5/27/2005

Poetry

Well I don't feel up to ranting today and I need to remind myself of what it is that brought me to writing in the first place anyway, so I thought I'd throw up some more of my poetry today. The two pieces I'm posting today are ones that reflect a lot of the attitudes and feelings that I express on a daily basis here, but instead of focusing on issues they are more heart and soul centred. Enjoy. Of course, not being one to pass up a chance to plug my work, if you like them you can buy them from my store front link. I've got two published books of poems, both priced to own. Inspiration A robin’s song borne upon a morning air flutter past straining ear, the full notes throb with hints of promised beauty, mesmerizing joy. Tantalizing rainbows; refractions of spring’s first rain on budding leaves, stay nimbly beyond reach of grasping paws scampering to hold multicoloured prey. Is it possible, or desired, to pin you for display like some exotic specimen? Long targeted by courtiers of either sex, your charms are not so easily won, never will you ever commit to one alone. To have you swoon in one’s arms like a Pre Raphaelit heroine; fly away curls laid in the crock of an arm, china doll face looking back through half closed lids, would salve many an ego. But no fainting fancy you, no amount of blandishment entices you to fully expose your charms. A true burlesque queen, you proffer glimpse through feather, fans and veils, of what awaits those suitors who without success, storm your battlements. Whilst young heroes shower you with tokens of affection; praise your virtues, curse your fickleness, and pursue you loudly in the taverns and coffee bars. I have learned to patiently, graciously, await, appreciate, each casual glance and errant whisper that comes my way. new orphans We are orphans of the world. With no tribe to claim us or village for shelter, we wander the desserts of society. No god sent down plagues to frighten a pharaoh, no prophesies of hope or doom loosened fetters. Not for freedom our exodus, but exile. Each step from the womb, birth, childhood, adolescence, separated, changed and shaped us, leaving no choices. The grief of leave taking, the pain of those left behind; the incomprehension that shines from hurt eyes; accents the depths of our alienation. Out here is no faith to preach or follow, only the souls own teaching. Nor is their need for scraps passing for toils reward. Sorrow’s tears water garden that bring forth seedlings of hope which will bear the fruit of dreams and timber for foundations. The oldest of fires light our faces, warms our bodies, and ignites beacons to guide those who are to follow. Eyes the see deeper, ears that hear quicker, and tongues that speak truer. Clear notes amid dissonance: birthmarks that turn faces from the centre. Find the paths laid down, for others have gone before, make it out the wilderness to alone with all the others. hope you enjoyed cheers gypsyman

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