reguiny2006 Poetry (108)

Menhirs here, stand erect like obelisks of fire,
evoking immortality of man's prehistoric desire,
rising proud conveying faith's silent devotion,
in stately awe, everlasting as the ocean,
Thus, amid Carnac's antique landscape's scene,
listened I, to time's long forgotten paean
relate ancient stories, its well spun tale
of captive lyrics, e'er weave woven magical,
lilting soft the voice, its powered store
ply, hypnotic mists that floating soar
in graceful waves to kiss high elysian heaven,
lingering long as twilight's embroidered even'
of star freckled fire erupting sky,
captures sweet the faith by ear and eye,
rising here in all its historic scenery,
nestle the lowland plains of noble Brittany,
time etched, secluded in unfathomable antiquity,
wave vapourous washed by climate changing sea,
yet, still honoured bright, erect and still,
breathes immortal breath's unmolested thrill,
a monument of time in stone unquivering line
through proud radiant centuries, here recline,
'gainst winds, rains, winter's flood e'er rude,
conquer time's harsh odds, stands man's tribute.

Sad Alas! found wanting for a caring God,
in trenches there, cold, wet and drear
amid the mud drenched waring sod,
the slopes of death, hovered unknown to care,

Impotent artillery extinguished breath of many
amid the alarms of man mad wanton battle,
whose measured worth, but a copper penny,
'twas just but numbers, like slaughtered cattle,

cursive be, proud inventors of this sullen war,
whence, indiscriminate carnage tore limb from limb,
as comatose he stood amid the thunderous roar,
no longer could he let the rifle speak for him,

transfixed, stood with expressions vacant stare,
for one moment brief, the war had flown,
yet alone, like an unloved empty chair,
the flower of Spring ne'er again to own,

gone the turmoil 'twixt nations heart,
vanished the canvas strokes of waring art,
lost, the sweet rhetoric of its name,
of the 'Gentleman's war and its game,

one moment brief, just there and then
no war, nor artilleries fire of hell,
drank deep the vision of his own Eden,
yet a differing death, toll'd the waiting bell,

sweet homeland shires in vision seemed,
like days of yore he used to know,
where orchard blossoms softly gleamed,
like, flurries of Winter's first whiten'd snow,

there beside the beloved cottage door,
sweet-scented honeysuckle profusely hung,
yet by dawn, alas! he'll see, nor feel no more,
doom'd by unjust military law, to die so young,

charged, that from the battle did unjustly shrink,
cowardice charged, exampled as a sacrificial pawn,
a poisoned chalice, so unaware did drink,
defenceless, blindfold, alone, coldly shot at dawn,

shall we, with stoic heart e'er brave
make obsolete his flowerless unsung grave,
remembering the flower of youth so gave
of tender years, an underaged unknown English knave.

Oh! All ye Poets on this earth,
ply the ink with emotions worth,
pen poetic voice constantly anew
from a spirit that lives in Heaven too,
thereby scents of 'Elysian Fields' consume
to converse with stars and lunar moon,
scribe powered words, oft thunderous,
balanced by lilting charms most wondrous,
e'er mimic the whispering waves of leaves,
for each readers eyes so to please
'neath the blushing skies subtle tinted,
meander amongst the Musk Rose scented,
for this flowering beauty e'er has got
a perfume, that ties the lovers knot,
loitering where the nightingale sing
fond lyrics, that lovers together bring
in a blaze of melodious and rare truth,
no syllable written harsh nor uncouth,
just ink bound scribed divinities,
revealing love in all its mysteries.

