Congratulations to Peggy & Kendell!
Our January, 2000 winner for the best Millinnium poem.
Poems by Peggy Meeks King & Kendell Horak Your Love Song To Me Unbound © by Peggy Meeks-King You are a man of music and a man of poetry, a song unto me. You see! You sing to me, of wild love, flowers too, of that thing called desire, when you whisper my name, it sets my blood on fire, on flames. You talk of nights out dancing and of the sweetest wine, after the holidays; maybe you say. Can a writer now dead and gone bring and give to us a lover's song? Can Mary Shelley do the unthinkable at the end 1999, make a love-match deep from within her grave? Bring two lonely poetic hearts together as one, like a part from her dark book of creation. The summer she wrote it --all it did was rain, the rain almost drove Mary insane, so that rain was a force, a energy force of her creation. Can it be that fate matched your lusty desires, your needs with mine, a perfect match this time, with thoughts in my mind of that long lost crimson Valentine. So write me your songs your music, and your poems. Sing to me of a new blue sky with pink clouds of hope . Create me a new heart -make it bold like a hellish volcano on one of Jupiter's moons. Yes fashion it after Io Galileo was blind too, as is love; his eyes were on the sun way to long. Make a kiss within my reach, fill me with your sweetness help me to take flight to a far away star give my heart wings. Give to me many silver stars, make the heavens open those flood gates, talk to me about poets of old yeah Mr. Shelley will do, and Lord Byron too! Tell me about that summer when love was new. To know desire unbound that never touches the cold bittersweet ground; a garden to some and also a grave to us all-where even the red roses find a place to grow. Move me to your beat -- reach up and take the north star down from the Universe and place it at my feet, that I too may know of creation unbound. Give to me a very sweet sound. love love love to the capt. Love Symphony Soul Unbound (opus 1) To Peggy I will sing you Love songs And whisper words sweet Shelly, Byron, Blake Whatever You feel And when the Night begins the pale pink sky I will reach up Turn to red as my flaming desire And start a symphony summoned from the wind Thunder My Orchestra Maelstroms my musicians Conducting this ever swelling SoulSong Crescendo to mad rthymns While the Angels lend a voice reach up and pull down the Red and Silver clouds Horizon Lift you in my arms and carry you to the skys and plucking Every star weave them into a necklace of light to fall so deep place them in your hair to shine against your eyes sparkle Fling them at your feet Then cover your shining self in Rose petals White I love so much Red to match the Flush of your glowing cheeks While conducting the Sky Symphony Heard round the world but Whos'e melody is you and you alone increase in tempo As rthymn grows us one given back the melody swirls Song heard Round the world And in that thunderclap Pierced through Hearts Two Lightening burning Binding us Still the Symphony whirls on Given over to passions will Again and again the music builds Crescendo dance elegance until there is no longer Two No concept of ought but One Then as thunder rips the fabric of the sky seemingly apart collapsed gently the tendearest carress I will kiss the tears away As the Dawn Impending hovers a sweet melody mixed in sighs of contenments wonder is breathed Lay your head upon my chest Burn your eyes into me knowing As I wave on Loves Lullabye Where the Dreamers and children asleep smile gently a single Tear of Joy touching their lips As Love sighs universally this bond of Souls Unbound sleep my Love Tomorrow always comes The Golden Dawn love poems by The Captain aka Kendell J. Horak and Peggy taken as one poem for this contest thank you Mary Shelly and P. shelley and lord byron :) Winter's Edge © by Peggy Meeks-King I don't know how to get from here to there -- not really, maybe I will just look for an old comfortable rose -coloured garment in my room, very soft to keep my flesh warm as inhabitants of this globe look to the new age with many questions. If only I could just fly away to a peaceful place. How do I find the warm days of summer once again? I need the flowers that come with springtime. I so crave the sun, its light, the watercolours of a May Sky, take away this evil night; please, because without it, without the sun, I shall take my heart to the nearest asylum, yeah, I know they must have a drop-box for parts near their front gate: for hearts, and brains, fingers, toes, and souls. From rough seas to smooth sailing, maybe winter's end is near, the edge of Old man winter can't be far if i wish on a hot star-- I know angels have complete power over the wind, even from Adam and Eve's time. But I can't find my way about for this thick -sick fog, maybe Winter's end is near, overthere somewhere-- not months away like everyone that I know seems to think so-- asking me things like are you prepared for winter? Are you prepared for winter Peg O' MY heart? I tell them NO! NO! NO! leave me alone , as always, I am not prepared for nothing or no one or anything, not even old age or its cousin death! Oh how I wish I were reddy for the cold for the snow for the deep purple dawn of a new age, but I am no more prepared then I was yesterday or even the day before that, I don't call all the shots. Like being poor and how do you tell yourself yeah its ok to be poor and to do without your desires, your needs. Like a falling star knows not when - it will go down, from the heavens and land right on its face. What kind of place will that star land? Will it be a groovy place or a candy land place? Even the sad star don't understand the trip its about to take. Who can say for sure even if it will ever land -- or land near a person's front door,or burn baby, burn as it falls down in the air, without a care, without a thought, but it is sad it knows its dying and to never be again. Now is the hour one might tell me, I care not for time or its history. I care more for verse and red Valentines. When madness comes to call, do we truly know its signs? What does the mad poet think when he can no longer read or write, and the unhappy artist paints himself singing wild, wild, wild serenades in blue, dancing in the dark near some sleepy lagoon looking for harbor lights, by the light of the silv'ry moon, then remembering better days in the month of June-- its time to fall fast asleep and to all a good night, I will pretend and prepare next time better... right? I am at the road now taking me to winter's end, if I dream aloud I can make it-- yes there will be bluebirds over the white cliffs of dover and some sweet clover. Am I there yet, at the end of winter, in the dawn of the new purple age? Give me the stage, and I will be its playwright come midnight. And give me- my dancing shoes of pale pink! The witches castle is only one mile down the road to the east, where is professor Marvel when you need him the most, and where is his crystal ball of white? Yeah, yeah, yeah, the witch of the west, the boss of the forest has a better crystal ball of bright orange, maybe I will see which one has the most to offer me, but I must act fast before miss Dorothy melts the evil witch with the help of her cute dog Toto. But how did I know? Man just how did I know ? Maybe I have a crystal ball within my head. Where did all those silly love songs go? Give me a love song to listen to, as I walk this yellow stone road to The Wizard Of OZ feeling stone cold. Sing high sing low and follow that yellow brick road. what is that i see? is that emerald city? it is but it can't be.... it was to easy was it to easy? Author - Peggy Meeks-King Copyright © 2000
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