Category: Poetry

No, My Love

No, my love

you will

not

speak of things

done in darkness,

of

things that strip you

of your clothing,

then your innocence,

and maybe,

if you’re really, really good…

 

your life

 

No, my love

you will

not

speak of the pain

in your heart

and long showers that

never

purify

your tainted soul

 

 

No, my love

you will

not

speak of my cruelty,

my cursing,

my fists,

my feet.

 

No, my love

you will

smile,

and the mask of

our dead love

will harden

like a cocoon.

 

And then,

 

let only

fantasy butterflies

alight from your tongue.

 

Where Prayers Go to Die

Unheard, or unanswered?

Does it matter now?

Their prayers lifted high in tender faith,

were shattered by the godfist in derisive mockery.

 

The eyes close,

the grip weakens,

the sight fades,

and the breath grows shallow,

 

and they are free.

 

But the gods are not where they’re going

And the river is black and cold

 

They can have no vessel of silver

They’ll receive no provision of gold

 

And stone by stone,

the ghosts tear the walls

apart,

For they are a part

of nothing,

having become

everything.

 

Standing among the ruins,

 

they mourn their dreams,

and in the gathering light of dawn,

they dissipate once more

 

And the whispered susurration

of fervid entreaty once more

forms the misty morning veil

around the broken walls

where prayers go to

die.

 

I Wanted to Surprise You

I wanted to surprise you

I’m hoping that I did

I had to steal these flowers

because I’m just a kid

 

You see I had no money

to buy them on my own

because it seems you only

earn money when you’re grown

 

But still I hope you like them

although I couldn’t pay,

because they mean I like you

and that I’m going away

 

I wanted to surprise you,

I’m hoping that I did.

I’ll be in jail an hour;

I have to do my bid

 

 

You see, the cops are coming

to put me in the jail,

but I’m returning for you,

so be here without fail.

 

They’re only gonna keep me,

and call my mom and dad.

I hope you like me too though,

‘cuz I’m not really bad.

 

I wanted to surprise you…

 

There Are No Monsters Here

Knock-knock

within your closet

child

There are no monsters here

 

Knock-knock

beneath your bed

my child

There are no monsters here

 

Knock-knock

upon your dreams

dear child

There are no monsters here

 

They’re all inside your head

my child

That’s where the monsters dwell

 

I promise in the morning

child

you’ll find them in the well,

 

For there they find

the entryway back into

childhood’s hell.

The Ice-Blue King

I see him on the throne

in this cavernous hall,

alone, utterly alone,

as all around him slowly chips away,

and crumbles,

and dies.

 

He waits, but not for me.

A longing puts an aura round him

and fills the hollow alcove

with a shimmering

sky-blue burst.

 

Breath becomes ice crystals,

and flesh becomes blue,

but he is waiting

for something, or someone,

somehow still living

in the crippling, crumbling

cold now draped about him

like a royal robe

 

There will be no spring thaw

of his ice blue gaze,

no warming of his iron blue heart,

no budding blossom of love.

 

His wrath will fall,

hard and cold

as his kingdom,

when his people return…

 

if  they return…

 

if they ever  return…

 

before the castle

crumbles, and collapses

on the crown of

the ice-blue king.

Melchora’s Spells

Melchora’s spells

enrapture me

capture me

sap me of strength

and will

to defy the

tidal pull

of her lunar love

 

Melchora’s spells

bind me

blind me

and find me helpless

at the base of her heart

 

Melchora’s spells

lift me

gift me

and seal the rift

between my need

and her mind

 

Melchora’s spells

smell of lilac and lavender

and honey and ginger

as I breathe deeply and

my soul turns

to ashes and smoke

 

Melchora’s spells

are vital

and gentle

and my reason’s reality

is contained between her hands

 

And I want to look away,

And I want to walk away,

And I want to be away

from her,

But that too, is part of

Melchora’s spells….

 

 

 

Anchors Away

See the sun set on our longing

to invade a distant shore.

See the dimming of desire

to go sailing off to war.

 

Harbored safely and securely,

anchors lowered close to town,

we will speak no more of killing,

and with families settle down.

 

Though the noble masts jut proudly

in the darkened twilight sky,

Hear the cannon’s silence softly

Sing a sailor’s lullaby

 

See the sails tied to the rigging?

They’ll no longer catch the breeze.

And there’s no more pipe and jigging

On the rolling, dancing seas

 

And the whales will give birth again

to calves beneath the moon,

fearing nothing from the surface

be it net or sharp harpoon.

 

And the lighthouse keepers

get to leave their cold and noisy

towers,

for there’ll be no more ships coming

in the darkest morning hours.

 

And violent storms that claimed

the lives of those who’ve gone before

will have no plunder for their crimes

that leave this happy shore.

 

So weep no more, my lovely bride

The tide is standing still.

And I’ll face the sunset with you

Til it sinks beneath the hill.

 

 

The Eyes of Heaven

The Eyes of Heaven watch me walk

across the virgin snow,

impassively marking

my passing

 

I see the winter wolves in

my periphery, gathering

in curious, carnivorous lust

for blood and meat to slake

their killing urge

 

The blade of my knife is

cold

against my thigh

 

The weight of my sword

gives me

balance

in the

high, white drifts

 

And the

Eyes of Heaven

glimmer with memories

of other travelers

who’ve traversed these

rugged rocks

 

Some to their hearths,

Some to their gods,

And it is all one

to the

Eyes of Heaven

 

And I stop,

feeling the chill night wind

in the thick fur

of my hood,

in the scruff of my

wild whiskers,

and look back into the Eyes of Heaven

And long to be

loved,

 

But

they are 

as blind to me

as they are

infinite

 

And the Eyes of Heaven

close

to dream

and

remember

ages past,

and

unsoiled

virgin snow.

 

 

 

 

I Look Forward to Spring

This seemed to strike a chord…let me know what you think. Enjoy.

smithaw50's avatarBeyond Panic

I look

forward

to spring

I look

backwards

to run

I close my

eyes

when walking

and try to guess

what I

bump

into

I look

sideways

standing,

waiting for

the bus

I look

up at the stars

in the winter

sky

and

I look

forward

to spring

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.

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And Yet He Guards the Ruined World

And yet he guards the ruined world,

hearing echoes of long-dead men,

the clang and rattle of long buried swords,

the screams and moans of pleasure and pain.

 

He smells the candles in the temple,

And the perfumes of the maidens,

And the poisons of the traitors,

And the flesh he’s burned in battle.

 

The laughter of the children rings

through the cavernous passages.

 

The hawking of wares in the marketplace

shout in abandoned streets.

 

He is king over ashes,

and ruler of rubble,

with broken towers his castle,

and cracked and blackened bones his subjects.

 

The scavengers that remain

give him obeisance, and

bow and scrape for leave to

hunt scraps.

 

But on the watching wall he stands,

constant as the cosmos,

unyielding as stone,

unchanging as what has been

written before…

 

Unfettered, he is free to fly

and soar and kill and burn

 

And yet he guards the ruined world,

Until it stops to turn