Is life not written on the passing clouds
Shapeshifting rumors on an errant breeze
Tailoring the moon’s mysterious cloak
The fire and ice of an unsettled liege
Is she not a master of words that deny
The meaning of heaven and earth and goodbye
Conjuring demons to lead us astray
An unending search for the why of the why
Wet sands erase the sun’s sepia smiles
Leaving us breadcrumbs of love and despair
The flicker of longing we no longer feel
An aching that asks were we really there
Clouds have no mem’ry save moonrise and tide
And life only moments in which they abide
For The Brave
Rush quickly to me my sarcastic wit,
My heart's weak battlements are under siege;
For the world torments me as it sees fit,
Unrelenting to thee my faithful liege.
Bring sharpest of words to aid in my war,
That the loss of so piteous a life
May be reflected in its final score
To say bravery housed within was rife.
O Muses armor, truest pen to hand,
The stage is set and curtain call is nigh;
Before blood spills upon this dying land,
My words on wings must climb into the sky.
Before my words become a faded thought...
I'll shed the tear for which I've bravely fought.
tapers
glowing shimmer
making thin light intimate
dim silhouetted figures merge
love's flame consummated
July 26, 2026
Light a Pensee Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud, Sponsor
Earthen motte mounds and bailey burg
Sludge strongholds severed for siege
Norman castles cut of stone surge
Vowed vassals, the lords of liege
Round refuge tower of ashlar
Lured strums of Celtic cither
While they tend to tiers of mortar
Howling high waters hither
Gemlike blades grassy shades of green
Sailing seas beckon smartly
Hair to partly pare ployed the teen
Pirate Queen awaits Bartley
Homeland hush weave no words but mum
Forum flouters of gainsay
Dark Lady of Doona they hum
Legend of the Blacksod Bay
Fortress chieftain forges her case
Ní Grace unbowed by Bingham
Royalty rises face to face
Let them lie Ó Máille clan
Lyrate luck of her Irish pride
Aside vassal villeins sought
Herstory harmonized resides,
‘pon castles cloaked earthen motte
thou hast looked for the blest
thou shalt not haply find betwixt the Chest
thou shalt forsooth find it,in spirit hand
Merrily, merrily gently thence it Stand
Streamy screamy in thither so and
Oft the liege of timberland
Each day
its own treasure
Gifted
alone
Attached to
the moment
In liege
to the throne
Today
not tomorrow
Our key
to the gate
Unlocking
deliverance
Forever
— to wait
(Dreamsleep: February, 2026)
Visage
like a frightened owl
she gazes
into the looking glass
frozen foreboding
her lonely companion.
Shadows coil
viridescent and haunting
in the snowy canopy
of sardonic mist
where a bygone lover
moans his blood elegy
before a cuckolded liege
who brandishes
his razored lance.
Italics, seek to emphasize.
Sacrifice, thy spill.
Seer and prophet, inner eyes.
Oracle, see nil.
Happiness, thy fate is doom.
Engraved on a tomb.
Belladonna, thy full bloom.
Heart of mine? No room...
Wind, carry the sparks of fire.
Cicadas, shriek loud.
Blessed is a dark desire?
Humble thus the proud.
Union of tomorrow?
It's got to start today.
Soil, what is thy sorrow?
Whene'er I blow away.
Castle weighted down with ice?
Well, 'twill stop a siege.
Penury, plight, poison, price.
Light a match, my liege.
Wicker man, thy nick'ring mare.
Fingernails to pare.
Death arises from despair?
Bet I'll see you there.
Hair beneath a river's flow?
Warrior, you slipped.
Gold: the reason all men go!
Quahog, how you quipped!
Tympani, train thy temper.
Tomorrow, tamarisk.
Tale and talent, take the tour.
Time the torrent brisk...
Katsushige Mizuno
Is too awesome for just one lord, you know
For 15 years lived as a wanderer
Moving on from one liege to another
His father's serf once tattled on his misconduct
So he drew his sword upon the man and struck
Dad got sick of his wild displays
He swiftly sent the youth away
But neither scorn nor exile can put a hamper on his pluck
Though he at last went home and made up with dad
Who shortly died; that made him his family's head
Some people say that a rolling stone gathers no moss
But settling down and setting roots is no great loss
Doesn't a steward wait for his lord like a guard?
Even the darkest night seems to him like a day.
Isn't any thought, except that of his lord, barred?
Doors open, lamps burn. He chases his sleep away.
Do masters tell servants the time of their advent?
Master might come late. The servant still keeps awake.
If in food, drink, and sleep, the steward’s day is spent
Won't his liege end his job with an unending break?
Shouldn't, in each dealing, every servant be wise?
Could he afford to waste his time in useless fights?
Would a sincere steward be deprived of his prize?
His honour here on earth would be raised to the heights.
Master is not mere master, you said. He's your friend.
He is the one who gives you life without an end.
Conscripting my dreams
attacking my doubts
Each wish is a soldier
whose loyalty shouts
Enlisting new feelings
with hope as my guide
A liege to the future
— where time will abide
(Dreamsleep: October, 2024)
.
for mine see locked tight
az if my had no command
impelled i'm your liege
The siege began, oh so long ago,
I was not wise, nor bold, nor old
And yet they came with demon speed
To snatch us from a simple soothing life
To hold before us flames that scorched our souls
Drove us deep into our darkened keep
Alone but for the memory of light
Pondering the choices, fight or flight.
Yet we, at least the ones I’ve seen,
Have shed the darkness of such knaves
To live amid the flowers and the sun
Rejoicing in a second life begun
Beneath the shattered walls of demon’s keep
Awakened from the slumber of the siege
Standing in defiance of fear’s liege.
Everything
points to something
the many to the one
Everyone
liege to someone
with fealty’s bow restrung
Everywhere
started somewhere
whose map undrawn curates
Every song
birthed in silence
—where voices incubate
(The New Room: September, 2023)
Being self-titled
aristocrat pure
Heraldry solemn
liege a du jour
Knighted in fealty
loyalty’s throne
Crusading triumphant
—honor atoned
(Dreamsleep: July, 2023)
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