I.
Was recently discovered in Normandy, an old buried room,
sealed off long ago, which had adjoined an old keep's secret underground quarters,
and therein, were books which had reposed as centuries above did loom;
amongst these, one folio of Pere Rabelard, an insatiable explorer.
Some seven centuries have passed, since his death,
but he left accounts of his journeys and the wonders he saw.
Once, in particular, he passed through legend's lingering breath,
and meticulously left account for posterity, in awe!
'Tis a story unknown, lost to us, obscured by time,
a story that by his reckoning must have been in the eleventh century
after Christ, on the northeast coast of modern Scotland, that damp clime,
in a time of peril, when Norsemen raided and pillaged voraciously!
As the story goes, after one such raid, the men had all been killed,
and their women and children taken away, save one lad of eight, who hid;
who'd at dusk burned the dead, after all had left and all was stilled;
who'd sat and stared, and with fiery pyres, good-bye to his parents bid!
As the pyres burned down and night settled upon the land,
and the lad, Aelred, gazed at the rising moon,
he was startled by the touch to his cheek of a gentle Lady's hand,
and turned to see a beautiful Lady, who's blue eyes were more radiant than the moon;
with redden-gold tresses, and wearing a shimmering gown,
smiling sweetly as she took him into her embrace
and bid him shed his tears before they did him drown.
She mysteriously caressed his heart, as tenderly as she did his face.
At length, she told him that she came from the sea,
and must return, but she placed around his neck a talisman
on a chain of gold, he was to guard, and bring back to her here by the sea,
on mid-summer's eve, after he'd grown and become a man.
If he had grown strong and good,
she'd have something for him then,
that would be by all understood,
even on the land, where dwelt such sin.
With a tender kiss to his forehead and cheek,
the young lady turned and walked into the sea.
He was too entranced to further speak,
and that was the last of her, he was for many years to see.
II.
The talisman was a carved oblong stone
with strange writing, such as he had ne'er seen,
and the gold mount and chain, in moon-light eerily shone;
but for it, he'd have thought it all a dream, and ne'er reality been.
Over the years as Aelred grew,
he always kept the talisman beneath his tunic hid,
but frequently looked at it, remembered, and knew
that awaiting Destiny, somehow, to him from it bid!
III.
Seasons passed,
youth yielded to manhood,
and at long last,
Aelred, before Fate's door stood!
With Spring, came into his secluded wood,
an old mystic, Irish priest, a wanderer,
a man kindly, gentle, wise and good,
and Aelred bid him share his hut and larder.
One night, before the fire,
as Aelred and the old priest sat,
Aelred told his story and his desire,
and produced the talisman to be looked at.
"Lad", said the old priest, "the Almighty's Hand is on thee.
Some great blessing and purpose comes--
Ah, would that I could it see!"
Aelred agreed he stay until mid-summer's eve comes.
IV,
With Mid-Summer Eve's approach,
Aelred and the priest returned to the shore
where'd come before, Fate's encroach,
where the Lady had to Aelred brought hope's restore!
Unbidden, memories returned to Aelred by the sea,
memories of that day long ago when his life both had ended and begun,
memories dimmed by time's hand, that now returned, vividly,
and stood before him, the beautiful young Lady, against the setting sun.
T'was no memory! She moved, she was there,
this timeless maiden with the redden-gold hair,
with penetrating blue eyes which laid the soul bare,
this mysterious Lady who was the fairest of the fair!
With unearthly smile, she'd given him her gifts:
a peculiar metal shield, a mail tunic of strange cast,
and a magnificent sword no ordinary man e'en easily lifts,
into the pommel of which she fit the talisman stone fast!
"This is the sword of Truth, the sword of Right,
I entrust unto you, to protect the good children of the Lord,
against the forces of evil and the minions of the night!
With these, you will resist and o'ercome the pagan horde!
Never use it falsely or basely, lest it shatter into dust.
Upon your death it must be cast into the sea, here, to me,
and returned to the habitations of the just.
Fail in this, and all will disappear, of a certainty!"
With a smile and gentle kiss, she had gone,
and Aelred had as if awakened from a dream,
but as unto a ne'er before seen dawn,
where nothing was quite as e'er before did seem!
V.
Not a week from that fateful night,
Aelred and his sword were put to test,
to withstand Norse raiders in fight,
and the Lady had spoken true--they had been blessed!
Terrible was the carnage, as disbelieving foes
were driven back into the sea whence they came,
in this and other battles--for the Norsemen, a litany of woes!
'Ere long, peace came to this land, with Aelred's fame.
Upon Aelred's death, in old age, his son performed his behest
that his sword, tunic of mail, and shield, be cast into the sea,
be returned to the gracious Lady he'd so 'oft confessed,
as his last faithful act of fealty.
