I'm leaving now, but here is a reminder
'Twill bring to you the days we walked through rain
So when you wish to feel my hand in yours
Or stroke your dripping hair-- Then kiss the rain
Though leaving now, I wish I could be with you
So when you feel o'erwhelmed with grief or pain
And long for my caress upon your face,
The rain will touch instead-- So kiss the rain
Whenever you have tho'ts of this sad parting
And salty tears your lovely cheeks do stain
To feel the tears for you I'll surely have
Do this, and I will too-- Go kiss the rain
Whenever you are longing for my presence
And times that we went strolling down the lane
I'll whisper soft endearments on the breeze
So heed the sighing wind-- And kiss the rain
If ever you should pine to hear me speaking
The thunder might burst forth with glorious main*
While drops that fall are sure to be my tears,
To feel them wet your skin-- Just kiss the rain
* Power or Force
An oak tree stood beside a narrow stream
All bent and twisted like an agéd man
So gently flowed the stream through ancient roots
While laughing with the innocence of youth
In summertime the children came to play
Within the cooling water of the stream
Or rest beneath the gnarled oak tree's limbs
Spread, father-like, to shade them from the sun
In autumntime, when gusts and breezes blow
The leaves would float like dancers through the air
First here, then there, they softly tripped, until
They lit at last to grace the frozen ground
In wintertime, the sprightly youths would skate
Along the crystal surface of the stream
Above, the windswept branches firmly stood
Like blacksmiths' limbs are hardened from the forge
In springtime burst the oak leaves forth anew
As kingly robes they grace the ancient tree
Inside its keep the squirrels and thrushes chirp
Secure from danger's threat and free from care
Time sped, its unrelenting chimes yet tolled
The youths that loved its shade have passed away
Yet still he laughs and seems to mock at time
He stands as stout and tall as ages past
But time, its current flows at even pace
And now the oak is bent with cruel decay
Though doubled at the back like aging man
He stands there yet, a monument of strength
~ Written for "Personification" Contest. Second Place.
This world of trouble soon will pass
For there beyond the crystal glass
A lamb and lion tread the grass
Beside a lass, beside a lass
This cord of present time shall break
And hate and fear shall flee and quake
Oh, may all vice this earth forsake!
And love awake! And love awake!
Oh, see him walk 'neath mighty trees!
The king of beasts; what strength and ease!
Yet now content this lass to please
Her hand to tease, her hand to tease
Behold! A pleasant form and face!
The child of beauty crowned with grace!
Fair Una treads at even pace
A better place, a better place
~ The form is Monotetra~
~Based on the painting 'Una and the Lion' by Briton Riviere. Here is a copy and paste link.
For "Show Me the Funny (part two)"
There once was a fellow a woggin'*
Who bumped into one who was loggin'
They had quite a spat
The ax was a bat
And the first had a lump on his noggin
* Woggers are those who get all dressed for jogging, but only go at walking speed, while vigorously pumping their arms to delude themselves that they are jogging.
'Twas a sound I thought alarming, most assuredly disarming;
Up I rose from peaceful slumber to discern what it might be.
While my candle flickered, wavered; whilst my heartbeat halted, quavered,
At my window I was favoured by it sounding, dreadfully-
In the darkness loudly pounding- drawing nearer, dreadfully
As if calling out to me.
When the window I unshuttered, as my heart so wildly fluttered
Sounded forth the sound, and nearer, sounded forth so dismally:
And I heard the tempest sighing, through the trees and chimneys crying,
As if left alone and dying by some God-forsaken sea-
Quite forsaken, quite abandoned by the inky, lifeless sea,
Just as black as black can be.
There I stood a moment longer as the wailing winds grew stronger.
'Tis, I thought, but silly fancies dreamed imaginatively;
For there's nothing coming, leaving, and the night can be deceiving;
Yes, the wind was only breathing on the ancient maple tree,
Which was rapping on the shutters in the night, incessantly-
This was all that it could be.
Then a furious arctic guster gathered might and main and muster
And with hands so cold and clammy put my candle out while he
Wrapped his chilling hands around me, in his frozen grip he bound me;
I, his presence all around me groaned and grumbled in the dark;
As I groped and griped and stumbled, groaned and grumbled in the dark-
While he laughed so wickedly.
To the window, pitter-patter, I rehasped it with a clatter
Then relit and watched my candle as it flamed assuredly,
While it lit the old surroundings; but then how my heart was pounding!
As I gazed at the astounding standing on my posted bed,
Perched above the feathered pillows where I rest my weary head,
Perched there unashamedly.
