Short Furies Poems

a blizzard
furies of fractured vision
punctured pillows...

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A punching bag 
That silently absorbs the 
Furies of frustration...

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Rhythmic pulsation
The furies will pick them out
Sunset challenges...

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Summer's final furies
Autumn's wind chase butterflies
Fading embers renew...

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Bold furies crept unseen ~ the eve of Halloween,
and night had just begun ~ no evil left undone....

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Never
Means that nothing
Calls back the Furies loosed
By an unguarded, untamed tongue
Once out....

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cyclone of Furies

rolling twist of deadly Fates

possess, hold me not.

 

(January 21, 2011  Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved...

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I wish I had
a talking bird
to tell me 
what to do

she could ride 
really high (and miles ahead)
and show me what
to do

she could eat 
the worms beneath my feet
no Furies on me instead

then I could dream
beside the stream
and say its all in my
head

and say its all in my
head...

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MICE OF MEN

What mice
What men?
Thundering roars
Quaking earth
rocking foundations
sorry mortals
Mice of men

Glaring night
flashing light
who stands within?
To see the raging squall
as mice of men
tremble in fear
staying from sight
furies awesome might
so small outwards
with Omnipotent inner
little mice
smaller men....

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If the dark angel
rings your bell,
oftimes a simple muse
will become our hell-
If on enticement's path
the furies we chance
pur inspiration is led
a merry dance-
If time lies idle
upon our hands
and to soft whispers,we hark,
our endeavours  miss the mark

Listen close,which twin to choose
Enticement's fury or inspiration's muse...

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Spare me your pity and give me your spite,
‘tis a heartier diet for my kind of sprite.
My mothers are banshees who prey on your tears,
my sisters, the furies who feed on your fears.
The daughter of those who wail in the night,
the playmate of sirens, who in sailors delight.
In this land of faery, nightmares are formed;
my lips are the gateway, knight, be forewarned!...

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I tell myself, I won't come back!

As on a unknown highway, I now feel quite lost.

I long to find my Poetic soul.

It somehow got lost in a misty
darkness.

I miss my soul with all it's passion and furies.

Perhaps the moon, will bring it back to me with 
meteoric fashion.

For to me, I cannot pen poetry,  sans passion.



                6/13/2021...

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Twilight curls her lips shyly this foggy morning

Gone is the twinkling of her pearly white spring

Gone are the greedy songbirds herded away

Their perches now bare of whim and whimsy

Cherish your larder as does the ant who dances

Welcome warmheartedly all of Gravity's prances

He has furies of voids to fill, each moment anew

For the seeds that pull through with you, renew...

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For humans, birth comes from death
Death leads to a new life
Life good or bad, it can be

Be it savory or bitter, life has an end
An end that furies some
Some see that finish as delight

Delighted is a bird feeding on ants
Ants in turn devour a dead bird
Birds and ants need to understand

Understand the irony of life 
Life comes and goes
Life comes from death
Death generates a new life

Poem by Mugisho, N. 
...

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Admiring Jupiter

Well named for the bolt-throwing King of the gods,
Lightnings arc in blazing traceries
Beneath your seething cloak of stormclouds
Racing like Furies around your awesome girth
As you spin, fastest of planets, in pirouettes
Pulling a small cloud of worlds about you,
Commanding all smaller bodies within reach.

King of storms,
Dressed in tempests,
Magnificent and terrible -
Lucky thing for us you stopped drawing mass together;
Didn't aspire to stardom ........

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people throw stones in incomplete workshops
they oftentimes destroy the center of the foundation before it has a chance to grow
noses become storks' beaks and smirks become suspect
the sunshine becomes enamored with the furies amongst the clouds
though beautifully melodic as they sound, i can smell the soup bubbling in the pot
alphabet pasta becomes acidic aftershock
when the words are created without the proper form of thought, 
the structure of the workshops will surely crumble...

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Again I have to cross
A blank page for travel
A wide desert spread
Spaces to far away lands
Which seems even sterner
For the words to instruct
Vehicle of subtler thought
Movement for the select. 
 
 Perhaps with a magic
Hand of chance
I will take plunge
Into the inkwell
My fingers wide spread 
To write
To find hidden furies
Being born of some dread.

 With my solitude
I will come alive 
With devilish wide smile
To bail out
Into a liberation
An antiquity of versification....

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