(This is about an Irish/Celtic legend:
Oenghus & Caer)
A hundred-fifty swans in dancing light
of sun were shimmering upon the lake
when Oenghus, God of Love, beheld the sight
and called to her who made his poor heart ache,
“You haunt my dreams. I die for love of you!”
With her reply, the cloak that he had on
changed into soft white wings, for love was true.
And thus it was he joined her as a swan.
How great their joy when Oenghus met his mate,
the fair Caer, there in the gleaming throng.
Imagine knowing bliss to be your fate!
In unison, they sang a wondrous song.
It sweetly lulled all listening to sleep,
a melody their hearts would ever keep.
Mother nature’s songs I cannot exceed
Of the Whippoorwill out in open field
They partake of mother’s bliss free of greed
Birds and their songs give of mother’s free will
Meadowlark songs of many are preferred
Though Scissortail flycatchers slice thin air
I favor Mocking bird of which I’ve heard
He sings all bird songs, I desire to sire
Mocking bird songs do surge with bird’s great urge
Whip-her-Will, he sings at night on the hill
Of Mocking bird songs , be of which I splurge
Awesome flight as dotted blades of windmill
Nature, birds and songs to springtime belongs
Nature’s spring refreshes men with bird songs
First Contest: Sonnet Me
In honor of: Sara Kendrick
#1) abab, cdcd, efef, gg
When air is still and dread silence suffocates
death violates esteemed sylvan sanctity—
whose jealous eye in malice deprecates,
absent demur, spurns all that ought to be.
Sussurus raised on gossamer wing;
rebuild the scaffolds of life’s innocence.
Forever defer morbid harbinger’s ring,
proclaim sacred tales and stifle abeyance.
Compile sacred prayers we might ever utter;
inhale the waft of life’s incense redolent.
Disregard uncouth hordes that senselessly mutter;
encircle, condemn all the callously petulant.
And ever be heard wolves' melodious song;
endless the days all such harmonies prolong.
His name, like ointment, soothes. His mighty love
is like the chariot horses of Pharaoh.
His scent is myrrh; His eyes are of a dove.
He feeds among the lilies; He’s a roe
which through my window shows Himself to me.
His countenance is fair; His kiss like wine.
The rose of Sharon and a King is He.
I’m His, and my beloved, my friend, is mine!
His honeyed voice will thrill on hills in spring.
Where pomegranates bud, the roe will run.
I’m sick with love, and that is why I sing
For Him, the apple tree, the choice, pure one!
I sit beneath His shadow and I eat
With great delight His fruit so very sweet.
(Based on my interpretation of various verses
From all 8 chapters of the Song of Solomon.)
For Sara's Kendrick's Contest: "Song of Solomon"
Inspired by; Constance La France’s Native American Portrait
Nikan is a man who once stood proud and true all across this land
in symbiotic relation with nature endowed by the great creators hand
passed onto him by his ancestors to never take more than his fair share
and always be kind to this land for it’s the Mother to all whom she shall bare
When times are lean we all will grow thin together for together we are one
with one voice to sing in harmony for bountiful harvest to our Father the Sun
and give him thanks and praise for warming and making fertile our Mother
who blessed new life into the birthing seasons for every Sister and Brother
Great spirit hear my song of hope that I sing for my people who will cry
we are mighty on the earth give us protection or your children they will die
and our people’s blood will flow upon our Mother like deep rivers of raging red
O’ Father I can see no solution will you spare us from the white mans dread
I could never make claim to imagine this great man’s woeful sorry or despair
Nikan's song is a lonely tune played for the spirit of his people upon the air.
Nikan traslation from the Potawatomi "MY Friend"
Baamaapii Nikan.......until we meet again my friend
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Long and slender with graceful curves
Your embrace, curled close to my back.
Two peas in a pod, loves reserves.
Souls seek sweet slumber without lack.
Steadfastly, adoration grows.
And night’s sleeping becomes a dance.
Darkness befalls tomorrow’s glow.
Hypnotic grandeur grants love’s glance.
Synchronized, our two hearts leap.
Always, snuggled with true love fed.