Dare this pen but tell, my loving needs must be
treasure wrapt in love's exclusive Alchemy,
yet blessed is my vale, nestling soft and sweet
where streamlets meander with gay and dancing feet,
brush stroke nature's canvas, beyond the realms of art,
her flowering fragrant multitudes, a kaleidoscope impart,
by sacred time conceived, each Heaven painted scene
of bathed cystal shades at play, a magic vision seen,
thus, like love's first kiss, that rare exquisite thrill,
invite vicissitudes of greenery upon the landscape spill;
in speechless wonder embrace thee to my bosom dear,
an intoxicating awe drink I, exotic enchantment rare,
like as truth, nature's charm, scarce can better or improve,
thus drowned in symphonic realms, love thoughts ever rove
amid the Isles of bliss, my life long days spent there,
fulfill all my senses amid life's spiritual air;
those pompous realms of Kings may surely e'er entice
our smiling secrets, those simple hours in paradise
sung in praise, as cottage days are daily blest,
awashed in soft scented company, jocund here I rest
as quiet beats the heart, pulsating in joyous peace,
Angelic riven, forever here, Man made storms decease.

How great thy vista to my eyes abound
when late of time, I viewed my Southland down,
fond childhood memories bid my heart recall,
times, when all the trees seemed so tall,
but now, the burning coals of fading day,
ignite twilight moments, where magic colours play,
and yon not forgotten village nestling lies
harmoniously, beneath its genial skies;
its people's thatch and heavens spire
are gently washed by sunsets living fire,
whilst graveyards cherished ancient Yew
reach down to kiss the coloured painted dew,
and evening primrose dwell within its shade,
sport contrasting hues with subtly displayed,
and all that sleep in hedgerows wild,
live freely, like as the spirit of a child,
whose innocence breathes the air of play,
of rapturous joy, like this ebbing edge of day,
to await morning's green mantle care,
as day dissolves, in all its wondrous flare,
such artistry each captured rainbow bring
the blushing tints of sweet remembering,
woolen clouds, there floating charms interlace
the chasing sun, warmth of time's everlasting grace.
So, when the breath of life's no more,
my spirit shall stay by the waters of the Stor.

Here, embroiled within the 'Bloody Brawl' of Passchendale,
a limb from limb torn hill, a Man made carnival of Hell,
prostrate lay I, mutilated, slow and obscenely dying,
but one last wish my fast failing heart a heeding,
My Mary's last letter, from my pocket, I so request
e'er to scan again, realms of love, known the best,
softly e'er she penned, with quietude, serenely wrote
love spun lines, for thee, the world at war,I'll quote,

"Love, thou sadly ensconced in war's harsh thwack,
enduring fury's roar and battles stressful sin,
thou, stoic of heart, set out to conquering win
humanities pride, re-instate her restful ways
of love, but pray I this, return ye fleeting back
one of these love filled days,

Pray speed the hours and swiftly flow
the lonely days that loiter long it seems,
time alas! now, measured in hope of dreams
of our tomorrows, whence,life flushed ablaze,
so return ye safe, then joy together know
one of the love filled days,

Oh! Waiting 'tis but a bitter task, a lover's fate
to languish long, e'er with fortitude, so to strive
days entrenched, keeping shinning hope, bright, alive
when strolling we, saunter our once loved ways
hand holding hand, with fervent heart I patient wait
one of these love filled days.

Who, In thy dreaded absence that I fear
will care enough? to dry my sorrowed tear,
Who! will free me from the dark hour'd night
with love, to speed my darkness into flight,
annulling loathsome melancholy,replace bright,
the absent colours,to my once inner sight,
Who! will torch the candle of life's day,
when fate deemed you, from me so fast away,
Who! when velvet clouds no longer kiss the moon,
as darkness upon this earthly light, consume
the short filled days of nature's special bloom,
that shone in May but saw not June,
Who! when impatient time, no longer waits
for the flower that came; but stayed not late,
Who! shall free the heart of anguished sighs,
of sullen silence and brave smiles that cry,
Who! will reveal the tenderness of knowing why,
when searching lofty vapours, with yearning eye
of absent hope, that pains the hours of sleep,
reflecting tears of love, those sad eyes to keep,
Now alas! from ageless time, love's bounty will
fire the days to which we clung
and sing the song that once we sung.

There's doubtless beauty in plain truth,
gold spun above the stars own roof,
serving thus, make false words uncouth
embroiders a web of conceit by guile aloof;
Truth bows not down to manipulated lies,
't'is but pen scribed by timeless poetic laws,
the stoic heart, straight of limb applies,
antique written, unblemished, without flaws,
yet by pomposity, oft called naive simplicity,
truth, dignifies love for man's common good,
nurturing, fond realms of true brotherhood,
illustrates well, virtues jewel woven integrity,

Truth's own truth, sacred, undeniable,
free life's shackles by love unimpeachable.

