Long Eyrie Poems
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In my New York suburb, I’m mildly fond
Of Helvellyn Road, and Gracemere pond
But the original Helvellyn called...
Ravenglass too, even the name enthralled.
Of Lake poets, I eagerly read
And I found what Alfred Wainright once said:
[chorus]
His words echo across time’s bridge
That always there will be the lonely ridge,
the silent forest, the dancing beck
Though we have fleeting time on a cosmic speck.
Wordsworth thought the loveliest spot ever found
was near Grasmere Lake so I walked it around.
I beat the crowd to the top of Scafell Pike
Saw crags on all sides, what not to like?
Saw the Mourne mountains across the Irish sea
Snowdonia in Wales, steeped in history.
Wordsworth liked walking when mists veiled the sky,
Mists add variety, they distort, they magnify.
Hugging emerald meadows and tarns and becks
The mist lifts, to glorious backdrop effects.
I've often gone to where the grapevine led,
And I remembered what Wordsworth said:
[chorus]
One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
than all the sages can.
I'd like to be on an airy ridge, seeing far
It would be cool to climb steps up a limestone scar
then stride to a big-sky panorama
Maybe join a fell runner, in nature's drama.
Follow Wordsworth where the rugged trail led
Recite once more what the poet said:
[chorus]
A deep delight the bosom thrills
Of these fraternal hills:
On top stones like bones the earth left alone,
But on those stones lichen has grown
Colored between the rocks and sky
The Lake District kind of high.
At the foot of Saddleback, while its brow appeared
A sad purple before cloud-shadow cleared
To the left I saw the jaws of Borrowdale
On the pure lake a standing man with a windswept sail.
There’s a confession I should make
The trip to Cumbria I could not take
I could only watch videos on my PC
Experiencing the region vicariously.
I make room in my mental space
For the good times of those who visit the lakes.
I think of sunset on a ridge, a hiker’s face aglow,
And that somewhere this exists is comforting to know.
An imagined eyrie where spirits fly
And fell runners reach that Lake District high.
1. A satellite on me is so superfluous
b’cos even without it, you’ll see my flaws
my new adulthood on your eyes is a sty
as my every late night makes you pray and cry
anytime my rebellion faces your bash
my dearly connection with you seems to crash
please dad, don’t feel like my missing baluster
because of the flaunted young and new mister
every man I meet, a potential eyrie
falling for opportunists, yet not sorry.
Chorus
You want the best for me but I want fun
you know the path for me but no flowers
your love stays too tight, I want to get loose
all you see is my sky but I see Earth
I need this pause for a replay later.
2. Your restrictions make my inexperience belch
exploits from friends and media I want to fetch
my lovely journey, you want to ride and steer
my resistance means not, you are not a dear
this close adventure is said to be squishy
stay clear but tell me of anything fishy
I’m in that phase where my confidence straggles
stay with me dad but allow me to struggle
so let me out of your strong moral’s billet
or else I will turn out to be the bullet.
Chorus
You want the best for me but I want fun
you know the path for me but no flowers
your love stays too tight, I want to get loose
all you see is my sky but I see Earth
I need this pause for a replay later.
3. Boys, boys, boys, all that matter for me to quake
scary and deep but clear and warm is this lake
in the harsh weather, I have a moving fan
so that on previous happiness, please unban
you were once in this youthfulness currency
why the hypocrisy in expectancy?
I am passing through life to stay as Age’s toy
so please stop your investigative envoy
every bad mistake, your senses document
but to my heartbreaks, please be there to unguent.
Bridge
Big pa is coming, coming, coming in red
Oh lord I’m running, running, running in black
[Repeat bridge]
Chorus
You want the best for me but I want fun
you know the path for me but no flowers
your love stays too tight, I want to get loose
all you see is my sky but I see Earth
I need this pause for a replay later.
Published on the 5th of March. 2017
Tim was nineteen years old, getting ready to go to university,
His parents had organised his accommodation
A house for students, roomy, very near to outskirts of city,
His friends shared all costs, ready for their future education.
Tim went through his things at home very carefully,
Took his favourite clothes, guitar, and some trinkets,
Excitedly, finished his packing, when almost voluntarily,
A yellowish old small paper fell into his homemade biscuits.
It was an old receipt from a cobbler dated years ago, February
1959 Eloff Street Johannesburg, close to the University,
Tim threw it into his case, keen to keep this, for it was history,
The signature was his grandfathers who died last year, Fre Hitty.
