Untitled & Unfinished
She said she slept one night neath a dreaming tree
And long neath its bowers dreamt solely of me
The stars did wheel and turn and glisten she said
On the leaves of her dreaming, the grass of her bed
ELAshley
032216.0430.6
One of many musings written for Mary Angel who, I must confess, was the love of my life, and to whom I still write letters... unsent
I thought, as you paused, sipping your tea
wet, red tongue, kissing the brim
of your porcelain cup. Your lips, how soft
~how we made our tongues to swim
I smiled at the mem'ry. You softly coughed
Last night! I in you, on the lip of your cup
Smiling, demure, lips a'touch your cup
making love to your honey and tea
Your cup and saucer chimed in duet. 'What?'
you asked, knowing yet wishing it said
How I loved our last loving; your soft warm skin
smouldering upon our mid-summers bed
and cursing the moment our day must begin
~How we relished the intimacy, and naked, lay
as first light touched the bed where we lay
And impatient with waiting, again you say, 'what?'
This is in progress, It is no where near complete. There is much much more to say about these two enjoying a cup outside a cafe in Paris. But the first two stanzas are finished.
The rhyming scheme is as follows... A - b - c - b - c - D - D - A, wherein the first and last lines are repeated, as well as the last words of lines 6 & 7. These two stanzas took me about two and a half hours. As this springs from my unquestioning love of tea, the word 'tea' will find mention throughout.
No title as of yet. That, I think, should wait. Often I'll name a poem before it's finished, only to discover the title no longer fits.
Here are links to other poems about tea and love...
The Zebra Tree
Un Peu Poésie Légère
Love in a Time For Tea
ELAshley
020316.021918.6
wet, red tongue, kissing the brim
of your porcelain cup. Your lips, how soft
~how we made our tongues to swim
I smiled at the mem'ry. You softly coughed
Last night! I in you, on the lip of your cup
Smiling, demure, lips a'touch your cup
making love to your honey and tea
Your cup and saucer chimed in duet. 'What?'
you asked, knowing yet wishing it said
How I loved our last loving; your soft warm skin
smouldering upon our mid-summers bed
and cursing the moment our day must begin
~How we relished the intimacy, and naked, lay
as first light touched the bed where we lay
And impatient with waiting, again you say, 'what?'
This is in progress, It is no where near complete. There is much much more to say about these two enjoying a cup outside a cafe in Paris. But the first two stanzas are finished.
The rhyming scheme is as follows... A - b - c - b - c - D - D - A, wherein the first and last lines are repeated, as well as the last words of lines 6 & 7. These two stanzas took me about two and a half hours. As this springs from my unquestioning love of tea, the word 'tea' will find mention throughout.
No title as of yet. That, I think, should wait. Often I'll name a poem before it's finished, only to discover the title no longer fits.
Here are links to other poems about tea and love...
The Zebra Tree
Un Peu Poésie Légère
Love in a Time For Tea
ELAshley
020316.021918.6
The Last Valkyrie
Eight Valkyries Eight there were
One fell her promise free And seven there were
One fell on the Bracken Lea Six there were
One clove her sword In lands afar
One faced the legate's cord Now four there are
Two fought, and fighting fell Two remain and live to tell
Another must fall And bleed on the stone
So the Valkyrie last Can stand alone
ELAshley
012416.025848.6
Revisions:
012516.051737.6
012616.051335.6
012616.054912.6
012716.032252.6
This is the jumping off point for the third book of my series "The Forge of Worlds". This book is titled, "The Last Valkyrie". No one reading this should infer that the characters and situations are even remotely 'Norse' in nature. The main character, Freya Grayl, is responsible for the Valkyries and their names, having chosen their Order and names simply because Freya's name is Scandinavian. Her motive was simply to create a personal body guard; to separate them from their people, by giving them names wholly alien from their culture and language set. The result of which was to doom each and every one. Including the last.