VI.
Ravages of time had all but obliterated any trace,
and all but the faintest memory of this tale,
of those times and the perils those people did face,
by the time Pere Rabelard, the explorer, sought out it's entail.
Rabelard confessed, he would have it all to fable laid,
except for one relic he saw, which an old priest had preserved--
a gigantic, two-handed Norse double-bitted war-axe blade,
cut cleanly through, long-ways, at an angle, by stroke incurred!
Impossible! And yet, there it undeniably was!
The tales told of Aelred's Sword of Truth, claimed this power,
that naught could withstand it's blow, naught that e'er was!
There, before his eyes, indisputable proof of that power!
Pere Rabelard, his tale concluded:
"I have seen the proof of God's Grace
unto us, nor can I e'er be deluded--
'oft, in fable, we see but dimly, Truth's face!"
Slumbering Giants
I fancy that I am like unto a tiny, tiny flea
amidst the giant sequoiahs and redwoods, which are like unto the hairs
of mighty giants which slumber by the soothing, surging sea,
dreaming of ancient of times, and free of all puny cares!
(Untitled)
Ah, Charlemagne--
Carolus Magnus!
Men today are effete and vain,
and e'er so much more like "Agnes"!
Palo Duro Canyon
Dawn breaks o'er the Palo Duro Canyon,
in majestic, inspiring, resplendent sight,
as Nature reveals her beauty with such casual abandon
in the soft, caressing, adoring light!
Southern Airs
In the lands of magnolia and honeysuckle-scented airs,
life embraces the tempo of the gentle warm breeze,
and's found, serene, scented havens of spirit's repairs,
where love and joy do e'er playfully tease!
(Untitled)
My beloved, departed child,
walks not, the grotto of the shades,
nor sleeps beneath sod piled;
She's where th'Eternal Light ne'er fades!
(Untitled)
Each man's life is but the walk of his soul;
all else he leaves fleetingly behind!
Does it matter that none will miss him, on the whole,
if it is well with his soul, and he can heaven find???
(Untitled)
More and more, I see,
I live in a different world, a different dimension,
from those who around me be,
and we are united by this wonderous separation!
Xanadu
I've trod the roads of Xanadu,
and passed the gates of fair Cathay;
I've sought uncharted lands, too,
with those who went before my day.
I've sailed the oceans deep
with explorers of renown,
scaled the heights so steep,
and roamed from town to town.
Glory and fame, suffering and pain,
riches and want, and inhumanity;
mortal passions which us doth stain--
all this arrayed in vast panoply!
All this have I seen, across time,
with good and evil at every door;
the lessons of the lost found only in rhyme,
as humanity blindly marches 'cross the moor!
Poor fools, doomed to fail!
Nor realize, these clamorous voices,
all paths lead to the veil,
where fate's determined by our choices!
All paths end at the bier,
and then what will be?
Space is not the last frontier--
'tis the veil, should concern thee!
Where lies thy path, beyond the veil???
'Tis simple, no great mystery!
Like light is by a prism bent, without fail,
thy path this side, determines thine eternity!
(Untitled)
Sophistication and cynical shrewdness
are but life's awareness and enjoyment repressed;
the unlearning of simple joys and happiness
because of the darkness with which we've become obsessed!
Free
I am thankfully free
of the tyranny of middle-class mediocrity--
land where the blind doth blind lead,
and upon each other feed!
Ê
When Last Bloomed
When last bloomed roses on the garden floor,
the blush of Spring was everywhere felt,
and life did seem, itself to adore,
unsuspecting the harsh, bitter winter to be dealt!
Wonders and beauty were in all replete,
as gentle breezes, so fragrant and fair,
permeated every nook, harmony to complete,
suggesting promises to life, beyond compare!
When last roses bloomed on the garden floor,
there was not there, tomorrow's place,
nor conception of possibility of e'er, no more,
or of harsh, bitter winter to face!
When last roses bloomed on the garden floor,
and the fragrant, gentle airs I dids't enjoy,
t'was there, just beyond memory's door,
where winter may not, them too destroy!
Peculiar Passions
What peculiar passions within a man's soul
driveth him to verse?
What unusuality leadeth him to seek diamonds from coal,
in soliloquous rehearse?
What strange propinquity, to seek to roll
visions, beauty, and truth, into words so terse?
T'is the brand and legacy of his birth,
for a poet's a Natural bastard born,
out of wedlock of humanity's and conventionality's girth;
of his improper rearing, in ignorance of all that's been torn
from life's book by ancestors perverse;
and of his improper training in accustomed restraints, so long worn!
