you. Your faces are each remarkable: Longer face here, darker hair there, Straight teeth, crooked teeth, braces, Long nose, flat nose, close-set eyes. When you see me coming you yell "Hey, It's the Balloon Man!" And wave, and I wave back. Or you laugh And I bear it in silence. I say hello to all And ask them how they are. Often they just pass me by, Angered at my intrusion. Others stop and talk with me Fifteen, twenty minutes. Half an hour . . . It is the children who stop most. They understand me best. We talk about the Thundercats And G.I. Joe, school and step-parents. I share my fears. They nod with understanding. In the end I untie a balloon Give it to the children Watch them running off Laughing and jumping The balloon pulling them skyward. I laugh and feel a little lighter, A little less bound to earth. Sometimes someone will stop and say "Excuse me Sir, but you have a balloon Tied around your neck." I answer that I know, of course, And that I tied it there myself. Then he will often say "Well, is there any particular reason You wear a balloon around your neck?" I tell him how my balloon Holds my head high To let me see the horizon. It pulls me along When I have no place to go. It makes a good companion So I never feel alone. And I like to see the reactions From those who see my balloons. "Who, the people who don't wear balloons? Well, I suppose you'd get one even stranger From someone else who also had A balloon tied around her neck." I answer that I'd expect a reaction Of recognition, of common bond, Of joyous realization that-- Of all the million people you meet, Another like you does exist. "You sound like you expect To actually meet that person." Laughing softly to myself I smile. The speaker goes along his way Slowly shaking his head. I smile and laugh because I know-- Deep inside I know-- There IS another person With balloons around her neck Looking for someone like me. I will be walking along As I always do. A bobbing flash of red or blue (or white) will stop and see My flash of red and white. We will run to each other shouting, Throwing arms around each other. And we shall have balloons! Oh! Balloons as you have never seen! Millions of balloons-- Great clusters of every color Lifting us up and carrying us Far away . . . The red balloon lies where it fell, A withered rose on the ribbon-mesh floor. But I! I have a helium tank And a new balloon twin to the first. With a hiss it fills and rises Red and graceful To the ceiling, brushes it, Then hangs there, waiting . . . |
by C. R. Teel
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The chill air is still as it gently kisses the land... Dawn awakens like a giant's candle, The light struggling against darkness. Slowly, the morn overcomes the shadow, The lucid beams of gold Dancing across the stark white sheet nature has left behind. As swatches of orange play against the clouds, The sky comes alive with a silent, crimson-pink victory cry... The earth sighs, taking a cleansing breath of freshness Calling her children to arise from their slumber. C. R. Teel 1997 |
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Tentative reaching; anonymous touch. "Take a deep breath and let's have some fun." Becoming involved in a new exploration. What is it I seek? I don't know. Meandering touches, typing off-handed. What sharing is this? Faceless, formless fantasy. "You like this excitement. Let me move along . . . tell me how you want it." Dammit, I don't know! "Think of the time when you'll hear my voice whispering: God you're so beautiful!" Yesss. Your body responds to my fingers, you tell me. Will I ever be able to love living flesh? Trembling encounters with new-found emotions. God how I need you! But do you exist? |
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Why am I here? Everything within me screaming "This is wrong. Get away!" I am here to learn: · to learn to dance · to learn to smile · to learn pleasures of relaxing · with no place to go · with no things to do Why do I run? Retreating within Me saying "This is wrong. Run, hide!" · I have come to join: · to join new friends · to join new laughter · to learn pleasures of sharing · things no We can hide · things no One can know Why do I fear? Trembling my soul whispering "This is wrong. This hurts!" · I am alive to Be: · to be open to feel · to be able to share · to learn pleasures of living · the things I will learn · the things I will live |
by Amy Baltz
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Beneath the violet light of morn As waves crash on the rocks I place another memory Into my gilded box. The memory is tiny As it rests upon my hand A moment of eternity Within a grain of sand I tilt my palm toward the box And watch it gently go Into its rightful place inside The gilded box below The gentle spray, the brightening sky The hazy clouds that drift Caress me as my fingers hold The grains of sand that sift Each tiny spot, like uncut jewels, Glows faint with inner light And represents a moment When my life was dark or bright The ruby ones are anger Where hate and madness hide The emerald, serenity Where gentleness does bide The diamond grains hold happiness When heart and soul did fly Beyond the bonds of weary life Restricted 'neath the sky The sapphire grains are tears I cried Each falling from above To represent the solitude Of life devoid of love Sometimes when life's bejewelled cloak Grows threadbare, worn, and thin I take my grains of memories And make it rich again. Each morning dew, each new sunset Adds richness to my store Until the day my box becomes My life of evermore. So at my side my gilded box Stays with me like a friend And waits until a memory Is placed inside again. Amy Baltz, 1997 |
Adapted from A Knight Errant and his Dowdy Deeds: The Story of Amadis of Gaul
Published in 1911 by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia
