Putting all our effort,
Into building ourselves a fort,
Will few problems sort,
If unlocking the gate does not seem worth the effort,
When others won't come out of their fort,
Afraid to trust anyone to guard their port,
When they leave their fort
To drink our port,
And toast another good sort.
Andromedan castles
moat has little blue boats
servers are maidens joyed
white iris gardens
deep canyons
radars aimed
soft cadence
magnet minds
love balanced
Orion forts marbled
shining with platinum bands
armoured Galactics cruel
stone and steel makes head reel
bold barons
orlon vests
high pylons
canon shots
warring sons
______________________________
Long, wide, vast, high, dreadfully deep protective walls
Battlements, ramparts, bulwarks, and tower folders
Living quarters, arrow slits, gatehouses, and halls
Monstrous walls built as though with steel-alloy boulders
Water-filled deep massive moats to obstruct the foes
Bastions and merlons within majestic meadows
Forts and castles are mysteries of histories.
They are focal themes of bewildering stories.
When the turbulent times demolished my space
I built a fort to protect the inner sanctum,
created a captive cocoon of imposed isolation,
turned into a lone prisoner of my making.
When time came to travel to the sunset skyline
that defined the moments to be protected within
with the design of emotional epitome,
I was caught in the dichotomy of confusion,
whether to break the rampart or stay secluded within.
Hearing then the soliloquies of the soul
I broke the bastion of time’s siege
to travel to the citadel of your passion.
Before I walked the last mile
through the sequins of moonbeam
that knew the way to your heart,
I reached the shore of the sea of ecstasy
where counting the ebullient waves
I built the castle of quartz for you and me
to live in the fragility of dream.
It would be bedtime, and I’d rise
Risking the possibility of chastisement
By the mother who taught me, with her smiles
That my reading Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden
Every book in each collection – the Hardy Boys too
Wasn’t just a trait passed down to me, to her pleasure
It was a trait she, herself, had spread – a disease
If not verbally, then with each moment she’d spent
Turning pages, lingering amid chapters of inspired
Dreams and imaginations, wanderings
I’d come to accept as my heart’s blessing
And I’d rise, with the intent of going to my room
Where I’d keep a light beneath the quilts,
Consuming the words with a heart full of wonder,
A heart who would always see my own smiles
Reflected on pages filled with castles I’d hoped to build
Myself, and forts that found their way into my wishes
Mine is a heart filled with worlds that were not my own,
beneath the shadows of a warm quilt and sheets
who remember me… as that girl who found her home amid words
Hopes died knotted when dreams betrayed
and my spirit lay prone in my marrow.
My heart watched love fray until failed.
No muscle of emotional strength left
was even tentatively dream linked.
Now, jailed in my mind-built fortress
are desires deceptively pieced parts
that once tingled my anticipation.
Morning to night, heartbreak guards my
fort’s locked cells where starvation
gives no salvation to dark false posing.
For years, I fell atop love bruising gravel
yet I stayed glitter and tackle saddled
seeking soulmate love on the horizons.
All love I thought breathed genuine
was paradise deception had spliced.
For true love, I would have lived in a cabin,
dressed daily in inexpensive flannel
and felt no jealousy for those living
adorned in silk and loving in a castle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
we built them in closets with worn out bed sheets
and couch cushions heavy as boulders.
the flashlight’s beam cut through the dark,
a knight's sword, our citadel against bedtime.
the carpet was moat-water,
broomsticks and mops our armored steeds.
We drew maps on pizza box lids—
Here Be Dragons in red crayon,
Mom's vacuum sketched as a sea monster
with fangs of dust.
there were no stone towers, just laundry-basket turrets
and battlements of stacked books where
discarded milk crates became our thrones.
we knew the magic: how a blanket draped just so
could turn December drafts into mountain winds~
they stood until Monday, these cardboard kingdoms—
until recycling bins swallowed the ramparts whole,
leaving only carpet dents where dragons breathed.
And us—we still smelt of marker ink and dust already
scanning the garage for next Saturday's unconquered country.
Boys Forts
The boys would climb up,
taking toys and making noise,
into the tall trees.
Wearing funny hats,
yelling~ were their pants on fire?
we did laugh at them.
Girls Castles
Dining room table,
with long lace cloth was our spot,
under on the floor.
Dolls were everywhere,
tea and cookies were a treat,
we were princesses.
Your heart is a fort
mine is a castle,
the ramparts of each
are unassailable.
Send in your dragon,
I'll send in my knight,
what will prevail
the armor or fire?
The fire
of your heart
melts the armor
of mine.
The fort
and the castle
entwine and become
a kingdom of love.
Let us go my friend
into the white, soft pillows of snow
that sits undisturbed in the yard.
I'll grab the shovels
and you grab the buckets my friend
and we shall build a snow fort,
that'd be the envy of the neighborhood.
Let's go my friend,
I'll build the walls,
you build the towers,
and we shall put the flag up together.
Come now,
go here and I'll go here.
Make snowballs the size of our hearts,
and I'll storm the fort,
and you shall protect it.
Come now my friend,
if I shall win,
then this little snow fort,
shall become a snow fort of love.
.2.13.2014.
ottaman empire
armenian genocide
with pride,tradition
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