Carry Me (Carol)
Carol, it’s quiet, the fire burns low
I’d be asleep now but for something I’d know
If I weren’t a wanderer, been lost all these years
Would you be my lover for to ease all my tears
O, Carol, it’s me, I sing to the fire
Sing to the embers and humbly inquire
I’m coming home for to see if I may
Ask of your heart if in your arms I might lay
Carry me, Carol, Please carry me home
I’m tired of running, of being alone
Carry me, Carol, I want to wake from this dream
(Wash me in crimson and I will be clean)
Carry me, Carol, Please carry me home
Carol I’m dreaming, and everything’s black
I’m afraid that I’ve gone where there’s no coming back
I’ve seen my reflection in the windows I pass
A vagabond stranger stares back from the glass
O, Carol, it’s me, I sing to the fire
I sing to the embers and humbly inquire
May I please come home, I’m so tired and worn
And cursing the day I ever was born
Carry me, Carol, please carry me home
I’m tired of running, of being alone
Kiss me now, Carol, and I’ll awake from this dream
Wash me in crimson, and I will be clean
Carry me, carol, please carry me home
ELAshley
011316.115737.1
We'll Take Our Crumpets Now
ELAshley
011416.121535.6
Revisions:
011416.024035.6
011416.024730.6
011416.085720.6
011416.121535.6
Revisions:
011416.024035.6
011416.024730.6
011416.085720.6
Dear Mary Angel
Happy New Year,
A lot has happened in the past year, most of them realizations I've made; not things you can hold in your hand, but nonetheless significant in terms of what I've managed to accomplish. For one, I've discovered who I am. This may sound crazy-- fifty-five years old and finally understanding this basic truism, but...
Most everyone tends to identify themselves with their job-title, "I'm a doctor, I'm a janitor," and that's fine if that's all they aspire to be. If the purpose of their lives-- the great driving force and motivation, was to become a janitor? Okay. But I believe very few people, if they were honest with themselves, sees their occupation as the great driving force of their lives; their reason to be.
Take me, for instance. I've been a cook, a dishwasher, an X-ray supply tech. I've worked on the crew boats off the Texas and Louisiana coasts, I've strung cable for a cable company in Arkansas, I've managed a restaurant, I've produced the five, six, and ten o'clock news at a local station, I've worked on the web, built advertising, edited and made commercials. I've managed to squeeze in a lot of jobs in thirty-nine years, and yet, not a single one of them told the story of WHO I was at any given time. Who I am is a much larger story. It has taken the whole of my life tell. And it is not defined by any time-clock I've ever punched.
I am an Artist, broadly speaking, but more specifically, a writer, and a poet. Whether or not I ever earn a living as a poet and writer is irrelevant, because these are the driving forces that propel me forward. They are my reasons to be. These are the gifts God has given me; my talents. And I dare not bury them in the sand.
I believe that if everyone in the world were allowed and encouraged to nurture and grow that seed of "Being" within them, this would be a much calmer, more peaceful planet. Within everyone is a desire to create. We can't but help desire the art of creation; this desire was forged into every cell of our bodies from conception. This is the closest we get to being like Him, in this life.
I wish you all the best in this coming year. I wish you peace, love, and a greater, deeper longing for the You God created you to be.
All my love
E
A lot has happened in the past year, most of them realizations I've made; not things you can hold in your hand, but nonetheless significant in terms of what I've managed to accomplish. For one, I've discovered who I am. This may sound crazy-- fifty-five years old and finally understanding this basic truism, but...
Most everyone tends to identify themselves with their job-title, "I'm a doctor, I'm a janitor," and that's fine if that's all they aspire to be. If the purpose of their lives-- the great driving force and motivation, was to become a janitor? Okay. But I believe very few people, if they were honest with themselves, sees their occupation as the great driving force of their lives; their reason to be.
Take me, for instance. I've been a cook, a dishwasher, an X-ray supply tech. I've worked on the crew boats off the Texas and Louisiana coasts, I've strung cable for a cable company in Arkansas, I've managed a restaurant, I've produced the five, six, and ten o'clock news at a local station, I've worked on the web, built advertising, edited and made commercials. I've managed to squeeze in a lot of jobs in thirty-nine years, and yet, not a single one of them told the story of WHO I was at any given time. Who I am is a much larger story. It has taken the whole of my life tell. And it is not defined by any time-clock I've ever punched.