Short and cushy, without a peep
We as one are to slumber led.
Two peas in a pod passion melt.
Cuddling in the twin sized bed.
Her breathing moves a strand of golden hair
that lays upon her pillow, next to mine,
yet in this evening birdsongs on the air
awaken me to listen and recline.
This errant bird, whose song dispatches sleep,
is laughing at a long forgotten jest
or maybe woos a distant mate who, deep
inside her feathered nest, finds better rest.
I watch the window, night begins to fade
and so do I. As slumber beckons me
I hear a distant answer softly made:
A dawn duet resplendent in our tree.
A single song brings answers in the air
as my beloved sleeps without a care.
The blue-grass music blares from speaker's face
as guys and gals entwine moon-round the floor,
she sits alone, ignores the dancers' pace
although her ears record the rhythm score.
He begged her love; he painted instant fame.
She nursed her song in dreams alive to wit,
she trusted him to give the verse her name,
and reasoned out they spun a perfect fit.
With traitor's greed intense, he stepped aside,
and claimed her song as his with no remorse.
He left her raw, his chest out-puffed with pride.
Disgraced, abased, her anger reinforced,
she writes another song, recounts the tale,
assured his star will now commence to pale.
The roots of love are like the oak,
They reach beyond the heart and soul,
So deep the mind cannot revoke
Nor canst control.
In storms of life two hearts console,
So strong, they stand against the gales
Yet sip the rain from nature’s bowl,
For love prevails.
With you, my heart has set its sails,
To cross oceans that flow with time,
Through thick and thin and sorrow’s tales
Our love will chime.
In all the things I share with you
My heart is true.
Form: Walian Sonnet
When last they kissed, and passion's lease
bloomed brief and sweet, Sir Shakespeare's quill
would set in motion a deathly chill.
For Juliet, he could not appease
to win her smile and would not release
a tranquil tale...but did reveal
this tragic poem, where lovers fell
and would break our hearts with spellbound grief.
Behold, your eyes will weep for her,
and empty arms will flail, for him
Young lovers swept away, in love
Misguided youth that we hold dear
and through the years we pray for them,
as songs are sung by mourning doves
Their love, was a fever, sorely sought
Of passion's quest, she would requite
to bridge the wage of family strife
But, delusion, rides deceitful plots
To think him dead, she had no doubt
Despaired, beyond her wildest thought
Disquiet of the heart cried out
And death, would dim the stars that night
Their song still lives, as stories will
Upon two graves, we linger here
Such love divine, is ours to keep
A sonnet binds them, ever still...
A love that cannot be compared
While swollen hearts, with anguish, weep
I cant remember the lyrics but it goes something like
then some lyrics about a girl
then the guitar goes
(ba ba ba papapapa
baaa babababa baaaa babababa
then there's a kind of cool rythm to it that sounds like a bongo being played under water.
Traversing passed a moonlit glade,
I spied a nook where dreams are made.
A twilight windsong filled my breast
and cleared a notch where I could rest.
My windsong trilled internal hymns,
as moonlight peered through oaken limbs.
A wise old owl cooed in my ear -
"Compose a song for her, my dear."
A soothing psalm that once it’s heard
will soon be sung by hummingbirds.
Melodic notes that swirl and rise -
akin to lilts in lullabies.
Now in this niche where dreams ensue -
A songbird sings my song for you.
A frequent visitor is Mary Anne,
Who first did come before the bloom of rose
As tiny bud before it fully grows.
I blossomed too. A pattern then began.
I came to know when she would call again.
Though first she came as not a guest I chose,
I'm ready now each time she does impose
herself on me, and that has been the plan.
She comes. She goes. Late summer has drawn near.
I backward look. How every year did flee!
I forward look with something kin to fear.
I think that it a sorry day shall be
(A time I know is very nearly here)
When Mary Anne no longer calls on me.
(an oldie written some time before "Mary Anne"
left me forever! Seeing PD's blog the other day
made me think of it! If you are still confused, here
is a big hint: She only visits women!!)