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"My frantic grief, accompanied by so great a reason, causes my weak hand to declare what my sad heart holds against you, false and disloyal knight! "I am the most ill-fortuned of all the world since you changed your affection for me (who loved you above all things in this world) and you have placed your love upon one who cannot love you. "I withdraw all that exceeding and misplaced love which I bore you; for I am deserted. "Go! Go and deceive this other soul. While I lament with tears my own wretchedness, and so put an end to my life of unhappiness." O sweet Jesu help me, thou are he, Sir! Your lady sends you this, and she bids you (you whom she loves so well) to forget the past and come to her. "My soul is in anguish, how long, Lord, how long? How long alone? "If great faults, committed in enmity, when humbly acknowledged deserve pardon, what shall we say for those which proceeded from excess of love? "My court is abandoned, how long, Lord, how long alone? "Not that I do by this then deny, my true friend, mine own fault in my anger toward you. "My love has departed, how long, Lord, how long must I remain forlorn?" Please, Sir, your compassion and pardon are needed for her who has wronged you, by her who has wronged you. Can'st forgive? |
by David N. Eadington
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I chanced upon an old man, running a circular path that was bare from years of fallen steps. "Hello," I called, "Why do you run through this path?" Still running, he answered, "I must, this is my chosen road I must follow it." "But it leads nowhere," I said. "It leads to heaven, my friend. God chose this path for me, and I must follow it, for all my days." And he ran on. Then I happened across two men, swords in hand, running another circular path. "Hello," I called to the first, "Why do you run this path?" Still running, he replied, "See that man, directly across from here? He is my enemy, and if I catch him, I will kill him." "Why is he your enemy?" I asked. "He owns that side of the circle, I should own it, I am superior, therefore, I will take what is rightfully mine." And he ran on. Whereupon the second man approached. "Hello," I called, "Why do you run this path?" Still running, he said, "See that man directly across from here? I fear him. See how he runs after me, day and night? He must be death, for who else would chase me so?" "But," I began, "He is just . . ." "I must escape him!" he cried, and ran on. Leaving, I came upon two men, one digging a circular path, the other filling it back up. "Hello," I called to them, "Why do you work at such a fruitless task?" Still working, they answered, "It is our appointed task. Our superior ordered us to do this until he returned." "When did he leave?" I asked. "Many years ago," they replied, "But he promised to return So we must to our job." And they worked onward. Walking past them I came upon a man, Strong, brave, and proud, Running a path around a woman who watched him run. "Hello," I called, "And why do you run?" Still running, he replied, "See this most beautiful woman? She has told me that she likes to watch me run. So I run, and she watches me." "To what purpose?" I asked. "I know that one day, she will ask me to stop, and love me, as I do her." And he ran on. Finally, I passed a man, running after a mirror, that moved away from him as he ran. "Hello," I said, "Why do you chase the mirror?" Still running, he answered, "See my image in yonder glass? It is the key, to discovering myself. If I reach it, I will know my true self." "What will you do with the knowledge?" I asked. "The knowledge will fulfill my quest, And having that, I can die in peace." And he ran on. And I walked on, passing the old man again. But I didn't have time to talk to him, or enjoy the familiar scenery, I had to discover the meaning of life, and I knew it was just a step ahead. |
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What can I say? When all you do is keep on turning away. Have you forgotten how to love today? Stop thinking now that this is mine, and this is not somehow. It's not the things, It isn't thinking -- Tell me, Where are you? Tell me, Where did it go? Tell me, How could you? Tell me It isn't so! No day comes back. One inch of time is worth a foot of gold. When love turns black, Living turns cold. When there is no me and you, Who wants to see? What I thought we saw and felt, Wasn't meant to be. What did your face look like, before your parents lived? After what you did to me, how can I forgive? It's so absurd. Truth can be seen without a spoken word. It's just my heart you tore apart. Tell me, Where are you? Tell me, What was her name? Tell me, How could you? Tell me, Who gets the blame? One inch of time is worth ten miles of gold. When love goes black it leaves you cold. Tell me... Tell me... Tell me... Tell me... |
by Meghan Chalmers
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Once a day a door to a world opens. a world that does not exist. Or does it? Every day I walk into a glade, in a world made of puns, and magic. Magic that does not exist. Every day I talk with people, real people, who exist in a mythical world, People with talents and dreams and forms, that could never exist, and yet, I see them every day. People that can fly or vanish or change their form, a dream that could not be but I soar with them every dawn. I walk in a garden that could never be in this world, a glade that could never exist, and yet, in our hearts it is real, this world that does not exist. This world is as real as the sun we see, every day, setting in the west, and rising in the east. This world is real to us, to the lucky and chosen few, this world, which does not exist. And one day, I hope to step into this glade of dreams, and find myself really there. in this world that does not exist. To God be the Glory -----Meghan-Chalmers---{--{-{@ |
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Copyright © 2001-1996 Elizabeth Skola Davis.
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