Upon the hallowed ground past midnight sighs
'Neath trembling yews and tombstones cold and sere
Did I espy, as the tempest began to rise
A maiden clothed in spectral white appears
Her ghostly raiment danced upon the restless air
Her visage pale with sorrow finely drawn
Betwixt the graves she glided into our ghastly affair
Her presence enthralling as the coming dawn
Within her hand a missive she pressed
Gloved fingers clad in evening’s formal hue
She whispered with the wind, she, a soul distressed
“Seek thou the attic there thy fate is due”
Anon the gale did whisk her form away
(Formerly known as Mrs. Emily)
And left me alone to ponder till the day
Epilogue:
After this wraithlike wedding of our souls
I cannot abjure this vision
In my mind it rolls and rolls as it goes
Hindsight is foresight's foe
Heralding woe betides
Halting the hoodwinking
Haunting the present tense
Hanging regrets in caches
Hype, hope dashed by failures
Holding you back, abjure!
A period here. a question mark there?
A handful of commas,,,tossed in the air
To fall all willy-nilly but he doesn't care.
Then he closes his eyes so he never sees,
And does it again with apostrophe's.
Next colons: and semis; are put through their paces,
And are frequently found in the oddest of places.
Quotations are more than just dressing or stuffing,
Yet often appear when "nobody said nuffing".
It makes reading a chore just to try to adhere
To a writer's directions of what to do where,
But you barrel on through 'til you get to the end,
Give your eyes time to uncross,
And then try it again.
Some poets abjure punctuation, for sure,
And though not a big fan,
I'm a reasonable man.
e e cummings, for example,
Responds to the call
By using little or no punctuation at all.
Author's note: To quote the author Cormac McCarthy: "If you write properly you shouldn't have to punctuate." Poets such as e e cummings, et al, apparently took him up on that. Please understand, dear reader, that this piece is punctuated incorrectly to make a point. And I blush to admit that I, myself, am overly fond of "quotation marks" and…ellipses.
Born in the heart of the insecure
of him who finds in baubles allure
A grave affliction, difficult to cure
Consumed by Jealousy, one must abjure
You have heard of it many times I am sure.
and probably of it abjure.
I have been driven, striven,
to obtain my little slice,
please take my advice.
I have achieved my little chunk,
without behaving like a punk,
you I can readily you assure.
You can seize it,
if you don't need to throw a fit,
of self-serving s**t.
What you really need,
is plant a little seed,
and work very hard indeed.
Bells ring through the dusk, soft and low.
Smokey eyes narrow.
Sultry pout on her lips.
Wrapped in black lace and chiffon,
she twirls in graceful circles.
Violin strums through the twilight, soft and low.
Black-shaded eyes dart.
Lips part ever so slightly.
Silver feathers cascade from her hair.
Arms open to the onyx sky.
Witchy apparition
that used to be a lady
sways on.
Breezy is the eve, song murmurs
from the deep.
A man in a fedora with a smooth walking stick
sees her through the looking glass,
reaches out.
Fingers slip through a reviled hallucination.
She morphs into a silken raven.
Head bowed in supplication,
he is besieged by an invulnerable force.
He refuses to abjure his hope that he can hold her.
A tambourine jingles lightly in her hand, soft and low.
She twirls away.
A disintegrated mirage.
Tear slides from his eye.
The music disappears.
Blinded by his sorrow,
he walks away from the glass, now stained.
Are you the one
Whom I see in my dream
Or the one
Reason behind my scream
Whenever I think you are just a hokum
You prove me wrong
Making me feel
You are a handy one
Are you the light of my eyes
Or blindness of my life
Whenever I think
I was asinine to choose you
You make me abjure
To give you sanity
Are you a cosy guy
Or an abrasive man
The reason to my astern
Or a surreal plan
I don’t know why
I recite story of our lives
Whenever I think
You are glory of my eyes
You become an anguish of my past…………
It started with a thought -
a solitary lie.
Cunning in it's deceit,
no freedom, lest I die.
No normal pangs of hunger -
gorging beast within my face.
Heaving it up in sacrificial abjure,
a rejected fall from grace.
An act of complete surrender -
heavy pressure in my chest.
The beat continues beating;
Yet I fear it will arrest.
Mirrors turned to enemies;
A smile turned to grief.
A day without ingestion
becomes a dangerously sweet relief.
Abandoning dreams to disappear -
affliction taking hold.
Imperfection sought to fix, with
restricted weight controlled.