Culture is beautiful when expressed in the right light
It is the drum we walk to, dance to
Everyday down city corner streets
It is the obstacles we walk through, run through
Everyday common as the passing faces we see
It is the temptation we indulge in, survive in
Everyday it rises
like the sun
and sets over horizons
It is the songs we hum to, succumb to
Everyday on the mornin' radio
constantly setting the mood
givin' that vision to our way of life
Beautiful culture yields to beautiful life
She walked by my side
trying to clasp my hand,
I was dreaming wide
with a lonesome land.
Where she could not follow
or call me through the night –
my heart is now hollow
and whiteness is my sight…
A man with a smile on his lips
and an old guitar on his back
gave me life’s wicked tips:
Love is better when love lacks,
you will follow alone his track
surrounded by scattered lilacs…
I have been one acquainted with sunrise,
I have bathed in first light – then back in shadow,
I have felt tentative warm on closed eyes.
I have gazed over pink-tinged meadows,
I have passed by the swift and early bird,
And reached a hand to touch a half-lit rose.
I have stood still without a single word
When far away a tree frog croaked his song;
Across the meadow waking creatures stirred.
But not to stop the sun from glowing strong,
And further still to greet the red-gold skies;
On gently sunlit tree, birds linger long.
Daylight sheds night’s shadowy disguise.
I have been one acquainted with sunrise.
Come, sit here beside me – it’s where you belong.
Hand me my guitar – I’ll sing you a song
About roads I have traveled and bridges I've crossed
On destiny’s journey from where I was lost.
I can tell you of victories in faraway lands
Fighting for causes no one understands.
I've written of dangers that no man should face –
I have written of things that time can’t erase
Wanderlust drove me, for so many years,
Through miles of wasteland and rivers of tears.
I've been there and done that in so many things -
I've written the songs that Destiny sings.
My last song will be about that shining star
That led me to Paradise – here, where you are.
Written by John Posey
Tears In The Wind
Left hand deftly fingering strings on frets,
While my right hand is picking or strumming.
Composing a sad song about regrets
And searching a melody by humming.
I easily find a chord progression,
Played in a melancholy minor key,
Then add some dynamics for expression--
Reaching a fugue-like state releases me
Fleeting perfection is my endeavor.
Like tears in the wind, now lost forever.
Listen when you awake at crack of dawn
hear the chorus of all the birds singing
watch them as they scurry and dig the lawn
until a nasty cat sends them fleeing
How very dull and bland without any birds
silence would greet us with it's bleakness
less colour everywhere, half mast halyards
how lucky to have birds to add brightness
So many feathered friends around
delighting us with their wonderful songs
the sound of harmony our souls surround
for the sweet mellifluous songs prolongs
Tunes everywhere blending in harmony
sweetly combining sounding like honey
Their duet lasted over sixty years
with each reflection, wrinkled lines designed
togetherness expanded over fears,
of failing bodies, being redesigned.
Though eyes seem younger than the passing times,
their yesterdays were gone to mem’ries field.
Now roads are closed, yet dreams begin their climb
while stealthy winds of silent changes yield.
Their visions rest within tomorrow’s sun,
eternity of richest scent of growth.
The graze of mystery, redeeming one
to fill his life with God, his centered oath.
The angels came to escort from the land
as song of life concluded, Master’s hand.
Janet L Vick
Tears of a little girl
that's so young, that's in her childhood,
make a golden well, make a golden well,
but she doesn't realize
her tears sing a song so beautiful.
They sing a song of treasure,
they sing a song so wonderful,
they sing to worship God,
but she doesn't realize
she has a gift to sing.
She mustn't sing for anything
she must sing for the King,
but she doesn't realize,
she can sing so goldenly, (so as a golden well)
So here you come, our back's against THE WALL,
and UMMAGUMMA, you're the worst we've seen,
you'll MEDDLE in our lives, that says it all,
but please BE CAREFUL WITH THAT AX EUGENE.
I'd ride my BIKE, but there is too much rain,
if you SEE EMILY (she'll) PLAY for you,
and RELICS that you leave will be a pain,
if Roger Waters more what will we do???
Your ATOM HEART, MOTHER is stone and cold,
and US AND THEM you might be blowing soon,
like ECHOS of Camille, now dead or old,
you'll blow us to the DARK SIDE OF THE MOON.
