Long Scarcely Poems
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A verse retelling of the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. I based this verse on the story told in Bullfinch’s Mythology (1959).
Gather 'round now and hear while I retell
One of the greatest stories told of love
About a man named Orpheus, whose skill
With the lyre could melt the hardest of hearts
Of beings both mortal and immortal,
Soothed the beasts that roamed the woods, plains, hills
And even the plants from the lowly shrub
To the stateliest of trees stood entranced,
Whenever he passed and his music played.
Joined to Eurydice in nuptial bliss,
Tragedy struck not long after they’d wed
As Eurydice, loyal to her vows,
Fled from Aristaeus' unwanted arms,
Stepped on a serpent that in turn did bite
Her exposed foot causing her to expire,
Plunging Orpheus in bottomless grief.
What would you do if the woman you loved
Were taken away from your home and hearth,
She whose life with yours was so intertwined
That to live without her was worse than death?
So Orpheus dared go where no man could
To bring back his beloved, he embarked
To the Nether regions where Hades reigned
With Proserpine in eternal night.
He caused such strains that moved the king and queen
To free Eurydice from her confines
And with her husband go without delay
Back to the world where there was night and day.
What happy reunion it must have been
To happen in the most unlikely place
That never witnessed joy nor happiness!
With longing hearts that they would soon unite
Wife walked behind husband towards the light,
But Eurydice had scarcely stepped out
When Orpheus, overcome with desire
To behold his beloved's face once more,
Looked over his shoulder only to find
His wife held back by the cavernous mouth!
For he forgot the bargain he had made
With Hades, who released Eurydice
On condition that Orpheus must not
Glance at his wife until the two of them
Were completely out of the Netherworld.
Thus ended one man's quest born out of love
Who defied nature's laws just for the sake
Of the woman he loved, and did succeed
In freeing her from death's clasp but only
To lose her again for eternity.
Among 3rd Place, Myth & Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Vanya Evangeline
Verse 1
Epitaph for a Shy Guy
He spoke in secrets ,shadows said so sweet,
A murmur,muted,on the main street.
His silence screamed a story,softly,slow,
A secret sparkle scarcely seen to glow.
The quietest voice was quote,we carefully
quote it still,
His peaceful presence,a perfect,peaceful
perfect pill.
Verse 2.
Epitaph for the Baadjievanger (1)
He snared,the swift,sly,silver-tongued
salesman,
Who wove his webs, winning with wit,when
the world began.
His dreams were a dream, a dazzling dreadful
disaster,
He caught all the cash,moving closer,then
faster.
The final fool fell for fate's false flatter,
His promises proven dust, do they even
matter?
Baadjievanger-A hanger-on,a scammer,opportunist, trickster
Verse 3.
Epitaph for the king of Bling
Here lies a life lined with lovers and
loudness,
A silver sky sparkling several sounds of
stunning soundness.
He wore gold gleaming,his soul's silver song,
But glitter's gone,grandeur's gone,a glimmer
gone gone.
The final flash has faded,a silent, sober
state so swift,
His most mighty magnificence,a memory's
miserable myth.
Verse 4.
Epitaph For the Great Tycoon
A power prince,he piled profits past
the planet's peak,
He bought bank buildings and a billion
bank notes for a break,.
His grip on gold,greatest of governments,
gloomed so grand,
But all his stocks and shares now sleep
beneath the same sand.
He made millions and a mountain of material
money,
Yet mortal making means memory's most
melancholy morning.
Verse 5
Epitaph for a gangster
Here lies a life lived fast and loud,
A silent shadow in the subway street crowd.
His guns are silent,glory's grave,
A kingpin's kingdom nothing could save.
The darkest deeds now dust and dream,
only the diamond death did secretly seam.
Verse 6
Epitaph for a Drunkard
He drank the day,he drained the darkest
dram,
A storm of spirits, slurring slam,
He found his freedom in the fluid flow,
His journey's joke, the bottle's bitter
blow.
The final bar is closed,the tab is settled low,
He's now not near the nectar nor the glass's
glow
They suddenly barged in their tanks and trucks
Covered in various armaments of war.
Their vehicles droned, piercing the silence,
Cutting deep wounds in that fertile land,
And desecrating the once sacred ground.
Rockets flew like meteors across the skies;
Bullets sprayed from the barrels of the guns.
Some found their mark, but some strayed from their path,
Leveling all that within their reach stood
While fire, smoke, and dust turned day into night.
The cries of the wounded were all but drowned
By mortars and missiles that hissed above,
Spitting out deadly incendiaries,
Causing grand monuments to come tumbling down
And the once fruitful fields to vomit ash.
Scarcely had the blood of the slain been dried,
More bodies fell to fertilize the soil;
Some were washed, dressed, and decently buried,
But some were left to rot in shallow graves--
Unknown, unclaimed, and, oh, unmourned.
Innocent souls were expelled from their homes--
Only sanctuaries they had ever known.
Clutching the remnants of their former lives,
Forced to be crammed in dingy undergrounds,
They lived each day in constant fear of death.
Oh, how ghastly the scene that war had wrought!
How heartless must be he who does not weep
To witness such bloodshed and suffering
Of a people who just want to make a stand
And live safe and free in their borderland*!
*The name “Ukraine” likely comes from an old Slavic term for “borderland.”
March 23, 2023
When dusk sets in
And darkness takes hold;
When night winds howl
And it starts to get cold,
That's when the crows fly by.
When the moon creeps up,
And casts ominous shades
Of silver-struck shadows
Over deep forest glades,
Under darkness, the crows fly by.
