As mentioned in the previous post, this entry will consist of old work I found in various boxes, bins, and closets. Some of the work could not be posted because of format (EX: drawings), and some of it was just too bad to see the light of day. Everything you do see, though, is completely unedited. You've been warned.
3 Small Poems From A Paper Table Cloth, Undated
The movement of time is but a stream
Ebbing forward at its own steady pace
Leaving mankind to his own lucid dreams
Lovingly sewn by the creator's lace
---
Live is a web in which all men are caught
For who can refute the passing of time?
The soul, and mind, and body are pulled taught (should be taut);
As all sing alone with the watcher's rhyme.
---
On the long path, you can never go back
An inward glance is all you can afford
Before you are swept away by your track
And each memory is carefully stored.
Retrospective Comments - These are interesting because they were done at dinner a few years ago. There was a paper table cloth, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to write something interesting. I don't remember if it devolved into a "poetry contest," with my dad, but I suppose these are interesting enough to merit posting them.
Angels And Demons, Undated
Angels and demons waltz their petty dance
Waving the black banner of destruction
For as the sword and shield they romance
In love and power, there is seduction.
Beware the demon, cursed wings of black
Cloaked in darkness and tattooes of red ink
Your misconceptions happily attacked -
Even if from the shinning truth you slink.
Hark! The angel from the heavens descends
A glistening star to outshine the sun
How much on the demon does he depend?
One without the other is simply none
Who can discern darkness without the light?
Who's hand will you take in marriage tonight?
Retrospective Comments - I didn't count the syllables, but this appears to have the form of a sonnet. I seems consistent with a theme I've been fond of over the years: a question of who is good, who is evil, and who you can trust. If I were to write this sonnet again, I probably wouldn't use the word marriage at the end. I'd like to think my writing style has evolved and matured over the years. (Failing that, I think it's become a little more conscientious of word choice.)
From Sunrise To Sunset, Undated
It is a new day; the sun is reborn
Yawning, pusing away the sleepy stars
The watcher blows the celestial horn
Resonating even to lands afar
But soon the morning gives way to mid-day
And in the heat of the sun we toil
For every little bill we must pay
The sun presses on, forever loyal
Pray for absolution as the sun sets
And the coming judgement of the twilight
Forget not your sins, for get not your debts
As the sun fights setting with failing might
For now the light must give into the night
And over this world the sun looses (should be loses) sight
Retrospective Commentary - I see what I was trying to do with this one. I was trying to portray the human "experience," as passing times of day. After re-reading this one, I think the imagery and language was a little inconsistent. I had a good laugh at the fact that I was still having trouble telling the difference between, "looses" and "loses" at this point in my life. I know the difference now, but it's just one of those little quirks I had back then.
Untitled Three Part Poem, Undated
Soon comes the time of reckoning
Sun lost under a cloud of ash
And with the apocalypse beckoning
Man, woman, child: dawn your mask
Some smile under the demon's gaze
Grandeur reduced to dust
Eyes deceived by a hellish haze
Caught in a web of distrust
Arise, erect the monolith of the foul
Sanguine eyes to mesmerize
Upon each face a tormented scowl
And false words to hpnotize
Lash the lands with thirsty fires
A prophet's glare upon us all
And upon a crux of dam'ned liars
Soon, soon we all shall fall
A plain once golden, soiled
A blood-soaked premonition
The fate over which we toiled
Send down the path of perdition
---
But what of the end
Of the storm of souls?
As we, our purity rend
And the reaper takes his toll
When fire be quenched
And the dust made rise
In ash, still drenched
Come forth inhuman cries
Demons under moonlight
Find unwilling prey
There is no chance to fight
In the Scarlet Plays
Limbs, eyes, hearts be free
To dance among the air
Pleasure is as pleasure be
Easily ensnared
And as the souls are collected
Cursed, craven, consumed
From safe-haven rejected
Can we never be exhumed?
---
Let them sing our ill-fated dirge
For we yet have the light
In passion and purity's surge
Cast off the endless night!
Angels' song and angels' steel
Descending from the sky
Bet even as the demons reel
Angels too must die
In time the world is purified
Wounded angels' work complete
Hell on earth rectified
So humanity may repeat
Retrospective Comments - I'm not sure exactly what to say about this one. I think there are some interesting ideas and images, but on the whole I didn't reconnect with it after a re-read. All in all, I think this is a concept worth revisiting. I'm not sure, however, that this poem is worth revising.
After looking at the preview of this post, it would seem as though it is a little bit on the long side. That, of course, can only mean one thing - time for a part 3!
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