Before you're done, we'll see PIGS ON THE WING,
SMALL FURRY ANIMALS, I'll rhyme this thing.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
----WOOPS, sorry, there is no song title
of DARK SIDE OF THE MOON by Pink Floyd,
it's title is BRAIN DAMAGE, the 9th track on
the DARK SIDE OF THE MOON ALBUM.
I went to the garden to await my guest
Who will come with the beauty that silence suggests
Its' visit though cherished will not be long
In silence I stand for the beauty of its song
It was getting late and it had yet to arrive
It seemed from this melody I would be deprived
But then I saw something from the corner of my eye
It was the fluttering symphony of an ebony and gold butterfly
I watched as it moved to and fro
My eyes dancing to the rhythm of its flow
Then up and over the trees it flew
And then it disappeared out of view
But the echo of its melody lingered awhile
Then floated on the wind for miles and miles
A soul so complete was born of division,
yet chin defied wind, she was no paper doll,
the girl was honed through minefield precision,
and the woman’s growth could not be forestalled.
The wisdom in those hands, a tender strength
that lifts away thick masks which inter hearts,
love is an action and goes to great lengths,
it meets violence then mercy imparts.
Oh, how she quests and how she questions
herself most of all in a sonnet called life,
her verse refuses shallow reflection,
No! Those lines disturb depths as words jackknife.
As giving as stars on a moonless night,
My sister ever heeds her yoke of light.
;-) Still pouting? Love from Dee
PS--when I grow up I want to be just like you.
Align dear heart,
Urge prompts fond feel;
Sense poignant start,
Play with wise will;
Intent now shows,
Curious words fling;
Incite clear flow,
Observe grand spring;
Use sculpts fond say,
Sense a true prize.
Feel lines that stay,
Allow sure price;
Touch wears a smile,
Expound clear style.
18 February 2015
Bless You, bless You, praise You Lord.
Thank you for Your holy Word.
I thank You that You’ve set me free.
I thank You for the victory.
You beat the devil handily.
And took his keys away.
You’ve given me the victory.
You died to set me free.
Bless You, bless You, praise You Lord.
Thank You for Your holy Word.
I thank You that You’ve set me free.
I thank You for the victory.
Victory, sweet victory
The battle has been won
Victory, sweet victory
With Jesus Christ God’s Son.
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
Dear baby, Daddy's boat is on its way.
There blinks and whirls inside the starry sky
a lighthouse sending us a gleaming ray.
For you, my precious, is this lullaby.
Your daddy rides tonight upon the sea.
He's following the gulls that homeward fly,
but soon you'll sit upon your Daddy's knee.
I sing for you this seaside lullaby.
The beacon's beam we see is light that guides,
so close your eyes, sweet baby; sleep is nigh.
As soothing as the rhythmic ocean's tides
for you, my precious, is this lullaby.
Dear baby, close your eyes and do not cry.
I sing for you the seaside lullaby.
For the Poetry Contest of Tracie ~*~Indigo Dreamweaver: "Lullabies"
Shall I compare thee to a singing bird?
Your song is more beautiful and light,
Gorgeous voice speaking with soft-spoken word,
Is the way one should wake into the bright.
The light of the day is welcomed in song,
All the while night waits for the sun’s rise,
And to wait for this seems all way too long,
Although it’s worth it when I hear the prize.
As beautiful songs are sung in the air,
Your voice welcomes the light of the new day,
The tone rings through the dull space with no care,
The voice that nothing can ever replay.
The voice that’s more beautiful than a bird’s,
is unimaginable until heard.
Listen now carefully, what do you hear?
sounds abound as you tune in to listen
universe of noise fills the stratosphere
birds singing, rustling leaves in transition
Blades of grass crackle sounding like gun fire
the trickle of the brook harmonious
I settle down by the roaring campfire
drinking in the sounds most melodious
As magically they blend together
creating music so soulful to hear
playing perfectly keeping in meter
in the background reed pipes clamor come here
Music around us abounds all the time
listen to it play enjoy the downtime