But Tim and his friends for now, only thinking of girls and party times,
Tim decided to go into the city, had to buy books and stationery,
The bottle store first, beers, a party this Saturday, amongst the vines.
However, next to the store Tim saw a shop which looked rather eyrie.
There was a sign, Cobbler, arrows pointing up a dark passage and stairs,
‘Cobbler’s Place’, written at top of receipt that he pulled out of his pocket,
Yes, goodness me, this place does still exist, an old man holding two pairs
Of shoes appeared, easily almost ninety, Tim handed him the docket.
The old man took it, slowly walked to the back through a narrow door,
After a good half an hour he returned with a smile on his weathered face,
Well, if you pop in tomorrow at the same time, your shoes will be ready,
Cost of living has gone up since my youth, you must now pay more than a penny.
No problem Sir replied Tim, but amazing is that the shoes are not ready,
All the way back from 1959, seeing that your shop and your work still exist,
Yet i still have to collect them tomorrow, may i have my grandfathers Freddy's
Shoes back please, no but the old man began to say, Sir Tim said, I do insist.
Apologies to all but i left out my last four most precious meaningful lines, i have now attached them.
This is the second half, read part one before this
...This life was unlike others, not ripe, not light
We curs't them, 'stood not their mutual blight
There was a strange ambience, a UV map
of Pyrrhic love, a Stygian rapt
We could not believe it, to see it borne
Their darkness their cynic, their muse of thorns
The thorns so thick, so spiny so brutal
Their thicket so dark, impenetrable
Then two years were spent, were lost were gone
And they then stood gasping, fought out, forlorn
For a moment, a second, a damned micron
They thought it was pointless, a habit to be torn
In their eyes the glow faded and dimmed
Their embrace unclenched, they step't out for a swim
They said for a moment, that moment thus spent
"Is it not to be, my love, princess?"
"No, my heart, my life, it isn't."
Thunder failed, fires paled and banked
Storms rolled back, to join their ranks
The sun shone watery, clear, pale
We all rejoiced to see it fail
Yet when came night the dark, the cold
He stepped to their kingdom, arms out, to hold
His eyes glowed again, eager for dark eyrie
His blood tingled for her sweet evil sincer'ty
He waited but briefly, even brief too much
Two days too long even without her touch
He crashed out to find her, his life, dark love
He swept about, caught in morass, in mud
Where did she go, she left, departed
She said they were safer, alone, thus parted
The waves crashed down, destroyed the kingdom
Time smoothed the sand, waited for the new one
A drum of rain on window pane
A streak of tears, of dripping rain
A power melted, now cool, urbane
A life now gone, now leeched, now strained
A slipping sliding treach'rous lane
A fading, ripping, tearing, pain
A spectat'r watches, smiles, blames
A future deprived, no glory...
Mundane.
Municipal Bills and Elon Musk
Driving down from my eyrie, I write to sound learned while the extent of my education was as a cook in the merchant navy and often thrown ashore in mystic harbors as a fabulist
I thought since there was no proof of god's existence, regarded among the intellectuals as a pastime
Subject I still would like to know who is in charge of rainbows! I would like to know,
if he is an artist, why he used the same colors last time I checked. there were seven, perhaps a broader spectrum will live things up like a weekly show
at six o'clock
I once saw a rainbow, soaking wet, over a waterfall and was miserable, and since
it just hung there, it had no ending, and therefore lacked the promise
of economic bliss
I sent Elon an email the other day kidding him
he took offense, you see
he found the crock of gold all by himself, and now he is trying to find something worthwhile to do with his spare time, like going to Mars and saving humanity
At the bottom of that hill, I crossed a bridge beyond the land, which was sparse and dry
the few Palestinians were allowed to live in tents provided they wore traditional dress when tourists came around they were the rest of a nation stolen and the people eradicated, but the few who survived were taken good care of I had forgotten the water bill on the mantlepiece, just as well
the next war will be about water.
I gazed upon the mighty ocean waves
and gasped at their startling potent power.
Their crashing on the rugged rocks below,
it gave me pause to stop and think of Him.
Christ’s face before me gave me goodly cheer.
I watched the eagle as it soared above.
Its wondrous wings, they overspread the wind
to reach the highest mountain top eyrie.
Awestruck I never took my eyes away.
Christ’s face before me gave me inner glow.
I stared at frozen snow on mountain tops.
Its brightness all but blinding to my eyes.
In reverence I gazed at sparkling gems
that twinkled in the early morning sun.
Christ’s face before me gave me quick reward.
I witnessed suffering in city streets.
no one would stop to offer helping hand.
The sorrow, sickness, sadness arising
had me in tears for all humanity.
