Betimes, on a gentle night,
when the air is light and fair,
under pale moon and star light,
my Lady Ann is there--
She who so long ago graced Bannock Hall,
that beautiful, tender spirit, beside her lake,
walking in her enduring grief and pall,
there, where her innocent young heart did break!
T'was there, on a night such as this,
she and her beloved husband, James, walked beside the lake,
rejoicing in their first-born to be, in their bliss,
when the king's men came, his life to treacherously take!
T'was there, while they of their love and dreams talked,
he was cowardly shot down from the dark
by the men who'd him this night stalked,
and lain in ambuscade amidst this sylvan park,
and she, so roughly seized and handled,
she miscarried and died, that foulest night,
that gentle soul who'd ne'er e'en a flower offended,
that sweet girl of twenty, who'd but graced earth's sight!
Ah, but t'was treason, they said, to be a loyal Scot,
and she was, after all, half-French, and no loss;
so said the king's noble men, who'd so foully his property got;
so said the English, who did then, so many thus cruelly toss!
Husband, unborn child, and loving wife,
all taken in one foul night,
joining others who'd in like manner lost life,
who'd ne'er understood evil greed's delight!
Betimes, on a gentle night,
may be seen, Lady Ann, by the lake,
mourning her beloved delight,
whom she will ne'er forsake!
Those who say Love does not endure,
who doubt the depth of human heart,
who doubt that Love could be so pure.
would ne'er with that lie, from the ruins of Bannock Hall depart,
for, betimes, on a gentle night,
when the air is light and fair,
under pale moon and star light,
Lady Ann, and Love, are timeless there!
Radiant, pure light beams
through the eyes of youth;
souls to whom life seems
but love, joy, and truth!
Through these windows to the soul,
the joys of creation enter in,
to harmonize with th'innocent soul
and reflect back out, without sin!
Slowly are these sweet panes coated,
besmirched by humanity's soot,
smoke of disillusionment self-afloated,
which from us joy doth loot!
Diminished, the Light which enters in,
harmony wanes, as a flame deprived of air;
fails the symbiosis which had been.
Instead of joy,, now's pain and burdens to bear!
O'er each soul slowly descends a pall
we embrce as the wisdom of humanity--
each re-enacting anew, the Fall,
and renewing our race's absurdity!
They're known by their lifeless gaze,
by dimmed light unhappily clouded over,
these souls which do but endure their days,
marking time 'til their journey's over.
How rare, for Light to persist,
and yet shine forth from smiling eyes--
no dim light through besooted mist,
but radiant light, with the stars to vie!
In each generation, there are but a few,
standing as beacons in the night,
that we lost may find our way anew
and know that we need not lose the fight!
Such rare flowers amidst our field,
such stars illumining our night,
remind us, our fate's not yet sealed,
and bring beauty again to dimmed sight!
Star bright, star so light,
which banisheth the dark,
to be like thee I might,
if again th'Eternal Light's course I mark!
Who has the courage, of the Virtues, Truth to embrace?
Once seen, one can ne'er forget it's face,
nor it's haunting memory erase--
it will painfully, all you knew, replace!
How is it mankind has ne'er learned life's purpose,
after so many generations of instruction and rehearse???
This life is but a school, of the divine art of alchemy,
where we're to learn to convert our base clay into love, perfectly!
Silent giants of bleached stone,
rising towards the desert sky;
Monuments of a world now gone,
wonders of an age passed by!
Worn by unrelenting time,
stand these sentinels on the sand--
ancient puzzles of lime,
still majestic on the land!
Traveler, note ye this well--
small minds and hearts ne'er fashioned these!
Hear the silent story they tell
of people as industrious as bees!
Traveler, feel ye dwarfed? Be more dwarfed still
by the spirit of a people more wise than we,
by those who knew death did not the soul kill,
by those who valued above all, eternity!
Melancholy moon,
of subtle shades and moods,
before thee, human hearts swoon,
o'ercome by thy beams--heavenly foods!
Melancholy moon, I see thee
and am touched by thy palest light,
sublime and beauteous as can be,
which penetrates my darkest night!
Melancholy moon, whether empty or full,
I have known thee equally well,
and my heart, drawn, has felt thy pull
across the empty space from whence Man fell!
Melancholy moon, thou reflectest but dimly
the light we've been separated from--
Thou art a heavenly metaphor, a simile,
and now I understand whence thy power doth come!
I like to think of women's warm and tender smiles
as the markers along this all-too-brief, wearisome trail,
instead of men's accustomed reckoning of miles,
marking meaningless position as their day does fail!
Venerable Whitman, when thy lilacs last bloomed in the door-yard square,
I was not there,
but to our sorrow, again they've bloomed there,
when John Fitzgerald Kennedy was lost!
You and I, we've felt the deeper sorrow from what was lost,
for we've known better than most, the cost!
More poetry is posted at Page 3
Poetry is a process of undsitractedly, purely feeling;
this, distilling, slowly, with artistic sensitivities' catalyst;
the essences, moods, and thoughts forming,
to be expressed as they're by the poet's soul kissed!
God placed in woman's arms,
the cradle of love and tenderness,
and in her loins, where love warms,
the cradle of hate's and war's forgetfulness!