Best Vale Poems
She walks along an avenue
some call the Vale of Tears.
Her agonies and sorrows brew
in eyes that vail her tears.
She whiles alone, her gaze unmet,
behind a veil of tears.
But can she flee from sadness, yet
with no avail of tears?
In time, the Rue of No Regrets
will countervail her tears.
Vale: valley
Vail: let sink
Veil: something that conceals
Avail of: use to one’s advantage
Countervail: offset, counteract
Inspired by poems of KC
Mist evolves down the hillside into the vale
Where the farmhouses sit all put together
There’s no sense of wind here, there’s no bit of gale
Just one leery breeze that blends with the other
The houses confine themselves within the shade
And warmth flows there inside the chimneys conveyed
Where some sides of the buildings glisten in light
Sparkles with joy from now until the broad night
It is early morning, fires are still aglow
Burned all night with wood stored in the wicker trug
Sparks, spitting out making a huge firework show
A carefully placed guard to save the rag rug.
Mam is stirring the porridge, a lovely sight
Papa’s gone to the byre, check cows are alright
Daybreak is here, the children need to awake
Breakfast, then the long trek to school they must take
Within the boundaries so warm and cozy
The sights of any day of enlightenment
No matter day or night the valley I see
Complete, whole and surely full of contentment
Around the kitchen table they had sat this night
Mam with her sewing, Papa smiling at the sight
Children asleep tucked up in their gossamer down
In this idyllic place, the valley they call home
A Collaboration between Russell Sivey and Seren Roberts
There is a white horse on the vale,
where it oft go and play,
and eat heaven honey a plenty
through its sleepless hallowed gate;
the ponies watch and prance
and dance, and never wander afar,
for they see the good of it,
when they answer my beckoned call
I feel from a home inside me,
a place for love and holly,
(this very white horse I dreamt)
was heavenly sent ---
and for all, this white horse doth come,
from the bosom of God,
with every soul's name etched on its sides;
and when I awoke it was all a dream,
but was it a dream? ---
I asked myself at last,
shall an experience of any kind be fiction,
in its marrow and left impression---
be unworthy of reality?
I do not know for absolutes sake ---
claim this white horse 'exists'
but it is pleasing more perhaps,
to dream it real,
for this waking world ---
with its sometimes infinite despair
(makes far less sense)
~~~
There is a white horse on the vale,
and when I called it came...
and he helped me up,
and rode me from harm's way;
that's why the ponies watch and prance
and dance,
and see the good of it...
****A dream within a dream I had****
Lush vales wedged between rolling foot hills
rugged mountain streams course through ancient vales;
water rapids breach rocks down on the dells,
vagrant pools wander out through worn edges.
Vivid odors punctuate water veins,
ripe with fertile grass, fruit and berry bogs.
Pristine secluded swamps, log aquilines
echoing native sounds, murmuring frogs.
Katydids call out a lusty affair,
as dusk settles to a vibrating night.
Fireflies flicker perfuming the air;
wild eyes reflecting moon lit flight.
World scene..'
Dinosaur snuffs noisey,
crash! eternal silence.
Copyright Joe Maverick 2010
(breaking news) Dinosaur writes , for SKATS contest.
back to extinction...i mean retirement for now..!
Souls in fear of uncertain but rampant chaos,
Where the cities bombed and thousands slayed,
Houses broken and the valuable coffers emptied,
Innocents trafficked and the felony at rise,
Commoners conned and the power misused-
The Almighty! Where is the peace you promised?
For love debasing and wars right at the door,
Infected minds with greed and hatred at dispersal,
Altruism waning and egoism the victorious devil,
Compassion at stake and bliss only a wistful wish,
But antipathy even amongst the esteemed bloods,
Soulless and callous, havens blemished with vices
And enmity on the rise as the blazing fire-
God! Where is the peace prayed for everyday?
“Look deep into nature and you’ll understand everything better.”
Albert Einstein
I stood on the sloped path near the waterfall.
Mesmerised by the sound of falling water.
All around grew green-leafed ferns,
While tall poplars and redwoods provided
Ample shade that covered the running stream.