It started with a thought -
a solitary lie.
Cunning in it's deceit,
no freedom, lest I die.
Enverated by the history; man's
Credulity, his weakness;
Give upon yesterdays, cause
It will hurt, day's risibleness...
Time is a fulsome mate, let go
Of her mawkish cast;
Hope is all but that is reigning,
Peaking the sinking mast...
Lives as ransom we ought
To pay, for the life meek
Fallen before the past as prey
Redemption do we seek...
To lean upon the future,
Promising rapprochement;
Eternity of brighter days strike,
Seeking each morrow'd mend...
To soar up and repay history's
Debts by making history,
Knowing not what's the best,
We still hope for the story...
The depressing stares to
No more meet, let's abjure;
Ambling the little strech of life,
The world, let's conquer...
Mitigating notions, unravelling
Sorrows into fading
Oblivion far apart, causing
No worry for the coming...
The future let's embrace,
Cause morrow has got its
Own promises, vibrant and vigil,
It's mesmerizing bits...
If you wish your future triumph,
Then let past be your tutor;
Dare do your part, for, as said,
"Tomorrow is the today of the future"...
My word
is pure steel,
does not oxidize or
breaks up
And there is nobody
in this world that
makes me abjure,
or revoke it ...
I stand here, spinning rhyme;
child of destiny, soul of time.
Born on this benighted sphere;
Absent grasp of why I'm here.
Summoned by a distant voice;
made aware of surfeit’s choice.
Confusion reigns, coruscant light;
alone I stand in abject plight.
I am static, prey of change;
I abhor the constant rearrange.
Portrait of all I abjure;
life a schism to endure.
Thus I let my spirit soar,
for I am meant for so much more.
Love’s Spirit Speaks to Us
Love’s spirit speaks to us with deepest emotion,
Giving us all that touch of God’s true love divine,
Whilst helping us find the words and the rhyme,
To express His love eternal with holy devotion!
God helps us seek our depth of love and passion,
In how we find and relate to one another over time,
Whilst sharing, special palpable moments in kind,
As we celebrate our love by God’s intent and action!
Love’s spirit speaks to us in words radiant and pure,
As we find those emotive bonds that make us one,
And as we share our true feelings with hope and fun!
Love’s spirit tells us we mustn’t love’s bond abjure,
For our love by God’s word is sacred by His decree,
And that bespeaks His love for us with all cosmic glee!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
September 8, 2018 (Petrarchan Sonnet)
Angels Speak of His True Love
By God’s intent, Angels speak of His true love,
For mankind and nature here on Mother Earth.
They help us find our path to Heaven above,
Whilst playing a role in our mystic rebirth.
Angels talk to us, and show us God’s true love;
They guide our souls on ascension far from Earth,
To Our Holy Father who redeems us pure,
From which no one can seek to ever abjure!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 5, 2018 (Ottava Rima)
The pretense of sincerity
will never extend beyond its mask
and even though a puddle reflects the endless sky
its shallow containment will eventually turn dry
As the players in the field of emotionally
turn their hearts away from feeling too much
their stories of life are never written
or match the bravery of those who have given
Knowledge of self the pretenders feign
they are immune to vulnerability
they are secure
beyond the strength of the weak
Only their lips pronounce of love
but yet they never speak
so sweet it slips from their tongue
with all the romance of a bouquets abjure
Everyones heart can be broken
still to be sure they won’t be the one
all the world is a mirror
in which to discover themselves
As a shadow a practiced art to elude
and temporary becomes the ease of aloof
must find new ground in another's arms
but to their ending give every excuse
Just as a puddle can reflect the depths of the sky
they are misunderstood
in their shrinking confines
the blazing sun is this sheet of paper
on which these words were written
The Hole Deep in One’s Own Heart
In moments of greatest loss, sadness and sorrow,
A hole forms so deep within one’s own heart;
There it shall remain so for each ‘n every morrow,
Until life’s end when comes our Heavenly depart!
My dearest, such times of tribulation define us pure,
For we know not all the twists and turns of this life;
We must keep our faith ever true, never it to abjure,
Whilst seeking angelic guidance from this human strife!
As we recommit our true faith in God’s blessings above,
We seek solace in His love that only our souls may find;
With this our passions ‘n emotions form the deepest love,
Giving us His blessing as our souls return His love in kind!
God’s love brings our eternal souls into His Heavenly space,
And makes our injured hearts whole in His Divine embrace!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
November 11, 2017 (Shakespearean Sonnet)
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