"Ah," said I, "this nameless flutter sounding, pounding on the shutter
It was only this dear fellow trying so determinedly
To gain entrance to my dwelling, all to bring this piece of spelling,
And there really is no telling who has sent him here to me
'Till I read the little letter fastened on below his knee,
That he bears so cheerfully.
I undid the purple ribbon tied about the charming pigeon,
Quite forgetful of his presence as I read absorbedly.
I spent little time deciding who had sent this piece of writing,
For it bore me happy tidings in a hand I knew so well;
In a cheerful, laughing manner, so it was not hard to tell
That it was from my Melody.
"My favourite ribbon, I've untied it from my hair and wrapped inside it
All the words I wish to say, but am too far to tell to thee."
From this point and on hereafter I omit her words of laughter,
Words that make my heart beat faster; words that stop it suddenly:
Words that make me melancholy; words that make me shout with glee-
Words sent by my Melody.
When I'd traced each perfect letter, I was thinking clearer, better;
I set out some feed and water for my friend, repentantly.
"Pigeon," said I, "rest beside me; walls and roof shall safely hide thee
From the tempest roaring blindly o'er the inky, lifeless sea."
And I squinted through the shadows where he perched there silently;
Resting, sleeping peacefully.
Drawing near, I kissed him gently, thinking all the while intently
That the very place I kissed him once was cradled tenderly
By the hand I wish was holding onto mine, and deftly molding
Into mine, and mine enfolding, that of her who wrote to me;
That of her so far away across the inky, lifeless sea-
That of dearest Melody.
The tears well up, and scarce could she not moan
When father, brother, husband, all have died.
She now has no possessions, neither home,
But travels to a distant, unknown land:
Once so secure, yet now compelled to roam;
Once rich in love, she treads through foreign sands.
Her weary feet move forward but by faith;
For all left to her name is mere belief:
Mind, heart so far away she seems a wraith-
Love, happiness- all taken by a thief.
When, sometime since, her heart had broke in two,
The path of life, once single, parted way;
Forsake she could, but this she would not do-
All else was gone- with mother she would stay:
"Intreat me not to leave thee," was her plea,
"For whither thou wilt go, there will I; pray
Forbid me not to follow after thee,
For where thou lodgest I would also stay:
"Thy people shall be mine, thy God my God;
And where thou liest, I will gladly lie
Beside thee, overhead the selfsame sod;
That even then thou mightest be closeby.
"And so they twain walk on, hand clasped in hand;
Both hold the only thing they yet possess:
The younger but a stranger in the land,
An enemy, a widow in distress.
She rose before the sun to find a place
Where she might gather barley ears and wheat;
A field where she might find some needed grace
To gather for their winter store of meat:
Then Boaz comes from Bethlehem, and see,
He tarries with the reapers of the wheat:
He comes to Ruth and says, "Hear'st not thou me?
Remain until the harvest is complete:
"Go not from hence, but in my fields abide,
And let thine eyes be on the field they reap;
Behold, these maidens thou may'st work beside,
And near the reapers thou may'st ever keep."
Then to her face she fell, and wond'ringly
Asked why to her, a stranger, was so kind;
And he replied that she unfailingly
Had cleaved unto her mother with one mind,
And left her father, mother, and the soil
Of her nativity, and kissed the dust
Of some strange land wherein she meant to toil;
Forsaking gods of Moab God to trust:
"The Lord," said he, "reward thee for thy deeds,
And recompense thy labour and thy love:
The God of Israel answer all thy needs,
And make his wings a shelter from above."
Then said the maid, "My lord, please let me find
Some grace and favour in thy blessed sight,
For that thou hast been friendly, spoken kind,
And I am but a stranger in the night."
Then Boaz said, "At mealtime here abide;
Rest in the shade, come, sit with us and dine:
So down she sat, a reaper on each side;
She ate her wheat and dipped her bread in wine.
Then Ruth arose, and to her work she leaves:
The master thus commands his servant men,
"Let this young maid glean e'en among the sheaves;
Rebuke her not, for she shall come again;
And let some handfuls fall onto the ground,
There let them lie for my sake and for hers
That she may glean and plenty may be found;
For reasons she has need of it are pure."
And as she worked, Ruth knew not what a sight
Of beauty and of diligence she made,
As in the golden field in sunset's light
She bowed her head and knelt as if she prayed.
It came to pass that in his fields she stayed
Until the end of barley harvest came,
When mother told the lovely little maid
To seek for his provision and his name.
She washed and dripped an oil filled with sweet
Perfumes of wild roses on her face:
She had not much; her beauty was complete
With but her finest clothes to seek his grace.