I am an Artist, broadly speaking, but more specifically, a writer, and a poet. Whether or not I ever earn a living as a poet and writer is irrelevant, because these are the driving forces that propel me forward. They are my reasons to be. These are the gifts God has given me; my talents. And I dare not bury them in the sand.
I believe that if everyone in the world were allowed and encouraged to nurture and grow that seed of "Being" within them, this would be a much calmer, more peaceful planet. Within everyone is a desire to create. We can't but help desire the art of creation; this desire was forged into every cell of our bodies from conception. This is the closest we get to being like Him, in this life.
I wish you all the best in this coming year. I wish you peace, love, and a greater, deeper longing for the You God created you to be.
All my love
E
Unbound
I wish for kinder words
Not swords, not knives
I wish for softer speech and tone
And peace for our lives
A better dream of the future
Where every word nurtures
A greater hope for our lives
For where is hope in cruelty?
Where is love in pain?
Where is kindness in beheadings
Religion of peace? Madness, I say
Beatings and immolations
A culture of predations
'This will be yours,' they say
Our dreams are inviolate
Our children treasured
The lives we lose to complacency
Cannot be measured
There's more to lose that freedom
And nothing gained by whoredom
The sins of which can't be measured
An ephemeral line, compromise
In giving up ground
Our God insists we stand in the gap
'gainst their heresies unsound
To live or die matters not
It matters if we stood and fought
Their calls to prayer un-sounded
I wish, I hope for peace
I dream, I pray for love
I wish the world the peace of God
Every blessing in trove
No sure footing lies before us
But I've faith in Him who made us
Who holds the Light, and trove
Where this leads, I wish I knew
I wish this beast we'd already slew
But I hope this year we resolve anew
To bear His light on and through
Unafraid, unflinching
Unbound
ELAshley
010316.034307.6
Not swords, not knives
I wish for softer speech and tone
And peace for our lives
A better dream of the future
Where every word nurtures
A greater hope for our lives
For where is hope in cruelty?
Where is love in pain?
Where is kindness in beheadings
Religion of peace? Madness, I say
Beatings and immolations
A culture of predations
'This will be yours,' they say
Our dreams are inviolate
Our children treasured
The lives we lose to complacency
Cannot be measured
There's more to lose that freedom
And nothing gained by whoredom
The sins of which can't be measured
An ephemeral line, compromise
In giving up ground
Our God insists we stand in the gap
'gainst their heresies unsound
To live or die matters not
It matters if we stood and fought
Their calls to prayer un-sounded
I wish, I hope for peace
I dream, I pray for love
I wish the world the peace of God
Every blessing in trove
No sure footing lies before us
But I've faith in Him who made us
Who holds the Light, and trove
Where this leads, I wish I knew
I wish this beast we'd already slew
But I hope this year we resolve anew
To bear His light on and through
Unafraid, unflinching
Unbound
ELAshley
010316.034307.6
..::News::..
I've begun to work on an expansion of The Dance, I just never liked where it ended, nor how it ended-- quoting Kansas --and the more I thought about it, there's so much more to the "dance" of life; there are deeper currents, depths of oceans, and relationships. The poem itself is a part of my novel, The Gardens of Loveplay; it's Etienne's gift to Angelina just before Valentines day. It will develop over time in 5 stages/parts, encompassing two styles: the free-form style of the original, and alliterative.
I look forward to seeing where it all goes.
ELAshley
111715.114320.1
I look forward to seeing where it all goes.
ELAshley
111715.114320.1
Eulogy
My heart is a spark
On an ember softly dying
My love is a whim
A dream in the corner crying
It's eyes filled with weeping
Lines of kohl in sorrow streaming
My soul is bereft
That my sister lies here dreaming
Yet my hope is eternal
knowing she's in His presence singing
O, God of my salvation
For You, my heart's prostration
I will praise Thee
Praise Thee
And praise Thee ever more
ELAshley
121508.123809.1 - lines 1-7
030915.093816.6 - lines 8-15
On an ember softly dying
My love is a whim
A dream in the corner crying
It's eyes filled with weeping
Lines of kohl in sorrow streaming
My soul is bereft
That my sister lies here dreaming
Yet my hope is eternal
knowing she's in His presence singing
O, God of my salvation
For You, my heart's prostration
I will praise Thee
Praise Thee
And praise Thee ever more
ELAshley
121508.123809.1 - lines 1-7
030915.093816.6 - lines 8-15
Anonymities
What have you gained
With your bone strewn fields?
