Secrets hidden in the sands
known only to the tiny crab
or starfish wandering idly by
as waves collect the ancient treasures
send past truths drawing ever, nigh.
Sand Dollars glisten in amber glow,
as murex and cowries roll amid waves;
of the all the things the beach collects,
amid all shells, the conchs resonate
their waving echoes, seas story treasures.
Wouldst thou for me an air
upon thy tortoise lyre
play, and sing those words so fair
about the Isle of Tyre?
Within whose walls so grand,
there at bazaar would be
hangings made by weaver's hand,
and colored from the sea.
And ships of cedar made,
all crewed by seamen bold,
sailed to shores afar, to trade
for silk and spice and gold.
Consoled by sweet refrain,
I dwell in dreams of Tyre--
going home will e'er remain
my unfulfilled desire.
_______________
The ancient Phoenician city-state of Tyre, an island off the southern coast of Lebanon, was famous for its production of the prized Tyrian purple dye derived from the murex snails found in its waters. --WW
© 2018 Wayne Wysocki
if i am to be vacant of companionship and communion with you
then all has been my own dream. i have dreamed of a field
spread-loved by graceful golden wheat and you, the wind
which caressed a life-war torn spirit; trembling hands.
my own as-had as dreams as worn as ancient book bindings
~ lost within the smolders of everywhere.
was youth easy when anchors were drawn upon the bow
and all waves were frolicked star crests upon our arms?
picking up the discarded shells of the battle front-life
a patch of beach-white untouched by strife; i picked up
a pitted murex and placed it next to my heart.
:: 04-08-2017 ::
Royalty, it brings to mind
A flowing robe; the regal kind
Or lent when it’s draped upon the cross
A symbol of impending loss
Or a song about a “people eater”
Done in 1950’s meter
Or when you’re mixing red and blue
This color then comes shining through
In ancient times you’d squeeze a pail
Of the spiny dye-murex snail
The mucus from these gastropods
Dyed the clothes of demigods
Prince (you know that’s not his name)
Sang about this color rain
If you want a rhyme, my only tip
“The small of the waist before the flare of the hip”
Now I could go on with hint after hint
But by now you should know this color tint
Purple/ for Nette Onclaud’s Color My Word/ by Mike Dailey
2nd place finish in contest
In a far distant galaxy
Many, many miles from earth
There is a planet called Fortrex
It lies barren and hurt
The race are called Zodians
With their animal type murex
And a hideous beast
Of which they call a vodex
An intergalactical war
That we could never imagine
Ripped a race apart
Survivors left to begin
In beaten retreat
Their battered souls
March in scatter
Victims of wars goal
To their mountains they head
As they look to regroup
This proud ancient race
In battle scarred stoop
This scene all reminds us
Of histories past
Dunkirk in Europe
Through the waters they marched
A Germany beaten
As their troops march home
Many never made it
Like us, many will roam
If we moved to the next Galaxy
Made a quadrant our home
Would we be safe forever
Or forever comb
Until that time
We will live in our hills
For how long we will be safe
Before more blood spills
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-4.php
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