Best Lutes Poems
’Tis Spring
(this is the real title, which I am unable to post this way in the title heading)
Rejuvenate! ’Tis spring.
Cruel winter’s lost its cling.
We wake across this earth
To welcome its rebirth.
Give praise and with a joyful voice sing.
’Tis time of spring. Rejoice!
Reverence with glad noise.
In flowered meadows meet
To dance with merry feet.
Bring lutes, flutes, drums and resonant voice.
Reflect. Again. . . ’tis spring.
Robin’s on the wing.
Lean upon a fruited tree.
Hear the drone of honeybee.
Breathe the bloom of lovely lilac sprig.
’Tis time. Reconcile.
Greet each creature with a smile.
As Christ for us bled tears
To banish our worst fears,
See everyone as God’s dear child.
’Tis season to re-grow.
Heed nature’s lead below.
Each gift you have to nourish
Must be shared to flourish.
Replenish bounties God did you bestow.
An oldie for Brian Strand's the 'ALL YOURS (Mar 9)' Poetry Contest
"Syzygy"
Behind the wet dunes
fringed with seagrass
a blood crescent
kisses the forehead
of dreamer traversed
twin aeon syzygy
barefeet the velvet
sophia imprints
softly speak
like words seen
dancing across
the place between
heaven and earth
mapping deviations
non-standard
calibrating alignment
played forward through
unchartered jaded
emerald forests
where the satin skin
becomes sparkling
crystalline it shatters
like a shell disgarded, then
the body of no substance
becomes transparent
enveloped in rapturous
Devabani heralding
commands cast
from divine throats
lutes and sitars
whirling nightingales
dervishes wingspanned
accompany angelic legions
the journey melts into
deep blue mysterious oceans
easily walked, hypnotic the
transparent beckoning,
this is the way come,
come, come closer
closer, come forward,
on higher Elysian steppes
the bride smiles
an unspoken secret
and turns
the eyes are
twin windows
like doorways
opening
swallowing
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Medieval Flutes
Strings and lutes
Playing to my whims
She the student
I, the old one with musical overtures
She knows, she knows
Myself captivated yet I cant let it show
She knows, she knows
We play roulette, I love, she gives romance a go
I kiss her lips
Telling her this is but a seasons fading desire
My love is true; her blue eyes pierce the soul of this fool
She will love another, sooner than sad harps can play
Melodies of melancholy
She will leave with succulent sweetness
While the professor will contemplate loves demise
Buried in romance, burdens of love attack this darkened day
When a season makes its last breathless gasp
Its very survival is at play, struggle to the last
Who of us wishes to die so young, so tender
When one more love has yet to be embraced and softly
Rendered
Charming Patterns
An eyelet wheel models medieval embroidery
Aromatic, ornamental garden ballet steps for lovers
Strolling in stately patterns of noble estate
Savory’s romance looping through lavender labyrinths
Lost in curves of sweet scented anise dreams
A pavel of peace in pungent fans of feathery dill
Set in soothing circles of demure comfort,
Inside squares of loyal rosemary tied with ribbons of sage
Trimmed with clarion harmony of marjoram’s gailland
And arches of drizzles leap as parsley festivity
Joyfully brushes the fingertips of rows in oregano courants
A center pistel radiates lines of tarragon in devotion
Dotted by French knots of thyme
With rosettes of mint scattered in diamonds about the maze
Virtuous embraces of shy courtly kisses
In basil’s blush of chain stitch purity
And to the almain of lutes and of lyres
To the harp strum, to the chaste flute,
A castle garden dances faithful fidelity
Telling the story of love’s longevity
In charming patterns.
10-6-21
Contest: Charming Patterns
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Embroidery stitches: eyelet wheel, loops, drizzles, pistel, French knot, rosettes, chain stitch
Medieval Instruments: clarion, lute, lyre, flute, harp
Elizabethan Dances: ballet, pavel, gailland, courant, almain
Knot gardens of herbs are based on the intricate embroidery patterns of the Elizabethan age.
In not too long, we’ll see the spring,
for winter will have lost its cling!
Across this earth, we’ll waken to her sweet rebirth.
On the first day of spring, give praise and sing!
Rejuvenate; refresh; rejoice!
Welcome her with the gladdest noise –
In meadows we can meet to dance with merry feet!
Bring flutes, lutes, drums, and a resonate voice!
At spring’s debut, let’s all arise
with gratitude for her sweet prize:
of life, the renewal thereof, and love,
and promises of bluer skies!
Feb. 15, 2019
(looks like first day of spring was just this past March 19!! Praying for sunnier days, in more ways than one!)