Her braided hair shone brighter than the gem
That never graced her soft and shapely form;
Her eyes, they sparkled brighter than the hem
Of gold and pearls that she had never worn:
Thus Ruth went down unto the threshing floor
Where Boaz winnowed barley till the night,
And peeked at him so shyly 'round the door;
She never let him leave her searching sight.
His workday done, the master ate and drank;
With happiness his heart was full when fed:
Then by a heap of wheat he went and sank
Into the furry robes that made his bed;
And Ruth, a while watching till he sleep
Kept vigil from a stone used as a seat,
Till when his eyes had closed and sleep was deep
She lifted up the cover from his feet
And softly laid her down and dreamed of brides
Until the watchman struck a dozen beats,
And being startled, Boaz woke and spied
A woman sleeping at his very feet:
"Who art thou?" queried he in sleepy voice;
"Thine handmaid, Ruth," was her unsure reply;
Then blessed he her for wise and kindly choice,
For passing poor and rich young fellows by.
"And now, my daughter, gladly shall I do
According to thy wishes, for all here
Consider thee as virtuous and true;
Howbeit, there is one to thee more near,
A kinsman who must duly have his say:
If he decline, then rest assured I will
Perform the part of kinsman." So she lay
Down at his feet, and both were quiet, still.
In grey of early morning she arose,
Before a face could be discernéd there;
To keep from what some people might suppose
And who might stand along the road to stare:
Then Boaz said, "Bring here the vail thou hast
Upon thy head and hold it in thy hand:
Six times the barley measure filled and passed
From heap to vail as much as she could stand.
Then Boaz went up to the city gate
To find the nearer kinsman, whom he sought,
To see if he would purchase the estate
Of Ruth, and she herself, but he could not;
So Boaz purchased all the widows' land;
The houses, barns, and fields, though overgrown;
And bought what pleased him most, Ruth's comely hand
To cherish and to make his very own:
Then Boaz went to find the handmaid, Ruth
And lift her from a servant to a wife;
To love her in all tenderness and truth
In every day God blessed them both with life.
[By Isaiah Zerbst. Published 9/7/14. Parts of poem have been removed due to soup's limitations.]
My best friend and I
Ran barefoot through the garden
Stirring the petals
Her hair tied back in two braids
Her skirt trailed out behind her
We sat by the stream
With our feet in the water
Talking and laughing
Until a pink rose I plucked
And wove it into her dark braids
Come an' pick yerself an apple,
Come an' pick a heapin' load;
Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel
An' a couple fer the road.
There's a dozen different sizes,
Pink an' yella, red 'r lime,
Shades that match the pale sunrises
Of the apple pickin' time.
Go an' make an apple pie,
Make it thirty miles high,
Then you'll be in apple heaven
Till the day you up an' die.
Come an' pick yerself an apple,
Come an' pick a heapin' load;
Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel
An' a couple fer the road;
Some for Gran and Uncle Pete,
An' a few fer fighting crime;
'Cause the fella down the street
Knows it's apple pickin' time.
The castle tower stands there tall and proud,
Awaiting for your safely coming home,
Just as I do, with tears that freely flow;
Salt water tears that pool are not my own,
The salty ocean droplets sting the eyes.
I am alone, in sorrows well nigh drowned,
And you alone, amongst the raging tides.
This white cloth waves to you amid the winds
That blow your ship to my own sandy shore --
My heart a wind-tossed stormy cloud no more.
Up here beside the stately castle wall,
Enfolded safely home within your arms,
The tears that from my eyes unbidden fall
Reflect your face alight with joys and charms;
There lie forgotten all my dread alarms.
I am with you, by jubilation drowned,
And you with me, the waves a distant sound.
By Kelly Deschler, September 7, 2013 Form: Iambic Pentameter
And Isaiah Zerbst, September 14, 2013 Form: Rhyme Royal
Based on the painting of the same title by William Powell Frith, 1858
A stealthy tiger stalks his prey
His eyes alight with cunning gleam;
And tho' the world may peaceful seem
The lissome springboks graze and play --
The danger lurks, not far away
He crouches low, his muscles taught
While calculations fill his mind
The perfect arc of force to find;
His quarry, still without a thought
Of what design the tiger sought
The tiger springs, the creatures flee
His mighty limbs with awesome force
Perform their planned and deadly course;
Now lies the springbok piteously
Forever torn from things that be
And o'er his corpse presides the prince
His solid jowls bespecked with blood
His razor claws in crimson flood;
He glories in these trickling glints
That show his skill in ruby tints
And when the prince has et his fill
The birds descend to eat the rest
To feed the young ones in the nest;
But on the tiger roams at will
He's free to wander, hunt, and kill
Written on the twenty-eighth of July, 2013