Thursday, May 10, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
AN IRISH GARDEN
An Irish Garden
The transparent rains in the temples of your eyes,
Where strophic modes of strains uprise,
Course through my heart, as we walk hand in hand,
Upon a holly-green path in Ireland.
We spoke of Yeats at the roadside bar,
Where he sat and watched the sun descend,
Having beautifully penned
The eloquent scenery, near and far.
A castle of old sits upon a hill,
Above us as we rove in the garden's still.
There are verses to written yet,
Of your fresh, white face,
Scented with mignonette,
Commanding all my love in this shaded place.
(Taken From Sonnets Of Dusk And Dawn)
The transparent rains in the temples of your eyes,
Where strophic modes of strains uprise,
Course through my heart, as we walk hand in hand,
Upon a holly-green path in Ireland.
We spoke of Yeats at the roadside bar,
Where he sat and watched the sun descend,
Having beautifully penned
The eloquent scenery, near and far.
A castle of old sits upon a hill,
Above us as we rove in the garden's still.
There are verses to written yet,
Of your fresh, white face,
Scented with mignonette,
Commanding all my love in this shaded place.
(Taken From Sonnets Of Dusk And Dawn)
THE CARRIAGE (From Sonnets Of Dusk And Dawn By John Zwerenz)
The Carriage
The mahogany bar sells liquor and ale.
I finish a belt and summon my carriage
To ferry me over the emerald dale,
Homeward to the call of marriage.
The brooks are frozen, and the trees are white.
Canticles play in the gleam of the woodlands.
I dream of my lady's tender hands,
As the coach is tossed in the windy night.
On a precipice we travel as snow begins to fall.
My driver is an old one, and used to it all,
Though the coach sways madly in the bitter cold.
He tells me we should rest on the side
Of the rocky, whited road, for the wheels begin to slide.
But my bride awaits with lips of gold.
The mahogany bar sells liquor and ale.
I finish a belt and summon my carriage
To ferry me over the emerald dale,
Homeward to the call of marriage.
The brooks are frozen, and the trees are white.
Canticles play in the gleam of the woodlands.
I dream of my lady's tender hands,
As the coach is tossed in the windy night.
On a precipice we travel as snow begins to fall.
My driver is an old one, and used to it all,
Though the coach sways madly in the bitter cold.
He tells me we should rest on the side
Of the rocky, whited road, for the wheels begin to slide.
But my bride awaits with lips of gold.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
THE BASTION BY THE SEA
THE BASTION BY THE SEA
The yard below the bastion holds many blooms;
Swirling, russet leaves around a freshet are blown,
Heavy with a mordant scent, they toss and dance alone,
As sculptures flake beneath palatial rooms.
Beyond the large square, there are woods of rhyme
Where the cloistered pass, musing on books,
Admiring the aesthetic boulders and brooks,
Wandering as gypsies without a dime.
Nearby, the sea, in soft sonority,
Mingles with the twilit, oceanic sky
Of a thousand stars, rising as they sigh,
Ascending with the violet canopy.
And as the sun disperses, all colors correspond,
As grottoes of green grace the boundless beyond.
The yard below the bastion holds many blooms;
Swirling, russet leaves around a freshet are blown,
Heavy with a mordant scent, they toss and dance alone,
As sculptures flake beneath palatial rooms.
Beyond the large square, there are woods of rhyme
Where the cloistered pass, musing on books,
Admiring the aesthetic boulders and brooks,
Wandering as gypsies without a dime.
Nearby, the sea, in soft sonority,
Mingles with the twilit, oceanic sky
Of a thousand stars, rising as they sigh,
Ascending with the violet canopy.
And as the sun disperses, all colors correspond,
As grottoes of green grace the boundless beyond.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
THE BLESSED DEAD ARE WE
The Blessed Dead Are We
The grand chess set in the lutescent ballroom
Sits among bookshelves beneath a chandelier.
Outside, on the yew trees, the moonshine does appear.
Death to all of hatred, death to all of gloom.
The ravishing carriages circle in the court,
Amid fallen leaves of mahogany-brown.
I have sent my vassals into town
To acquire burgundies, chablis and port.
Welcome, my friends, come frolic, dance and dine.
Do you recall your passing, as I do mine?
Ah yes!- Love's first kiss has not yet been taken.
This vale is all green, reborn and awoken.
Take a splendid gold piece for a token-
We have no need of it- no more can we be shaken.
The grand chess set in the lutescent ballroom
Sits among bookshelves beneath a chandelier.
Outside, on the yew trees, the moonshine does appear.
Death to all of hatred, death to all of gloom.
The ravishing carriages circle in the court,
Amid fallen leaves of mahogany-brown.
I have sent my vassals into town
To acquire burgundies, chablis and port.
Welcome, my friends, come frolic, dance and dine.
Do you recall your passing, as I do mine?
Ah yes!- Love's first kiss has not yet been taken.
This vale is all green, reborn and awoken.
Take a splendid gold piece for a token-
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