From shadowed glens, where legends sleep,
Three figures rise, secrets to keep.
The Morrigan, a raven's wing,
Drawn to the clash, the death-song sang.
Of war, of fate, a chilling hand,
To claim the fallen, rule the land.
She shifts and weaves, a queen of might,
Her sovereignty in the darkest night.
The Banshee wails, a mournful cry,
A prophecy beneath the sky.
For family's blood, a thread undone,
Her keening echoes, day is done.
A spirit bound to mortal ties,
Her sorrow paints the weeping skies.
The Pooka runs, a shifting shade,
A trickster's jest, a game is played.
A horse of ebony, swift and bold,
He leads astray, tales to be told.
A playful spirit, wild and free,
He dances on the edge of glee.
From ancient roots, their power springs,
The Morrigan, the Banshee, Pooka brings,
A touch of magic, old and deep,
Where shadows stir and secrets sleep.
Guardians of lore, through misty air,
Whispers of Ireland.
Blooming flower in Spring's light,
Petals blooming without fright.
Wandering breezes yet to grow,
Still moving ever slow.
Sunshine touching the skin,
Light finding the areas within.
Sweet fragrance of Morning's dew,
How can I ever forget the scent of you?
Your thorny Rose draws blood,
An emotional sky lets loose a flood.
Tears from the clouds to help you grow,
Your roots hushing the rivers full of Roe.
Awaken pretty flower to the Sun's light,
Soak in the warmth after the Moon's light.
All the darkness from the Night's cold,
Turns the forthcoming dawn's brilliant light into gold.
When the clouds’ part and the sun does rise,
A glimmer of hope felt for my treasured prize.
Vast above the sky shimmers blue,
Forever in search for a heart pure and true.
Over rolling hills, farms and babbling brooks,
Through glimmering eyes and dazzling looks.
To the horizon they dream and leer,
Forever trapped in what is ever so near.
So far from the feathers of my soft, warm bed,
Nothing but the hard ground to comfort my head.
The big expanse of the night’s sky,
Shows the tears from love’s lost eye.
How I miss my home and Mate,
Every day I wish for Yesterday’s forgotten Fate.
The sun does beam
Over many a quick stream
That run into valleys flourishing with floral
Where the wind howls with seemingly no morals
It lashes out it's rage against swaying, tall trees
High doe they stand, and far doe they see
Rain falls light
Unless cursed with the winds' might
But on hot, Summers' eves
Does the wind blow little but leaves
Cooling and soothing
Still ever moving
Far is it's reach
From hill top to sandy beach
Carrying birds to and frow
Ever discouraging the hunters' bow
It is a thing of love, and a thing of hate
In any matter it is a thing of great debate
The air it fills
But never as greatly as the valleys' windy hills
Over lush green mounds
Did stand many thriving towns
They did spread over vast azure pools
With help from shipbuilders' mighty tools
And mighty were the first to land on those shores
Valiant are they now in myth and lores
Strong were those who weilded weapons in battle
Stronger yet were those content with land and cattle
Amongst the trees so dark and tall
Were many bountiful victory feasts held in Fall
Many were the men who took comfort in the splendor of wine
And many more who took kindly to women most divine
But less yet took wonder to the riches of gold
These men were bestowed upon as kings mighty and bold
Great kingdoms did they build to abide
With many steers to raise and ride
Above in the heavens have many lights shone
As they still do though those times are gone
Dear tenants, as you toil and strive,
Remember that God is on your side.
Take heart, for your work is not in vain,
The blessings will come, through the pain.
Though it's hard, to pay your rent,
Respect your landlord, pay it on time.
And then you'll see, your life improve,
As you reap the blessings you deserve.
So take care of your rent, like it's for u,
And the blessing will come, it's true.
Trust in God, and do what is right,
And you'll find joy, through the night.
With this advice, I'll sign off now,
But remember, there's a brighter day.
When little kids ask for stories
Regale them of our lore and its glories.
Listening with rapt notice
Tales of champions and menaces.
One and all exclaim with awe
Hearing about our Gods.
They don't die
Live within us and fly.
Burn like a phoenix
Survive with their tactics.
Look beyond the veil
When the fiercest quail.
Never lose their light
Even in the darkest of nights.
With a love so perfect
They attack and protect.
For the ones they care
Their souls laid bare.