T'is a blessing, t'is a curse,
this sculpturing and temperament of Life's caprice,
to discern what others may not see, and put to verse--
there's joy in knowing truth and beauty's increase,
but pain and sorrow in incurring isolation's reverse,
for those who cannot see, will shun thee, and ne'er leave thee in peace!
Requiem
Under the high mountain sky,
where night winds sing lullaby,
there let my weary heart lie,
when's my time to die!
Under the high mountain sky,
where eagles soar freely nigh
and night stars dazzle the eye,
there I'll gladly lie!
There let me in peace finally be,
there where my heart longed to be,
and dig no grave nor make verse for me,
for I'll be of earth and verse, finally free!
SIMPLY
The tender wildflowers simply bloom,
though they know not what e'en today may loom.
The little birds do joyously sing
without regard to what tomorrow may bring.
Man alone cannot today live,
for fear of what tomorrow may give!
Not one breath you take,
do you own;
not one heart-beat can you make,
not one thought enthrone--
all are free gifts from the Lord God of Hosts!
Take them not for granted, and make of them the most!
All men will die,
next instant, or by and by,
but so few do ever live--
enjoy to the fullest what God doth give!
To partake of life's free joys and opportunities,
are your most rewarding duties!
Sun-lit Day
Before me lies a beautiful sun-lit day,
which I do but insult by my dismay,
by my leaden heart, wearied before it's time,
which, it's cares and sorrows, makes me mime!
Before me lies a sun-lit day of beauty,
which I insult most unfairly--
t'was not it's intent to mock me
by revealing to me so clearly
that the joys which make life such a treasure,
have been given to me in different measure!
Nay, it would bring me beauty and hope,
and bid me, from my dismay elope!
I should, to this beautiful day, make amend,
and hearken to the message it would send--
that life and joy are only in the present day,
not in all that's been, yesterday!
Hyperion
T'was in the winter of eighteen eighty-three
the schooner Hyperion went down at sea,
and all hands lost, on that treacherous reef;
and was tossed upon the shore, but debris,
wreckage to belie that gentle, calm sea,
and bear warning of her hidden teeth!
T'was in the winter of nineteen sixty-three
my great-grandfather's Bible was given to me,
he, who'd Master of the Hyperion been,
that had been in a trunk amongst the debris,
those words of Life, which couldn't hold, e'en the raging sea,
inscribed: "Sail this course, 'midst the reefs of sin;
hold this course, to true life win!"
Beside the Trail of Tears
Beside the many Trails of Tears,
lie the People's forgotten biers,
they who'd lived in harmony
with Nature's profound simplicity!
Over many, many years
Nature's been ravished, to man's cheers,
and Nature's coming rage,
man will be unable to cage!
Man will learn, the song of fears,
and will travel his self-made Trail of Tears,
for Nature will deal with ferocity
with all those of defiling disharmony!
Beside the many Trails of Tears,
lie the People's forgotten biers;
beside the coming Trail of Years,
will be buried, man, with all his jeers!
CALVARY
Wooden cross of Calvary--
fate of the ultimate criminality!
Cross of indescribeable pain,
erected by the self-righteous sons of Cain,
which thankfully functions still,
our uncomfortably different to kill,
and which remains Man's strong solution
for all of God's attempted pollution!!!
(Untitled)
Once you can feel, and be free,
unembarrasedly,
you can write poignant poetry,
conveying what you feel and see;
poetry which bares your soul for all to see,
but in so doing, touches others' souls, tenderly,
and allows them, who are not free,
to see what they otherwise might not see.
And so to be free
is not a destination, but a journey,
for only with each new step, remain you free--
to stop your journey, is to atrophy!
(Untitled)
Most of the people with whom I talk,
long ago turned to chalk--
their voices remain in their books,
at which no one anymore looks!
(Untitled)
Put your affairs and life in order?
Where's the fun in that?
Disorder is life's daughter,
and she's a lovely, pleasing brat!
(Untitled)
Golden-hued emblems of decrease
adorn the trees--
soon will be heard, the honking of geese
flying south in their "V's".
Winter comes in peace,
for it's turn, naturally!
Culloden
I hear the faint, muted skirl
o' the pipes, to rouse the clans;
I see dimly, the Red Lion unfurl,
as the breeze o' Culloden fans;
I see men of great courage, who'd be free,
go down before german gold, cannon, and shot--
the best of old Scotland, gone to eternity,
aided by traitors german gold begot!
Moths
We're like moths which dance around the light
they may never possess,
and in this futility delight,
in never-ending obsess!
Geek
Egad! You thin I'm a geek???
Why? Did you peek?
More, why do YOU, the answer seek???
Do you a kindred spirit seek???