*
‘Si vis pacem para bellum’
Says the sage man in his wisdom,
For it is useless decorum
To try keep apeace each kingdom.
*
Category Archives: Poetry
Rather than all of this, ’tis because you are you.
.
It’s not your dress, though it suits you like a princess,
It’s not your shoes, though they do embellish your dress,
Not your necklace, which sparkles as bright as your eyes
Nor your makeup, your scarlet lips and your fair skin,
.
It’s not your hair, warm chestnut cascading in waves,
It’s not your nose, though that of an Egyptian queen,
It’s not your legs, graceful and soft and athletic,
Not your hands, soft and delicate, nimble and quick,
.
It’s not your mind, of thoughts beautiful treasure trove,
Not your accent, rolling sexily on your tongue,
Nor your kindness, treating right those you live among,
.
It’s not the way you fancy looking at me my dear,
That is not the purpose of what I’m saying here,
Neither ’tis your smile, nor your undying love.
.
Dancer in the stars
.
There is a dancer, high up in the stars
Coming and going, floating like the wind,
He turns and whirls to forget his scars,
None know exactly what he is trying to find.
.
For your eyes and ears
.
She looks at me, I too look at her,
Her lips sensuous red, so are her eyes,
Oh things will never be as they were,
My heart broken from her muffled cries.
On her gentle face rolls a lone tear,
I’m trying but -useless- she won’t hear,
I feel helpless, simple bystander,
As if, of my very own body
I was but a helpless passenger;
All my words feel so very shoddy.
I can’t help but see her raw beauty
Or how strong she is in her weakness,
For in the midst of all this bleakness
She stands proud, fulfilling her duty.
She looks at me, I too look at her,
Her lips shake, I hear her voice waver,
Still she goes on, doesn’t hesitate
Despite the whole wide world she could hate.
As her head is filled with memories
Of joys, sadness and sometimes worries,
Still she goes on, no hesitation,
Dancing in the fires of passion.
She sings about happiness, past times,
Floating in these melancholy chimes.
.
By the pond
.
In the pond the water flows,
Streaming gently as it goes.
In the leaves a slight wind blows,
Spreading out a scent of rose.
.
Would I dare…
.
If I could, oh I would climb atop a mountain,
Which one, I do not care, despite fatigue or pain,
Once up there, high above all, my head in the clouds,
Where this white veil over the earth is like a shroud,
I would shout into the sky, I would scream to the world,
My fears, my anger, my joys, my love, all would be hurled,
I’d put my heart into voice and let it carry
I’d pour my soul and rejoice from my new aerie.
.
I had my heart
.
I had my heart upon hand
But, following your caprices,
Oh sadly you took it from me,
And now I am hurting.
I had my heart upon hand,
But you broke it into pieces.
I would have given it to thee,
And now I have nothing…
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Children of the earth
.
If nature is a temple,
Birthing in its arms ample
Why do we ever trample
Everyone of her samples?
*
If nature is our mother
Why can’t we come to love her
As we would no other
And not just let her wither?
*
And if nature is our home
It is not only our own,
We must not let this grand dome
Become one upon we frown.
.
Ozymandias
.
In a temple aeons old
Hidden in an ancient wold
Stands a statue tall and gold
Of a being long foretold.
On a throne alabaster
Before which none can muster
Courage, even lackluster,
Sat, of all men, the master.
A king with a heart acold,
Whose story time shall withhold.
As the sights slowly unfold
Before the eyes of the bold,
In this great hall no whisper.
By his side a giant spear,
At his feet: diamond river,
His face a mask of silver.
*
Ozymandias was his name,
From the stars they say he came.
As grand and proud was his frame,
Dark and bloody was his fame.
Many years lasted his reign
In conflict, bloodshed and pain.
For the reason he became
King was his thirst just to tame.
None before could ever claim,
Nor after, to be the same;
‘Tis said he, without refrain,
What desire he would deign
Look upon, pursue and gain,
‘Til his eyes on it were lain.
‘Tis said he would never tire.
And too he built a tower
From earth and wind and fire
So high all things were lower,
That he wielded such power
Even the gods would cower.
An hommage (which I hope worthy) to the poem of the same name by Shelley.
I don’t know why but that name, Ozymandias, echoes in my mind and inspires me in ways I can’t really explain. It’s just so mysterious and unique…
They pass by.
.
There goes one, and another,
They pass by: many an hour,
Never stopping nor waiting,
In a rush, always running.
*
Some stand tall and proud,
As if rising to the clouds,
Others small and round
Anchored deep in the ground.
*
Squared, circles or triangles,
Come in all angles,
Wooden, metal or in stone,
Made of all but bone.
*
Each is unique but the same,
Existing without a name,
Though without them we’d be lost
And our trains would be but ghosts.
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Tales of Ore 