reguiny2006 Poetry (108)

Rich this hour with precision arrayed,
a banquet of beauty in wonder displayed.
Hasten, evening's coloured patterns ply
a mystique and ever changing sky,
fanned by the flames of day's sweet play,
the crimson-painted canvas steals the sun away.
An embroidered pageant of golden waves that die
shall close to relinguish its bright ebamelled eye,
with fading light, time serving, subtle heaven use
to create the bouyant atmosphere of twilight hues
with coloured fragrance of evening's expance;
invite radiant joys that with extravagance dance,
such furnace passions, this exquisite fire
reflects life's beauty, that with tears shall expire
to time's unrelenting, fast quickening pace.
In trust, our eyes may kiss tomorrow's face,
but, should destiny's hand my hour so chose
within these closing rays my breath to lose,
happily so, for I've savoured what's rare,
the freedom of birth in England's cherished air.

Late here the yellow rose upright,
portrays her guiltless spitit, perfumed dight,
unknown to man's dishonest deed,
where power and greed their ways suceed.

Thus silent here her fragrant days,
harmless joys that abound her blaze,
in company or in solitude,
colours soft the world so rude.

Musk-laden bright full scented power,
whose blossom court both sun and shower,
undaunted by thunder's harsh violence,
for love's her savior and defence.

Thus with proud, unafrightened eyes,
mock the terror of man-torn skies;
embalms beauty her exclusive page,
such blessed sight and quiet pilgrimage.

Sad, how swift the flight of life rushes by,
too much for simple minds to question why.
So stare we in awe, our admiration thereby apply,
the phantom speckled depths of darkness high,
such timeless wonder, heaven's uncanny power
gives pleasured joy, to each and every hour,
kindles the spirit, the enraptured eye
paints beauty that deep within us lie.
Each passing second fulfils a lifetime's sway
of charm along its strange progressive way,
such immeasurable gift bequeathed to man.
So, drink the draught of life whilst e'er you can,
that cradles soft dreams, the love of beauty share,
despite fate's blind hand, hope can sad sorrow repair.
Life is but imaginary schemes,that with vigour scan
distant horizons in energetic fertile plans,
rewards not just the harvest of some foriegn field,
for rainbow's gold can in nearby paddocks yield.
So, slay the dreary hours that pass so quickly bare,
appease life's appetite with life's abundant fayre.

It was a time when local dialects rang,
to the dulcet sounds of 'cockney' slang,
conversely then, cinemas spoke not a word,
yet, a time, when its softer voice was heard,
Oxford Street, Oh! there in windows fine,
one saw manaquins, displaying exquisite crinoline
and in the self-same place exhibiting thus,
Top Hat and Tails in Haut Couture ubiquitus,
and such, on open carriages velours rare,
doyens seated, amidst the solitude of care,
neither speach nor thought they need apply,
such their quietude, nursed stars on high,

One moment brief they ensconced would be,
immune, from Hades World and its insanity.

If thou loved, then love's not lost,
despite the breath that's ceased to be.
Fond oceanic joys secure the memory,
although on grief-stricken seas toss'd,
earth's soft pillow cradles thy noble head
and calms the storm that tormented thee.
Now, a life retraced shall immortal be,
in sweet silence that around thee spread,
tho' sad-eyed tears count the cost.
Courage with stronger heart may say
to heaven; we've given the best of day,
where love's love shalt ne'er be lost,

Thus to redeem from oblivion e'er we will
remembered years, bathed in sunlight still.

Remember I when time was young
and life's pain scarce begun,
how differing from this ageing day,
whence ebony has turned to dismal grey.
Savage years have played their wanton game
upon the vigour of once this sporting frame.
Oh! The pangs today that recollection bare,
the might of yesterday's well chosen year,
now alas! fast beats the heart its breath to catch,
in proud pretence once youthful ways to match.
Alas! All summer's sold as sight grows dim
and winter's prospect leaves a wondering.
But still I live in faith sublime,
despite the onward march of time
and ne'er glance to once athletic potency
that's yielded to time's rolling conspiracy,
what vintage product to our bygone clime,
loathed maturity, proud friend to life's decline.
Yet I have walked the flowery vales
that's blessed with songs of nightingales
and strolled springtime's leafy green,
of pastoral shades that softly gleam
amid the woodlands' rising grace,
when flushed anew in a feathery lace.
How the maker has skillfully drawn
changing shadows on the forest's lawn,
like fleet of foot where angels play,
dance among its filtered hazy way,
and breathes all wonderment that is there;
the exclusive perfumes of an English air
shall intoxicate some noble stately mind,
to pen the joys the heart doth find.

Oh! How I abhor the grandeur that is war,
'tis but little more than a politician's wasteful score,
who, dice dealing with aspirations fire,
make mute Aeolian harp or minstrel's lyre,
War! Mankind's disease and curse,
proud destroyer of this universe,
such empty smiles and hollow vows
speak of 'just war', that howls
like thunder foul spoken, defame honour's name,
black pernicious deeds that would a serpent shame.
Isolated, ivory-towered, they scarce know
of battle's carnage and its attendant woe
bourne by gallant youth who pray
one last breath of fragrant yesterday.
As self appointed monarchs, they never wooed
the senceless slaughter of youth's multitude,
and with little more than wistful sigh,
tell that honour lives, whilst youth must die.
With ill bound signature and callous nod,
cancelled treaties, created by a caring God,
immune to historic dirges rolling onward by,
cunning guile erupts from an immoral sigh,
such the earthquake of man's dry-eyed undertone
of murderous whispers, history thus has shown:
such, the avalanche of sin a silence brings,
like as Autumn leaves fall o'er lifeless things.