Believe not tomorrow, the Dawn's fragrant lies,
Nor Love's fickle promise which heavenward flies
On gilded wings soon fallen to death
As songs which hearts sung gasp piteous breath.
O, sweetest poems my ear did assail
From lutes plied by angels 'pon shimmering vale
Which nebulous, floated nowhere save in Dream,
As my soul kisses gallows in wretched scream/
Now I walk midst the graves and envy the peace
Of slumber well-gained, and long for release
From the heart's empty exile, long laden with chains,
To sleep! Repose! beneath midnight rains...
Let not the pain of death enter my body
I the Pharaoh, son of the gods
Here my wife, who is the daughter of the Nile
The daughter of Isis sits beside my throne,
Is she not beautiful?
I live and roam the abode of the gods,
In eternity I stay with the majesties
Of the immortal gods
Mortality has no hold of me
I alone carry the staff of Osiris,
Behold! I judge thy weight of the heart,
With that of the golden feather
Thoth that measures thy heart shall tell me of thy heart’s content.
If I find thy heart lighter than the feather;
And find thy honesty,
I shall let you enter the heaven of the gods and goddesses.
If not, then, a beast to devour thee, waits for the dishonest.
Know me by my throne, made of gold
I am cloth with ornaments made of jade and sapphire,
White silk of clothing, with jewels from faraway lands.
Anyone that dear look down upon me shall die
And those that despise me, shall fine their homes burned down,
with fires from heaven.
Who am I? I have asked thee
Look at Anubis, the son of Nephthys bringer of death.
Do you await him to bring me great sorrow?
Shall he warp me with a yard of cloth?
Shall I find peace in death and my fate be judge by him?
If so, I have a place among them.
My afterlife is in paradise, their awaits a bundle of joy
With music of the immortal, with harps, lutes, lyres
And servants to tend to my every need.
But even if I die, the weight of mine own heart, shall be as light as a feather.
For I know mine own honesty.
As I sail across the sandbank of Apophis,
I have my guide, Ra, the god of the sun to light my path
No monstrous serpent of chaos shall wreck his boat,
The boat in which, I am in.
So, I ask thee, traveler from the west
What is thy business with a god?
Look at my palace, is it not magnificent?
Has is not, the decoration and flowers that surpasses all human designs?
I have built these with rocks
Sands was the foundation of my legacy,
Shall all things compare to that of the past days?
I carry the burden of my glory, and yes, it is heavy.
But will such foundation as the sand be strong enough to hold against the tide?
Love is abiding that is true, but only in those who welcomes it.
My love for my beautiful wife, oh! How well have I been treated
With love from her is better than any pleasure a man can have.
Faithful to the gods or my wife? That I know not.
A walk-in solitude, putting one foot
over the other, stepping over roots
to listen to the flutes of nature lutes
and silent subtle shift that are afoot.
Away from mental incessant chatter,
solace for the fractious mind. A matter
of time, a sense of elation scatter
and the will to feel the fatigue shatter.
A shaded path tucked away in slumber
in surrounding walls of dark and umber
trees, woody vines, shrubs, and beast that lumber
a realm of nirvana in poised wonder.
Sitting on the ashen limbs and trendless
full of sculptured green, wood thrush nest, restless.
In air a reward glimmer of breathless
hope in a grove of balm doth shine zestless.
Treading determinedly upward, the tree
sunshade is thinning, revealing a sea
of cadet blue sky, glorious to see.
Leaving the world behind upon the breeze.
7/29/2018
Poetry Contest: For Your Poetry Journal
Sponsored by: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
5. A walk in Solitude / Rhyme
Married
The morning was bright and beautiful.
The day of our wedding, my love...
The smell of the flowers in the garden,
came through... every window of the house.
My spirit was lifted on high that day,
I know you would laugh... out loud.
I danced and pranced like a doe,
in the meadow...
I lifted my arms to the King.
Please my Lord,
please my Lord...
bless everything...
That is how I felt in April,
but the truth is that is how I always feel.
You make me happy,
like there is music playing,
lutes and flutes...
like there is bread cooking,
warm and fragrant in the air.
Your smile is unforgettable,
because it is my favorite thing to look at,
and the one thing I like to dwell upon,
when you are out,
on the tractor,
in the garden,
of our life.
Castle of Dreams
Lutes and violins
Gothic dreams, pleasures of sin
Recited poetry
In my chamber of fire
Wine distills lulled memories
She evaporates
Into my mind
The Grief of Gaziantep.
Hotter than a Dragon’s kiss,
the seas boil under saffron sun.
Tiny thrumming mosquitoes zone on sweating, caramac skin,
Customer entertainment...hanging from shop fronts,
nine carat gold cages lure buyers in,
imprisoned, flush-red faced finches,
wings of pumpkin-orange
hypnotize purring feral cats.