Honor their word with pride
Till their last glide.
So hush, my child
Heed the noble and wild.
As all princes and peasants
knelt before our legends.
Shadows play upon my skin,
ebbing, waning, flowing
from their gain,
their touch leaves a shiver
from the fanged release of sin,
a shudder down my spine,
a reminder of the unknown,
thoughts; did I let them in?
So do I welcome the shadows,
as they linger and fade,
leave a residue calling
card for their Empress shade.
I’ve hated myself and gated my true self/
Tired I waited for health basics to shelve/
Take care of yourself during young ages to delve
Shake bare sore urges yearning numb phases to evolve/
Intake of a rare lore emerges /
In wake of we’re to lure resurgence /
I think not as they’ll plea what they have to plead to move along/
Most certainly a uniquely freed seed of his own breed to sooth strong/
Host a sneak peek of belief for the creed through deeds to behoove long/
Sordid and oblique with the technique nothing meek to seat a sleek antique/
Sure didn’t complete the metaphor for the mega Thor to wreak on the sheet/
A meteor upheave is seen as way more meatear to read the meter/
Catching a gear clutching the brake lever I steer near to see you sear/
Hatching as the overseer or instructor if you peer I have the hymn structure to adhere/
To trace again the feats of men from yore,
With risky voyages to foreign shore,
That thought them facts they did not know before,
latent lands and vast blues they dared explore.
Their adventures opened the knowledge door,
Of cultures and customs, by peace or war.
While their exploits are written in folklore
Their spirits walk with us forevermore
As through legend ancestors passed on lore
11.09.2022
9 lines – 10 syllables per line – 65 words
Contest: Monomixorhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Hilo Poet
Have you heard
Of Thomas
The Rhymer
It is told
that I sprang
from his loins
Many years
Long
gone past
Yet the tales
That last
Are often quietly purloined
The story goes
He disappeared
To consort with the elfin queen
He returned
By and by
Telling this lie to any who thought it keen
Maybe he stayed
To long in
His cups to go home in disgrace
Of the dreaded din
And the rolling pin
He knew he'd surely face
So he stayed away
And worked
On his Rhymes
Till they rolled
As a river
In spring
And marched
back home
tail in the air this mythical bit to sing
Honey I was
held prisoner
By a power I couldn't prevail
She granted this
gift as she sent me away
If I promised that I would not tell
The way to
And means of her kingdom
A treasure you would not believe
When I left I'm certain
It broke her heart for
She wore it displayed on her sleeve
You my Darling Darlin
Are my very soul
Reason to live
After all this time
I convinced her
No greater wealth could she give
I know he lived
To procreate
So she killed him not on the spot
So I really should
Thank Thomas and wife
For this affliction I've got
My Irish grandma said:
that an injured Golden Eagle
had once landed in her potato field.
Grandpa ran up to it
and killed it with a pitchfork.
In those days,
all first responders killed.
My Irish grandma said:
That an injured Golden Eagle
had once landed in her potato field.
Grandpa ran up to it
and killed it with a pitchfork.
In those days,
all first responders killed
like that.
Haggis hype
Bagpipes bleating like unshorn sheep
Tartan theatrical - military tatoos
Scotland cloning Dolly the Sheep
National pride - Robbie Burns, poet, bard of Auld Lang Syne
Highlands of ancient rocks, rift vallies
natural beauty, layers of worth
Loch Ness, geologic scooped, water serene
Nessie settled in depths, unseen
sonar detection elusive
marine monster of geeky charm
conjured in gift shop puffery
Nessie hat, Dragon like, tucked above protruding ears
In Edinburgh's historic streets
Whiskey fed men, burly, bearded
strut
wrapped in kilts
traditional garb
plaid, pleated, blessed, dressed
in woolen scratchiness (avoid a public itch)
Breezy kilts wrap manly legs menaced by
thigh high thistles
Scottish reach prickly
No matter
Scots men, image strong
(ignore the thistles and street whistles)
brimming swagger like malt liquor
skirting scavengers in exploration peaks
men in kilts (minimalism denied)
protectors of the realm
unafraid
to let it all hang out
Poem composed: March 10, 2021
What days make st me
In light of tommorrow what then
Does night bring
Families are never loved
Relationsps are anointed
Trouble is what
The night brings
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