The bell tolls midnight
And time stands still;
You hear scarcely a sound
But for Whippoorwills,
That's when the crows fly by.
Through swathes of mist
A graveyard lies;
Grim and forboding,
Under pitch-black skies,
That's where the crows fly by.
Footsteps ahead,
You quickly hide
Behind a grave,
Safe out of sight.
Quietly, the crows fly by.
A mysterious man
-Who's dressed like a tramp-
Shuffles right by
With a shovel and lamp,
Overhead, the crows fly by.
You watch in horror
As he stops by a grave;
He sets down his lamp
And starts digging away.
Watching, the crows fly by
After awhile he stops,
And shambles off;
It takes a few minutes
To collect your thoughts,
Cawing, the crows fly by.
Curiosity gets the better,
And the coast looks clear;
You sneak to the grave
And in you peer,
Circling, the crows fly by.
An empty hole
Is all you see;
You wonder what
The purpose could be,
Meanwhile, the crows fly by.
Looking up,
You gasp in shock-
Your name on a tombstone,
Outlined in chalk,
Around you, the crows fly by.
Paralyzed with terror,
In both body and mind;
Too late you hear
The footsteps behind,
Noisily, the crows fly by.
A push, and you fall,
Deep down below;
Stunned, bewildered,
And with no place to go.
Above, the crows fly by.
Dirt starts flying
And your vision fades,
As you are buried alive
In your very own grave.
But still, the crows fly by.
When Spring’s first touch is gently set
with Winter now scarcely a threat,
implore the ocean breezes spray
all cares and troubles far away.
With sweet caress of warmer days
and softness in the sunny haze,
carry me to pastoral thoughts
of my favorite nature spots.
Where flowers kiss the breeze that blows
and young ones run, too spry to pose,
transport me to refreshing moods,
where nature's calm, no one intrudes.
Such peace brushes my soul out here!
I lie still as Tender Hands steer
my notions to emotions pleased
and comfort me, turmoils are eased.
When Spring’s first touch is gently set
with Winter now scarcely a threat,
implore the ocean breezes spray
all cares and troubles far away.
With sweet caress of warmer days
and softness in the sunny haze,
carry me to pastoral thoughts
of my favorite nature spots.
Where flowers kiss the breeze that blows
and young ones run, too spry to pose,
transport me to refreshing moods,
where nature's calm, no one intrudes.
Such peace brushes my soul out here!
I lie still as Tender Hands steer
my notions to emotions pleased
and comfort me, turmoils are eased.
Form: Rhyme (8 syllables)
30th March 2023
Unfilmed amid a progressive era
many aspects of biography, are now taken for granted
Whether it’s the ascending or settling of the Sun
or simply the manner in which our food gets planted
In this evolving hour of technology
appropriate pleasantries are easy to overlook
A list of many now rely on internet and social media
scarcely ever cracking open a book
Time accepts indisputable revisions
our archaic methods will soon be lost
Rapid evolution of human civilization
will always render an exhaustive cost
Our workmanship and pride
slowly give way to the modern token
Be mindful of how you live and gain
so our children’s future is not left broken
August 21, 2020
*Image of Mom Playing the Organ by My Family Pics.
Songstress Sings Songs
The Doxology chorus though widely sung owns a verse that
accompanies, although, beyond seasons past, ought of considerable
length be, my wholly FAVE song remained scarcely practiced by the
Christian congregations, albeit, my mother, a gospel composer,
having written many testaments accommodated songs citing
directly from the holy scriptures and being a multi-talented
player of musical instruments, such as; accordionist, pianist,
organist, guitarist, drummer, and ukelele extraordinaire, enriched
her abilities to create a fanfare of adored admirers long after her
passing. Sobeit, a tribute to my mother and her once upon a time,
kids of our former church who have perpetuated her visions in song
as grown adults.
His Name Is Jesus
"There's a name you can call when you're in trouble,
There's a name you can call when you're alone,
There's a name full of Grace,
There's a name to be praised,
There's a name you can call every day,
Je-sus,
Je-sus,
A name you can call every day,
There's a name full of Grace,
There's a name to be praised,
There's a name you can call every day."
*From a mom with Aloha...
2020 August 15
*1st Place*
A spiritual wisdom download
~~Unseeking Seeker: Judged 2023 January 16
In the back streets of my mind,
tears surge as I revisit a page.
My mind clears, I recollect the rage,
the undreamed depths of hope caught frozen,
ceaseless love, a soul that's broken.
In the back streets of my mind;
can you die of a broken heart?
Adieu, had not been intended for our breath.
Swells of tears flow hot down promise path.
Ought, slumber be peaceful?
My soul burst with your absence.
In the back streets of my mind;
can you die of a broken heart?
Waves rush in and around, in the back streets of my mind
in a wakeful dream as I hear the wind scarcely defined.
9/26/2019
Shh, surrender silent sorrows.
Subconsciously slip into stillness,
sedately surrounded in serenity's song.
Slumber satisfied, slithering softly between
silky soap scented sanitized sheets.
Soak up summaries of summers spent splashing at
seashores, sandles sifting through salt scented sand,
as sapphire skies shine splendidly.
Scores of silver seagulls soar stunningly
above saltwater seaweed scenery.
Suddenly snorkeling with seahorses,
you somehow become the studied subject.
Swimming in submarine schools, scarcely secluded,
you become someone's significant someone.
Spryly spinning synchronously side by side
someone special, sprinkled in sentimentality,
speaking shrouded sounds,
you shift seamlessly into sound sleep.
"Speak some sense slower," some seahorse shrieks.
Sensibly speak shrouded sounds slower, softer,
so she can sleep sometime soon.
2/9/2020