Christ’s face before me gave me compassion.
I walked past solemn faces in anguish.
I hoped that each soul could be comforted
and given light to guide their way to God,
moving toward Him, ease their weary souls.
Christ’s face before me gave me hopefulness.
I kneeled that night in solemn thankfulness
at seeing Christ’s face in my daily life.
I feel I’m blessed and folded to His breast.
In gratitude and praise, I call to Him.
Christ’s face before me gave me salvation.
Ode To Poets
Poets have vivid imaginations because their minds work differently.
They see things others don’t, with an understanding that goes deeper.
They bare words on paper smudged by tears of pain and laughter,
And to see one in action will set emotions fluttering into the weather.
O to be a fledgling that has outgrown the eyrie,
Flinging itself off the cliff to ride on the currents freely.
Singing from on high, and then descending into the chasm,
Or to be a sailor departing on a bark to sail the seven oceans.
Where waves of innocence splash one’s face with indulgence.
Bathing in inspired nourishment independent of performance.
And to perk one’s ears toward the grandest stage of entertainment,
And share an experience with someone dear to your resemblance.
On a platform high enough so that the world will see your presence.
“Hark!” the poet reiterates a memory to be cherished by their audience,
Who come to hear freshness in this stale world of commerce and politics.
You cannot climb a mountain without strength, but you can endeavour
Throughout the passage of time, and treasure the poets’ candor.
Heartstone Eagles
Recounted the tales
Of the battles with the Wraiths
and their piercing screeching wails
When Eagles fell...
In to the Wraiths' hell
Blackened and burned
Such brave sacrifices , learned
The wind blew
Bitter and cold
Eagles took to the air
To find the evil
The coming darkness too
Down below
Wraiths
With ripped and tattered cloaks
Poisoning the earth
With rancorous soaks
Eagles , up high
Swooped down
Feathers of gold
Gleaming in the sun
The battle ahead, begun
To take the Heartstone crowns
With talons drawn
They ripped through
So many Wraiths
Never enough Eagles
To conquer the evil
Of tattered cloaks,
burned and torn
Eagles, fell
Burned
Flashes of fire
Eagles , gone forever
In to the Wraiths' hell
It is in an Eagles' sorrow
That so many were lost
That the Heartstone Gem
The light to follow
Banished the bitter frost
In the midst of such pain
All those years ago
A new eyrie was built
Close to the Great Hall
To remember
Those fallen Eagles
Whose lives , spilt
Who will live again
In the hearts of all
Heartstone Eagles
Recounted the tales
Of the battles with the Wraiths
and their piercing screeching wails
When Eagles fell...
In to the Wraiths' hell
Blackened and burned
Such brave sacrifices , learned
The wind blew
Bitter and cold
Eagles took to the air
To find the evil
The coming darkness too
Down below
Wraiths
With ripped and tattered cloaks
Poisoning the earth
With rancorous soaks
Eagles , up high
Swooped down
Feathers of gold
Gleaming in the sun
The battle ahead, begun
To take the Heartstone crowns
With talons drawn
They ripped through
So many Wraiths
Never enough Eagles
To conquer the evil
Of tattered cloaks,
burned and torn
Eagles, fell
Burned
Flashes of fire
Eagles , gone forever
In to the Wraiths' hell
It is in an Eagles' sorrow
That so many were lost
That the Heartstone Gem
The light to follow
Banished the bitter frost
In the midst of such pain
All those years ago
A new eyrie was built
Close to the Great Hall
To remember
Those fallen Eagles
Whose lives , spilt
Who will live again
In the hearts of all
EVERY DAY IS A NEW DAY
Though in a dark crucible
Cruel fate for you.
A hearth built
And for the crow
of the cock, with
frail hope
your dawn waits.
Disheartened though
for your dreams
By a dark veil
of vagueness wreathed,
And your easterly
light, dark fate eclipsed
But never with the eyes of yesterday
into tomorrow gaze
For everyday, a new day is
The morn, a new hope it heralds.
And it’s benign ray a courage for
Conquest over cruel fate it brings.
Cloaked in sulleness
Robed in nadir
On you, eerie fate
spitefully smiles,
for a dark thorny path
To your eyrie
it carved for you.
And even for a glint of light
you grope.
And oft time into the ditch of
futility you fall though.
In your impregnable dreams
find a strength to stand
But, never stand, for behind
To look, but to ask yourself why..
For everyday, a new day is
The morn, a new hope it heralds.
And it’s benign ray a courage for
Conquest over cruel fate it brings.