John William Waterhouse
His Ophelia* not his spouse
but was Esther an artist in her day
exhibiting also at the R&A
Categories:
xlviii, art,
Form: Ekphrasis
Today, I start my long travel at dawn,
the sun shines, the birds sing, the morning chills,
it is time, right now, to show my great skills
while the delicate mist covers the lawn.
I have learnt the past is a mirror fume,
in this cruel life, there is no time to mourn,
the language of love and faith must be borne,
I hold my knowledge, my life I resume.
In my head, there is no place for this doom,
I have the strength to begin my journey,
blessed my mind has received your wise mercy,
my blest soul will resist the profound gloom.
As if I were with you, I have to smile,
I must accept my face cannot be drawn,
I fly with the elegance of a swan,
I have to return from this grim exile.
From the side of my heart, I vanish this thorn,
when you say my name, I rise from the tomb,
I had the grace to kiss your sacred womb,
this day, thanks to your love, I am reborn!
"Poetry of Belle Times"
Categories:
xlviii, emotions, gothic, i love
Form: Rhyme
*Reserata Carcerem XLVIII*
Sate jolting jungle 'n enclosed pen;
nosy nature's yawn gulped 'n' reeled rents,
bruised business time leases sucked spells -
apt alakazam writ ñ lone's breast.
Yore, Poseidon 'ter t' Ithaca,
skipped ñ Leviathan t' Rome's border
'n' anon t' th' jolting jungle fastened.
Ho! Rusty retina was moistened;
a haggard nymph ñ feeble fig sate -
sumptuous swell 'f breast, foiled fabrics trailed.
'wards felon fruit peered th' taunting ****,
'n' Poseidon, pious, rustic rage licked.
Hither thithered h' th' jolting jungle
'f which ere sewn sage's muse scribbled.
'20:07:17:13:22
Note:
a) of plagued pride.
b) Written apace with Middle English lexis:
i) Sate - sat
ii) Writ - written
iii) Lone - (of place) solitary
iv) Yore - long ago
v) Anon - Immediately
vi) Hither/thither - from here/to there
c) The following are used with no syllabic consequences:
i) 'n - in
ii) 'n' - and
iii) ñ - on
iv) 'ter - after
v) t' - to
vi) th' - the
vii) 'wards - towards
viii) 'f - of
Categories:
xlviii, anger,
Form: Sonnet
P,
A little wine and a curious mind
go a long long way
the words can take you only so far
dig deep, deep, deep, deep
into the wishing wells
and the reflections in the bathroom mirrors
in the kindling next to a bottle
you said
"the bush fires are a little more intense"
retreating to the den
our iniquity revealed
and f'd over
again and again and again
it's the touch that matters
skin and bone with faith of mind
we grind
into each other
free falling or is it soaring
away from it all
into the creases of life
climbing the mountainous peaks
I peek, the gorgeousness of your eyes
your lips, pecking back at me
I see the unseen, your ladled mystery
beneath the clothes
making history
the world spins and we look for direction
go north, or is it west
just whisper
and I will carry you home
Categories:
xlviii, love,
Form: Romanticism
You,
Veiled in the mysteries of light
black cutting off the white
unmasked in the cotillion
of life
no debutanted call
you said left, I was right
patience holding close
an eerie songless night
but the melody played for hours
in the breeze, the gentle tease
and the tide
washing upon the night
in wrinkled sheets
you the nun, I the knight
if only for tonight
I will be with you
in grave and in height
stripping of the shroud
soaring up the stares
abreast
undressed
spotted eyes owl in wonder
halos glow at midnight
transfixed, we merge
and emerge
breathing/gasping/grasping
chocked but contented
fully fulfilled
as air fills your lungs
gorgeous as that may be
Categories:
xlviii, love,
Form: Romanticism
I wish I knew the reason why
An X, L, V and I, I, I
Is how one can identify
Which Super Bowl this is.
Though Roman numerals I hate,
Without them, one could not equate
Those letters with game 48 -
It’s almost like a quiz.
I wonder who decided that
The Roman way is where it’s at;
It had to be a bureaucrat
Or mathematics whiz.
So every year I rack my brain
In hopes that yes, I did retain
Those skills to let me ascertain
Which Super Sunday ‘tis.
Categories:
xlviii, football,
Form: Rhyme