Oh! How coalition War-Hawks a waring went
upon Iraq, based on lies and devious ill intent,
their steely stealth, awash with righteous dignity,
bewildered Heaven's gold spun antique morality,
could'st but only, pour thunderous wrath from afar,
silent fell, thus freed foul ambitious deeds of war,
thus ruin rained its avalanche, a blood bathed sway
gave way, to glorious flag waving conceited display;
so red ran the rivers, Uranium contaminated the sod,
humanity dismembered, by an Empire shallow waving rod,
hurricane of hate, covertly delivered by Chemical urns,
fanned 'White Phosphorous' loitered in death lingering burns,
Chemical Warfare, thus played out its silent doom,
like as a holocaust, the unwilling went to their tombs,
spared not Mother or child, with malice unknown painfully died
by proud Military Science, as its sullen evil applied
mid'st a Satanical altar, a man made poisonous well,
swaggers victory whilst herding the flock to the bowels of hell,

Oh! ye proud War Lords, sabre-rattling with empty vows,
flaunt self-appointed crowns with wreath of Laurel boughs,
Star, center stage in the theatre of cant hypocrisy,
with polished pomposity, bask as Soldiers of Democracy.

When my earthly fire extinguished be,
will thou at my carved cross appear
to speak of love, my posthumous spirit near,
and perchance, lay a flower there for me,
or wilt thou come when others long since fled,
with soft proud voice, unfaltering, kind,
read a verse I left thee long behind,
and chance, a tear fall from thy lovely head,
think of love that prospered through the snow,
think of love, not from a moistened eye,
nor sigh to murmuring winds for its reply,
for fragrant memories are unknown to woe,

no tears of pity, just a smile I pray,
life's ingenious scorn has quietly passed away.

In awesome wonder, bemused with naive gaze,
glanced I, upon the garden's flower'd sprays,
keen of eye, gathered there upon a wondrous spree,
enhanced by filtered shades of nearby protective tree,
exhibiting splendour by Nature's woven braid,
Zephyr kissed, where dancing breezes played
from Dawn's soft light,'til eve's fired close,
weaves coloured sweet, a bouquet of repose,

Blessed quietude, abounds my garden here,
akin to infant innocence, happy smiles spun dear,
each flowered season here I joyous spend,
ne'er to question, man's questions of why or when,
cloistered hours, its sacred aura breathing know,
humble adoration amid plants that nature sow,
mocks human society, oft, course low and rude,
thus my sanctuary, found amid this flowered solitude,

Oft have I, Summer bathed amid a velvet carpet green,
my honoured eyes, have, in silent blushing wonders seen,
Yet methinks, how brazen lovers would the oceans tame,
with profanities pomp, and for posterity carve their name
thoughtless, upon the bark of some proud tree,
weave conceited hope, the world their name to see
as loose lipped devotion, temporarily to be found,
highlight fragility, proud tree alone the world astound.

Sleep well my infant dear, gently rest
in your new world bathed with heavenly light;
Whilst I, with oceanic tears my grief invest,
for my infant dear, live in spheres of endless night,

Pray I therefor, your eyes grace a differing day,
annulling pain, which each earthy day did pass,
sad aching arms that once the loving breast did lay,
that unquestionable love, wherein the Motherly heart amass,

Thus, heart torn and wrenched, alone in morbid solitude,
empty the yearning arms, relegated to despondent shade,
wet the woeful eyes, yet love's vision still intrude,
for betwixt us both, corridors shall ne'er be slayed,

Nurtured I, your all too shorter days, sanctified no less
though sadly brief, lovingly proud, I happy bore
thee to my breast, my whole being did so address,
yet now in grief, wished that I could have done more,

I, in fruitful sorrow still your passing pine,
for our hopes and what might have been,
to daily watch the rich progression of the vine
amid the fields of life bathed in youthful green.