Fair maiden with the locks of molten gold,
Whose gentle grace doth make the sun seem dim,
No earthly treasure that the heavens hold
Can match thy virtue, pure in every limb.
Thine eyes, like morning dew upon the rose,
Do awaken all my spirit with delight;
When darkness falls and all the world doth close,
Thy shining tresses guide me through the night.
Sweet lady, let my humble heart draw near,
To tender thee a vow that shall endure;
Through every changing season of the year,
My love for thee abides forever sure.
No fleeting time can fade thy radiant hair,
Nor dim the sweet perfection of thy face;
For God hath framed no creature half so fair,
Nor crowned a maiden with so bright a grace.
I’m an old maiden I must confess this
Quite happy to evade domestic bliss
I only have to do laundry for one
And had one kid one and done
Never have to check in with a hubby
Don’t fake it if not feeling lovey dovey
I have a mirror so I don’t need that
Pat on the rear when I ask if I’m fat
Never have to worry if he loves me
Not in a huge hurry for matrimony
I’ve more years behind than ahead
Grateful for time as we all will be dead
I’m a bit selfish that I don’t require
Ring and shellfish with wine by fire
I’m an old maiden and I must confess
I’m content in my life I’m truly blessed
I'm trying to find a suitable frame for
Minab's victims.
How should I choose what torments me most?
It's not enough to suffer other people's losses.
We must also live it.
The other paradigm, indifference?
A frozen word I've spilled into dustbin.
Reverence for words.
merry mistletoe maiden headed our way early this year
You are almost two months early, you poor little dear
She can stay with me my grandma said, I’ll decorate now
the maiden was excited, for grandma decorates with a wow.
For you, my lover and my friend,
this Maiden made of light green hair,
feathered fronds of fan-shaped leaves,
and fineness of its thin, dark stems.
Famed maiden-name of maidenhood
is formed in misty woodland wood.
I would you have this gift so green
I found along a rippling stream
to shade your face in summer's heat,
or place in vase with Queen Anne's Lace.
I implore,I implore the westerly gust
To take me or at least my pendowned ink
Many a time-my fingers are encrust
Traveled never so far, barely within a page's brink
In a chilling hour when the candle shines bright
And while the poor soul begins to sway
I snug a pen like a primed gallant knight-
To beguile my darling; possibly fanciful any-way
O I implore,I implore my fanciful maiden
You were,ever were to whom I indite
Gals of ink and bales of pages are laden
Untill the lantern bug took their earliest flight--
Though the countless letter I engraved
The means and will of it was never heard
Every is being trodden and depraved
In every swarty night mine visions are blurred and Interred
I was,never was the flower that sprung about
But the gloomy cloud of June;what I was merely a lout
it's a strange line we walk
what we deem comfort -
renewed perspective
makes me shudder
I willingly lay in the arms of Death
who am I when not cocooned ~
I fear I could be the emptiness
my own screams of warning
fall on deaf ears
I need this moment
this moment that will strengthen me
validate my existence
I know better than to cling -
my fingertips touch only my own
I'm grounded in my body, eyes open
both within and outside of this beautiful horror
though held in place by it
thankful -
as Death has much to do
how precious I must be to be in his hold
I listen
to
his
heart
beating
it's there ~
da dum da dum da dum
its disconnect from life, so palpable
want and rejection
the two sides of the coins
I turn over in my pocket
knowing one day
they will weigh my eyelids shut
because after all
I am the co-conspirator
of every cold embrace
In kannigaten
Resides a fair maiden.
Whenever I behold her face
I know in spring the green will resurface
The birds shall chirrup in the trees.
Bathed in the morning freshness.
The lavender of the coloured roses
Shall rent the air anew
A new birth shall be ushered in
Under nature’s glorious might
Through my glassy pictures
I behold your face
Presently a miniature I see now
Some day the real you will stand
Then will the world see Ann-Sotie
The fair maiden from Sweden
Lightning strafed
the carbon sky
with blazing spears
and monster fangs.
Deep thunder boomed
like cannon fire
and rent clouds
from dreamless rest.
The grey néphos
wept profuse
to see havens
gored.
On the bridge
a maiden cowered
her moggy cat
in tow.
Sail and mast
trembled, racked;
a bygone king
bowed to pray
tossed on waters
thrashing wild.
The tempest sighed
gagged.
Fairy-tale maiden
skipping along
love-charm laden
a kiss in her song
hair golden amber
gentle waves of glamor
a diamond glowing
‘neath sparkling stars
her legend growing
near and far
Born in a time all are at their most divided,
A young lady eventually for herself decided
To live life pursuing all religions which guided
All humans in ways in which Truth resided.
She found love first in one who is farsighted,
Yet he is shortsighted due to a strict religion.
He held a distance, so this love had ended,
He was also too lenient about his every sin.
She then went with one who is so atheistic,
Yet he often took what she did for granted.
She found his attitude became so apathetic,
So she left what once made her enchanted.
She finally found one who truly understands
What the cycles of eternity truly mean.
They see how in all lives, they held hands,
"He's just right," as he crowns her his queen.
In twilight's hush, where shadows play,
A maiden sits, in white array,
Upon the steps of ancient stone,
A temple's grandeur, all her own.
Her dark tresses cascade, like night,
Down her back, a gentle, flowing light,
Adorned with jewels, shining bright,
A headband, earrings, and a necklace's delight.
Her arms, crossed over knees so fine,
A pose of contemplation, divine,
As if lost in thought, she sits and stays,
Amidst the spires, that touch the cloudy rays.
The temple's carvings, intricate and old,
Tell tales of myths, and stories untold,
The sky above, a cloudy sea,
Adds to the serenity, of this scene, so free.
In this serene and peaceful place,
The maiden's beauty, is a work of art, a flame,
That burns, a gentle, peaceful light,
A moment captured, in the still of night.
the maiden walked into the center of future city holding a shield
protected by ancestors, spirit guides and archangel Michael
the bullets ceased for the first time in twenty-six hours
the city was still
both armies were watching
she was a sorceress of some type
whose side was she on?
both generals waited, wanting to claim her
she held the shield up to show her strength
lightning bolts flashed out toward the center of the city
Was she a devil or an angel?
The generals waited, not wanting to displease the gods
Diane, goddess of the hunt, one thought.
A mystical, magical queen thought the other.
message of ceasefire was received in both their minds that day
One maiden had ended the war.
The wind doesn’t howl here--
it warns.
Each breath drawn
is borrowed
from the bones beneath.
They told me to fear the shadow,
but never the silence that follows.
I walk where others knelt,
blade dulled,
spirit frayed,
still searching for the summit
that keeps shifting skyward.
I do not ask for light--
only the strength
to keep walking
where ghosts refuse to rest.
The name of every soul
is written line by line,
without highlights or underlining
in the leaves of pages
of the book of souls.
The stone temples built
by kings that rise to the heavens,
fall as empires fade and crumble,
when the ledger must be made.
No human god can barter with the end,
no king can forever
outrun the roll-call
for their entry in the book of souls.
Praying to the gods of nature
building towers of stone
reaching skywards to the heavens
is all to no avail.
For the same die
is cast, one for all.
With the passing of old ways
truth comes to all and sundry soon.
Etched in ink, bled from every soul,
each blot and stain
is recorded alike, one and all,
in the book of souls.
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