Tall purple pickerel plants, scarlet cardinal plants,
Everything contributed to a sublime, picturesque sight.
A symphony of sounds emanated completely around.
Frogs croaked in great abundance, jumping in and out,
Of the clear stream where fish swam toward the sea.
And all around, busy bees fluttered over exotic flowers,
Where nectar provided them with such sweet nourishment.
Placed 1
Meadow of Evermore Rise,
Verdant greens of envy neath the skies,
Emerald breathes swirl wayward bound,
The scene repeats the olivine surround,
Spray of jade gladiolas emerges for eyes.
The cool rocky fence tinged moss lies,
Gathered sage on display, tossed flies,
Observed fronds of ferns, all around,
Meadow of Evermore Rise,
The mints swim freely, breeze back tries,
A row of pines stands proud, trophy prize,
Laurel newborns crawl the hilly ground,
Chartreuse treats, all roaring to be found,
Harlequin limes anoint, trickled tea ties,
Meadow of Evermore Rise.
2019 September 24
aabba aabR aabbaR
You were born in Clermont, Queensland on December, twenty-four,
Away back circa eighteen sevn'ty-two.
Edward Jones now had a fifth child, whom his dear wife Anna bore,
Their second son and both were proud of you.
They'd migrated out from Ireland back in eighteen sixty-three
And sailed upon the good ship Beejapore.
Landing at Rockhampton harbour in the Queensland colony,
Resettling on a strange and foreign shore.
Childhood days behind you Victor you then joined the work force lad,
Assigned to a gold mining company.
In the range town of Mt Morgan you enjoyed the job you had;
A diligent and loyal employee.
You assisted the paymaster, though you left your posting when
You chose to join your countrymen at war.
For you heard the call of duty and you joined Mt Morgan men
To fight for Queen and country 'gainst the Boer.
Volunteering as a member of the gallant Q.M.I.
You proudly donned that feather in your hat.
First Contingent of B Company you waved this land good-bye,
Enrolled as British troops and went to bat.
Rebel Boers embarked on raiding farms of loyal colonists
In Griqualand west district to the north.
Counter measures were then put in place to stop these terrorists
By sending Pilcher and his column forth.
On the last day of December circa eighteen ninety-three
This force would march from Belmont heading west.
Information was forthcoming as to where the Boers could be
And Ricardo led his party which was soon put to the test.
On the first day of that New Year Victor Jones you lost your life;
They buried you at Sunnyside that eve.
Since that day the world's continued to be filled with war and strife,
So many die for what they do believe.
But the nation recognises that the first Australian
To die upon the battle field was you.
So Mt Morgan folk erected to your memory young man
A monument; the least that they could do.
In the not too distant future Victor, nations may yet see,
How precious all their young men really are.
Then refrain from sacrificing them and let the young men be,
Fine fathers to their families, not memories afar.
(A True Story)
She was only seven, this little petite Asian girl
took a trip to Canning Vale,
on a shopping spree, as a surprise.
But this day there, lingered evil
working at the local grocery store,
saw the little girl, grab her unbelievable in a crowd
to the public convenience fled.
Her brother did search in this place
but to no avail,
called out in desperation her name,
a sound from the cubicle disguised
sent him away.
The Butcher snapped her arms and legs
like a new born twig upon a tree,
then had his way,
but analyst says
she was dead before the deed,
which when interviewed disappointed him,
this bastard.
She died an agonizing death
yet he still lives, at society’s expense,
because today we are taught to tolerate
while lawyers profit to the shame of the human race.
One can imagine the sheer fear
in those final seconds of this little girl,
at the hands of the likes of the
Canning Vale Butcher.
My tears on this page as I write
I hope God are not wasted, as those for this sick society are!!
