Two Pertinent Poems  

rm_Sirebard 59M
2 posts
6/28/2005 12:34 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Two Pertinent Poems

{Speak Nothing but Good of the Dead}

Out in the graveyard;
inscriptions, words and plaques, all withering away;
like the flowers adorning them, so the dead do lay.
Waiting and waiting for someone to remember them
and not just in photoalbums or on the special days.

Memorials are built, meaningless constructions - lest we forget!
They all are forgotten, given time enough to sigh, to pass away.
The living are so busy preparing for their own demise, to die.
Little do they know, the busy ones, that the dead are still alive.

They watch over the living ones, they do, from a place so far;
yet so near they are, but why would they watch the way they do?
To understand the mystery is the noble thing to do - a gallant quest.
They wish to be remembered, to join in soul and mind , the body's zest.

A marriage betwixt the dimensions, a holy union in heaven with hell.
But can the fearful thoughts of the living see, their lovehearts tell?
The living are like snowflakes, made of water, so unique one by one.
But they melt away, to be fluid again - into the one great ocean, gone!

The dead are all one in the great seas, waiting to crystallise again in two.
To wake up to a new life again, as a snowflake-twin, asking: 'Love me too!'
Eternal life awaits the living, could they only reply to the dead's request.
But the alive ones linger and doubt, in vanity do they live their only quest.

{Thus passes away the glory of the world}

The Wings of Maria and Solomon's Song !

A new day is breaking across the plains of the desert, Maria's golden dawn to greet;
like a lush green meadow, Bathsheba is awaiting the dewdrops, deliciously sweet.
It's Solomon's flowery nectar, growing in a valley of memories forgotten for so long;
where a beautiful song is playing, birthing a new world for our sweet Maria to belong.

Out in the dry desert, a caravan of camels paces steadily towards its vermilion oasis;
a mighty rock, telling its tales of old, when wisdom still was found in hidden places.
Baiame, the serpent's rainbow is arching across a glorious sky, shining in hues azure;
and there's Maria, a flower from the desert with her love to share so gently and demure.

Merlin, the crimson dingo has come to the great meet, with stories of a redrosy sky;
so many desertdwellers to share in adventures, hearing a majestic eagle's eerie cry.
Amidst the gathering is our queen, dancing to the mother's calling, love's own tune;
What a celebration at the edge of nowhere, this wedding betwixt the sun and the moon.

Jonathan, the emu has arrived with a message about Maria from the heavens above;
the dragon's friends are found all about, guided in the peace of the snowwhite dove.
There is Toby, the alabaster unicorn, pacing for Maria's mounting and to elope away;
into a realm of lofty mountains, where the regal eagle's loveplay always holds sway.

Excalibur, the sword of truth has broken forth to swiftly rent the veils holding asunder;
a mighty tempest sweeps across a forlorn land, a world shaken in lightning and thunder.
Maria's dreams of love and sublime desires, all have sprouted upon Pegasusian wings;
from the heights of peaky treetops and of oaken branches, where the nightingale sings.

You pretty pink flamingo, wading by across the shores of longings, bubbling all adrift;
if you'd just fathom the inner essence of your glory, your ecstacy would come so swift.
Upon the wings of Solomon, you shall find the Dragon's daughter's passage to be free;
oh sweet remembrance of the days of old, Maria of Jerusalem has found her lost key.

The name of the Mother's poem is your own; your courting troubadour so fit to see;
a dawning of love's joy in all is splendour, so devoted and wondrously in wait for thee!

{Composed by the tripartite One: Logan Antico of Arndale; Robert Sceptico of Jones and Tony WhyNot}

rm_wanting2do2 53F

6/13/2007 10:39 pm

Beautiful writ. And a small confession to make, I am what is called a Christo-Pagan; for years reading anything that had Biblical sembleance to it just palin ~hurt~ but I do so enjoy the way you weave things together.
My favorite poets: Rainer Maria Rilke, e.e. cummings, charles bukowski, Edna St. Vincent Millay, me

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