Gloomstones Vol. 4 part 1

Poetry is to express emotions with words,
If these words are as if stones, Which I’ll call Gloomstone,
Then I’d be piling them up like a rough wall around a graveyard,
Not keeping out, not keeping in, just a line,
A method to define what is within.

~ Occasionally,
I take a book to bed, always a fine companion,
The paper seldom cares if I fall asleep amidst the reading.
~ From Winter by James Thomson ( 1700 - 1748 )

“Against the window beats; then brisk alights
On warm hearth; then, hopping o'er the floor,
Eyes all the smiling family askance;
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is -
Till, more familiar grown, the table crumbs
Attract his slender feet.”

The cold beats,
Rattling at the window panes,
And the wind,
Then does win,
Access in to warmth obtains,
Dark wing beats.
To the hearth,
Turning with smiling dark eyes,
That asking,
Midst pecking,
Familiar there where crumbs lies,
Taking part;
As despairs sign he remains.

G

I return to these e-mail stones, because of the ending of a place,
Bianca’s , a place where I have posted for many years, under a few names.
The Primary name has been Professor Gloom,
This being the central part of me, for the longest time.
I Wrote this next poem for the end of a place.

The Demise

How say I,
In response to your demise,
It comes soon,
Ended tune,
Yet to me it's no surprise,
How say you,
What to do,
Will you wander far away,
Nothing took,
No back look,
A melody not to play,
A lost poem,
Vagabond without a home.

I will write, deep in the night,
By the moon,
By flickering candle light
Shuddering in the cold wind,
Poems will bloom
To my darkest of dreams bend,
Placing my words in the flame,
None to grieve,
A loss without any blame,
Seeping away to the stones,
And they leave,
Ashes of my old burnt tomes,
To Gloomstones.

G

In the past in these confine of stones,
I try to place a Old poem here and for this Volume shall focus on
Poetry by cecil.
“cecil” is a writing name I used at Bianca’s for writing poetry to
Sable Tang.

Fingers Linger

Soft is the silence,
As I stroke your soft hair,
With my fingers,
And you quietly sit there,
As eyes linger,
I don't say the sentence,
But with a kiss.

Quiet is our motion,
Intertwining in our arms.
With my fingers
I stroke your smooth skin,
As they linger,
And slowly move again,
Down your back.

.c

Now return to Gloom
With in…

The Bars of the City

City bars,
The ones of steel on windows,
Inward holds,
Outward holds,
Protections from the shadows,
Holding bars.

City bars,
The ones of steady drinking,
Inward flows,
Outward flows,
Numbing minds from real thinking,
Holding bars.

Those within,
Fearing those without a friend.

G

And another one from the past, 1999
Originally posted at Bianca’s Book of Poetry.

The Tolling Bell

Hear it toll,
The clear tone that is ringing,
Hear it chime
Marking time,
It’s a sad song of singing,
Hear it toll.

Twelve tones clear,
The date changes once again,
Dark passage
Marks an age,
Tolling against all the pain,
And all hear.

Joyless, Joyless, hear the bell.

G 99

I hope to get the next part in a timely manner,
Till next time.

If you think of someone whom might like these Gloomstones
Either forward them the email you have gotten, of give them my email address,
And when they request I will add them to my list.

If you tire of these Gloomstones Dark and dismal nature
Then write me and I will remove your name.
e-mail pgloom@hotmail.com

Although I don’t mind if you forward my work to others
Please do not post my material on public boards.
Thank you,
Professor Gloom