Oh! Spring, how thou doth gently change
the chill of winter's cold barren range,
thy earth re-born with fresh fragrancy
of bursting buds powered energy,
soft lenthening day prolongs the view,
to the pot-pourri of colours new,
such as snow white daises sight
shine sweeter than diamonds bright,
nestling 'twixt fond meadows green,
where blows the scented breeze serene,
and watery carpets glistening dew,
caress the woodlands rich bells of blue,
as dawns crisp spheres of light invest,
varying hues most splendid drest,
where dew like pearls and opals rare,
make sweet the early morning air,
and the feathered songstress happy care,
pours melody upon the attentive ear,
emotional notes heart felt swell,
tell of love they bare so well,
echoes sweet like vespers tunefully sung,
or where the matin bells are rung,
where re-occurring echoes lull the hill,
to kiss the vales full furrowed rill,
like, as a soft sung Mothers lulaby,
chase dull clouds to hurry by,
as in jealous beauty we stand in awe,
to the charms of its abundant store,
revives the restless spirit floating free,
blithesome, regardless all that age can be.

In sullen September travelled I,
where the weary Salle wanders by
Shiller's rich and famous town,
softly skirts Wiemar's green lit forest gown.
This day, the rain was dreary set,
past days the reign was terror set,
whence rose the phoenix of cant hypocracy!
from social new-found democracy!
To taint with blood the virgin snow,
Aryan spitits unleashed did freely flow
with inglorious passion, bereft of God,
made carnage where humane foot once trod;
as death became the fodder of the day,
proud religion, unlamented, swept away
by those in borrowed plumes, furnish
spurious tears and arrant falsehood garnish,
to pleasure rape differing cultures' worth,
in proud pretence, a new cleansed earth
flew with vultures, drunk with low desire,
scorched the sacred earth with wanton fire,
'carte blanche' deeds, fatal hand disperse
heaps of dust that once a coloured universe;
for sadly lies amid this lush forest's shade
mountain of human ashes, religious rites unpaid.
Dull burns the sun in all of its disgrace,
whose pitying sky dons grey its veiled face,
through the reckoning shadows of infamy,
once human dregs, now immortal ghosts of history.
Pray, pray here, soft dew and rain bestow
tears enpugh to make the sweetest roses grow.

E'er I left the Arab tent,
full of herbs, spice and scent,
floating floats its intoxicating spell
along the shores where the Red Sea dwells,
on incenced airs swiftly seeping,
with stealth of afoot, onward creeping,
as perfumed vespers' velvet breeze
bathed my mind in harmonies,
falling downy soft, sparkling free
as silent stars glisten eagerly
on jasmine's scented rose,
whilst eve's fading glow repose
to link my heart with home,
Westerns shores again to roam.
Thrice happy there myself I found,
strolling o'er our enchanted ground,
whence light steps with care obey
delight and charms of yesterday,
on dainty blush complextions fair,
patient paradise smiling rare,
illuminated all with sapphire dyes
the azure spirit of her eyes,.
None more radiant or glorious are,
that dims the brightest pilot star,
from that self same lunar moon,
aching heart restored to bloom,
brilliant facets her hues inlaid
love-rich beams by starlight made,
as spellbound gems untarnished blaze,
encounter's emotion's dearest gaze.
By morn, alas, Heaven's silvered eye
fades as parting lovers sigh,
songs melodious echo sweetly still
in fleeting dreams' lingering thrill;
for opium"s joyous mystique weaves
fearful fate that e'er deceives
with haughty laugh's most wanton cry,
mock lost pleasures days gone by,
I from love's joy, alas, divorced,
yet memories undefeated endorced
songs sung sweeter than the nightingales
o'er our favoured hills and dales.

I am but a rural and unsung rustic man
that brings a frown to the city's elite clan,
who in perpetual haste their achievements gain
wealth of gold, despite ills of moral pain.
They, in promotion's quest, don high office rank,
pedal pence and wheels of ambition crank;
astutely approach each and every hopeful door
with manipulated friendship, collect their store
of gems that in personal brilliance shall glow
the false modesty self-appointed crowns bestow.

But chaste, the grassier ways of simpleness,
in pure and pleasured spheres of happiness,
entrenched in nature's garden, thereby reside
that cast all lofty ambitions to the ebbing tide;
lives with Eden's wealth, reap both sun and shade
in blossoms untold, and grass the only blade,
scented with light, many a perfume to breathe,
softened by music that on the night air weave
its odours rich, where wide-eyed visions dwell
in that fragrant garden, that is God's citadel.

How much in life you've given me,
in many ways you taught my pen,to paint
inner truths notation, not the outward view,
though thy visage would please the scultures grace,
who would, then, on some high pedestal place,
for all to see, a womanly face so true,
a countenance, times passage fail to taint,
and, in onward years, men your loveliness see,
through the inner eye, this pen its pleasures known,
lifes guiding light, love filled inspiration,
when hearts unite in true consumation,
blank once, the paper now with sonnets sown,

I, raised from low stock is true,
but wisdom accrued, is in loving you.