The afternoon air laden with aromas,
Cinnamon, cumin, ginger...
Bluest sky tips to ripe pomegranate.
Anatolian mountain weavers peddle hand-spun carpets,
fine silk, cool cotton, warm wool.
Faded proud portrait of mounted Ataturk accepts toasts
from chinking, inky Turkish and golden-apple tea glasses.
Layered lutes echo the Ciftetelli as lovers entwine... ***
An odd guest delivers a soul-scalding gift.
Blast! Bang! Splatter! Shatters the buzzing streets of Gaziantep.
Poppy-red plasma sprays through ghost-grey gusts...
Whimpering, wailing, screaming, sobbing,
echoes of sadness rupture the sodden earth,
in once jovial corners, now cups of embers smoulder.
Still Mama’s jet hair moves...like Puma’s in slow-motion.
Leapt into an everlasting world of sorrow,
grief beat-beats upon severed hearts.
Ceaseless pain flutters on wings of wind,
as stretchers convey the motionless and the maimed.
A Jasmine flower chain now a poisonous asp.
The apricot horizon flits through boundless violet skies
as the barley half-moon sings with newborn stars.
Bleeding wounds will scab,
hope, the key of freedom, falters.
Swallows weave darkness to night.
Longings for the lost...
as loved ones whisper in their sleep.
*** Ciftetelli..Turkish Folk music often played at Weddings.
Dedicated to the Citizens of Gaziantep Turkey... Where 54 people (including 22 children) were killed and many injured by a suicide bomber on Saturday 20th August 2016. One mother lost four of her five children.
I love you little branch
Dancing in the breeze
Little leaf laughing at the cloud
Little wind flirting with the trees'
Old ego, playing smart
Trying to find roots
Where there is no topsoil; the heart
Still wants - more than lutes'
Five minutes of pleasure.
I like you patiently becoming
What you have seen before,
And what you talked about; knowing
It only as the life of others. Sure
You will for different reasons make
The same sweet choices;
Sure, your fear will be larger: take
The the salt with the spices.
I like you little flower
You are the perfume for my hour.
A lovely day is over now
As Ren Faire comes to a close
As whimsical stories are told by all
Faire goers share the keepsakes they chose
Now there is quiet in the woods
Wide-eyed children must now leave
The crackling campfires start to burn fierce
As wild tales begin to weave
Drums and lutes are heartily played
Panpipes and mandolins sound
The village comes to life with glee
New friends and lovers are found
An earthly vibe begins to rise
Troubadours can now start to croon
Kings and Queens come ever so near
The night sky shines behind a radiant moon
As time stops for these noble artists
Their magic will live on
The wings of time will bring them back again
From morning until dawn
Oh sing yon violin upon your strings
and play harps and lutes melodious things
come sooth my soul and for our losses
and shatter pain upon our bed of mosses
Dost thou dare to stay our hearts entwined
do cast your light and airy within our mind
so also to our agony do make us blind
where in time we shall life kinder find
Do misdirect my thoughts upon a fairer course
lead me now away from paths remorse
fail not to impart joy and from its source
and to the courts whats odious I do divorce
and there expire bitterness and mans afflictions
unto the burial sites with their benedictions
the ends of tribulations on the morrow
as I have some aspersion to this sorrow
Come twist your ropes do wrap in harmony
the golden strand in archetypes that be
fluid in the cups elixir we do drink
to shelter from woe and misery we sink
Clasp the inner man intone your song
return to us the living among our throng
embrace the consolation and hold whats dear
for upon us all this place draws ever near
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
The selfsame page echoes wordlessly like barren lord
To write in characters of light, Oh! bucket headed bard
Understand, art-like slumber must set-the soul free
Beyond time's fabric walls, in boundless circles waterski
Across the black besmeared realms of dreary night
Where passion cleaves darkness with fanged light.
Tread forth into the beauteous lustre of things
And hark, how sweet the drunken nightingale sings
Cheering languid Cynthia and the slow bursting bud
Oh! come empty bosomed lad
Let the primeval tongue of deft nature teach
You how to fold forms into voluptuous speech.
The sun through verdure fields has unrolled
His sweet placid beam of burning gold
And how gaily whispers the roaming scented wind
Blowing voluptuous strains pleasant than sevenfold lutes combined
Revealing to the dancing emerald leaves galore
Divine secrets hoarded in mediaeval days devoid of law.
When the throbbing heart of nature tunes the soul
Grand refined wisdom is your to attain
Which nor cognitive lore nor pedantic clouds of scroll
Can ever shower upon the mortal train.