Last week in Wales
April a little girl was abducted
as yet to be found five days on,
bringing back memories of the above
in Canning Vale, Perth, W.A, Australia.
a few hundred yards from where I lived
yet I did nothing to stop this,
my excuse of not knowing
does not abide well!!!!!!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
devious mystery
cosmic energy
cosmic cosmetology and symmetry
indeed ended entering
the entrance of anything
the sinner the Sabbath
the habit death to sympathy
the clothing on finishing
its tragic and squeamish
my quickest admonishing
to thickets of honor
are closed disposed
and tailor made to be tarnished
so I spit at his targets
that are livid in misery
if its possible visiting in a maze of lava
you could see the iguana
chewing leaves of karma
but the soul living told
sold beings to larva
giving way to false teaching
preaching stay to soft leaving
even gray grows colorful
when our sound is reasoning.
A Farmhouse Vale
Mist evolves down the hillside into the vale
Where the farmhouses sit all put together
There’s no sense of wind here, there’s no bit of gale
Just one leery breeze that blends with the other
The houses confine themselves within the shade
And warmth flows there inside the chimneys conveyed
Where some sides of the buildings glisten in light
Sparkles with joy from now until the broad night
It is early morning, fires are still aglow
Burned all night with wood stored in the wicker trug
Sparks, spitting out making a huge firework show
A carefully placed guard to save the rag rug.
Mam is stirring the porridge, a lovely sight
Papa’s gone to the byre, check cows are alright
Daybreak is here, the children need to awake
Breakfast, then the long trek to school they must take
Within the boundaries so warm and cozy
The sights of any day of enlightenment
No matter day or night the valley I see
Complete, whole and surely full of contentment
Around the kitchen table they had sat this night
Mam with her sewing, Papa smiling at the sight
Children asleep tucked up in their gossamer down
In this idyllic place, the valley they call home
COLLAB. between Russell Sivey and Seren Roberts
There is a picture on Blog to show you what inspired us.
The Vessel pt. 1 - A Blighted Vale (pt 2/2)
Amongst the dead and dying trees,
A Stygian crypt of crumbling stone
A doorway opened, not with man-made keys,
But forgotten tongue from forgotten tome
This ancient ruin with obscured glyphs,
Gently brushed clean with calloused tips
Whispered words from cracked, parched lips,
Spill forth with unhindered ease—
Like oft spoken lines from cherished poem
Through parted lips, unfiltered words—
Hang heavy on the autumn breeze
An incantation, profane and absurd,
With pressed palms and soiled knees
Then, a deafening clap like thunder,
Splits bark and stone asunder,
Unblinking, her eyes transfixed with wonder
'neath the cloak of night, something stirred,
Within the smoldering debris
Amidst the rubble, a stifling plume,
Coalesced from ash and stone
Sears the throat with each breath consumed,
Seizing muscle and aching bone
Then, a much welcomed reprieve,
Unfettering her senses and lungs to breathe
As the expelled miasma slowly recedes,
And takes on an appearance that mirrors her own
From blackened debris, this Phantom figure,
Whose form and features, to her's, akin
Its visage—a reflection, not of her cold exterior,
But tempered rage contained within
Under its gaze, —a violent shiver,
Her once steady hands, —now a tremor,
Its eyes a cauldron of glowing embers—
Set ablaze with devilish grin
I pass all,
In need
Our life of speed
Adrenaline filled ride
Riding the edge
No time for fear
For I need to live
Move move over over
Swerving, Turning
Car dodging
Power in hand
Pumping
Full of blood
Looking beyond
Pushing zinging by
No time to think
Fear will destroy us
Keep moving
Run Run forward
And when I crash
If I survive
I stand again
Look for boundaries
Never fearing love
Never fearing life
Put my foot on the gas
Hope this one last
With the wind as my tail
I’m rolling past
Dry vale of tears ... color blind soil,
where poor and rich labor and toil
Souls bound by mortality’s yoke,
plans buried by a shovel stroke
Time was the fallow reaper foil
Womb roots wither, the dire worms spoil
Dry bones be pauper and royal
Fretting skies do mournfully soak
dry vale of tears
Sad thoughts of fear now famine roil,
seeds of depression sour the soil
Death was the reign that evil spoke
Dust to dust always coffin cloak
the misty pain that heartbreak boil
dry vale of tears