Gloomstones Vol. 4 part 2

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.
To me writing poetry is about both rhyme and form. Both important parts
Of the Poem.

Understanding

The shadows,
Disappearing into dark swirling skies,
Were deepest,
Beneath the well traveled road riding high.

There were sighs,
Setting of fear shrouds against the windows,
Locks kept set,
Protecting from the travelers passing by,
And the rain, came, pounding all around him,
And the pools, flowed, cascading a parade.

Beneath the well traveled road riding high,
Deep shadows,
Protected as well as the locked windows.

G

Not quite a sonnet with only 13 line, but a familiar length to me,
But unlike my normal 3,7,3 or 7,3,7 line length based it on 3,10.
Then there was

Night Speeds or Moving at the Speed of Night

Keep to the sideways,
Avoiding fast passages;
Slow and easily.

Sunset raged,
The last great full light of day,
Was sinking
And shrinking,
Till it had all gone away;
The day caged.
Unfeeling,
Shadows bars had taken light,
A new make,
A new shake,
Defining stars take the night,
Revealing.

Day’s remnants,
Energy in bright speeding,
Always dare,
Never care,
Burning without a needing;
Void restraints.

I move slow,
Time in the dark is endless,
Cold in stone,
A dark tome,
Vision amidst the mindless;
Still shadow.

I feel walls,
Vibrating with the moving,
Many names,
Many flames,
Consuming with the living;
And souls calls.

One bell chimes,
And the dark then becomes deep,
Done burning,
Bones yearning,
And they rush to find their sleep,
Two bells chimes.

Stragglers leave,
Grime and dankness in their wake,
Dismal needs,
Bottom feeds,
The last the least the worse make,
For none grieve.

Then all’s gone,
Wood and iron in their place,
Then enter,
Nights center,
Good and evil on the face,
All is done.

G

Which returns to my standard form with just a little preamble.

Toward the end of the month of May, 2001 I began to Linger

Lingerings Light

As I moved away silent,
Thoughts linger,
Of how just moments were spent,
Still caught in the fragrances
Smells linger,
With memory in trances,
Rapture of time now gone by,
Lingering,
All expelled with a soft sigh,
My thoughts drifts to my pillow,
Lingering,
Slight awake in the shadow.
I linger.

G

Lingerings Dark

To sleep I drop poorly spent,
Dreams linger,
In familiar nightmares bent,
Perhaps wake to piercing lance,
Screams linger,
Visions slowly end their dance,
Gray reality covers dark,
Lingering,
At the edge of the grim stark,
To let the thoughts go again,
Lingering,
Before the sweeping of pain.
I linger.

G

Lingering Gray

In a dirty alley way, all alone,
Except for scurries of gray, skin and bone,
Lingers on color’s dull edge, barely there;
Garbage piles forming a hedge, without care.

Gray spirit lingering, lingering on.

In a clean polished hall way, coated white,
Accepts hours beyond day, beyond night,
Lingers in a monotone, colors gone,
Like the time’s bleaching of bone, now past done.

Gray spirit lingering, lingering on.

In casket taken away, to darkness,
Where colors can never stay, no brightness,
Shrouds of dirt now confines all, covering,
And spirits leave at death’s call, lingering.

G

Lingering Colors

The chair was there where it had sat so long,
Facing outward looking to the garden.
It was there she’d rest and sing a soft song,
Her hands dirty from the earth they’d been in
Planting flowers and pulling stray grasses,
Then lingers in the chair as day passes.
As soon as the days sunshine warmed the soil,
She’d gather up her spade, shovel, and rake;
Spending the morning in her garden toil,
Coaxing the blossoms only God can make.

This Spring the chair that was there wasn’t filled;
The chair was there where it had sat so long,
But no one came by and nothing was tilled,
Yet the flowers came up where they’d belong.

G

These were all posted at Passions i.e. piptalk.com/

Perhaps to end with something Old?
My section of Chinese Translations isn’t operational at this time,
(I went to fix it snazzier and messed it up instead)
so how about one of those.
This is a translation of Li Bai Called

MoonChat

As I now,
Sitting my winecup aside,
I ponder
How old the bright moon might be
And I ask.
Knowing bright moon can not hide,
A mirror
Flashing light for all to see.
Walking with
Everyone on it’s night ride.
Over gates,
Of the crimson palace strong,
Where we go
The flying moon comes along.
Purest light
Disperses mists of azure
That depart
Into clouds at the dawning,
Only to
Reform over sandy shore,
Comes again
In the rough waves it’s spawning.
The rabbit
Grinds elixir ceaselessly.
And who keeps
Lonely Chang E company?
People now
See not what ancients saw
Yet this moon
Shone upon them just as bright
And as full,
Same beauty and the same awe
Was their guide
As they sailed across the night.
It’s my wish
When wine and song are at hand
Your shining
Will forever linger grand.

G

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