Yoricks upon Yoricks
Yet with none now to remember ~
Nameless reminders ~
Anonymities
They are gone
And more...
They are, quite simply
Forgotten
ELAshley
021498
With your bone strewn fields?
Yoricks upon Yoricks
Yet with none now to remember ~
Nameless reminders ~
Anonymities
They are gone
And more...
They are, quite simply
Forgotten
ELAshley
021498
In the Gardens of Loveplay -- The Sword Parallel
But what next Etienne?
how do you mean?
what next for us, Etienne... in the poem, what next? Is this where it ends? Is there no fulfillment for either of us? You promise to dance me, to make the world envious. but envious of what? You have danced me to the center of love, given me ambrosia to drink, but what next, Etienne.
I must admit, I did not expect this reaction. And truthfully, I never thought beyond reaching the opposite shore... the center
Men rarely do, she sighed
I hope you are smiling as you say this
No
What then can I do to make you smile, fair Angelina.
You call me 'fair' any yet you've never seen me. I could be ugly.
You're not
How can you know
Pia told me
Have you returned to your old lover then?
You know better...
Do I? You dance me beautifully to the center of your fantasy, and leave me unfulfilled with a glass of the best wine in Venice. What does Pia know of my beauty? To her I am whore! And yet it is she who has had you to bed, not I. When did you speak with her?
A week ago
A week. And you didn't think to mention this sooner? What did she say?
Are you jealous, Angelina?
Of course I am
But why? You have my heart...
Do I? You've only danced me to the center, but how far have you taken Pia? Give me what Pia has had, and more. Give it all to me. Every last dram of your heart and soul. We've been sitting in here all summer, all of autumn and winter and you've not once asked to see me. You want to dance me with words, undress me with innuendo and promise, but never do you step beyond innuendo, or offer more than promise. What good is a promise if it never holds you in it's arms? kisses you-- makes love to you? Answer me that, Etienne. You despise Pia, and yet you trust her word enough to believe her when she calls me beautiful, but you don't trust me enough to look into your eyes. What are you afraid I'll see? that you're not beautiful? Do you think me so shallow? I'm tired of this game, Etienne. I realize I set the rules, but I want it to end.
You write for me something truly beautiful, but you only take me halfway. I'm tired of halfway, Etienne. Take me home, or leave me altogether.
And with that she stood and he listened to her as she walked away.
----------------------------------------------
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...
Three, he said to himself.
Wide steps on three sides
Marbled and balustrated upwards
No. Don't write simply because she wants you to.
how do you mean?
what next for us, Etienne... in the poem, what next? Is this where it ends? Is there no fulfillment for either of us? You promise to dance me, to make the world envious. but envious of what? You have danced me to the center of love, given me ambrosia to drink, but what next, Etienne.
I must admit, I did not expect this reaction. And truthfully, I never thought beyond reaching the opposite shore... the center
Men rarely do, she sighed
I hope you are smiling as you say this
No
What then can I do to make you smile, fair Angelina.
You call me 'fair' any yet you've never seen me. I could be ugly.
You're not
How can you know
Pia told me
Have you returned to your old lover then?
You know better...
Do I? You dance me beautifully to the center of your fantasy, and leave me unfulfilled with a glass of the best wine in Venice. What does Pia know of my beauty? To her I am whore! And yet it is she who has had you to bed, not I. When did you speak with her?
A week ago
A week. And you didn't think to mention this sooner? What did she say?
Are you jealous, Angelina?
Of course I am
But why? You have my heart...
Do I? You've only danced me to the center, but how far have you taken Pia? Give me what Pia has had, and more. Give it all to me. Every last dram of your heart and soul. We've been sitting in here all summer, all of autumn and winter and you've not once asked to see me. You want to dance me with words, undress me with innuendo and promise, but never do you step beyond innuendo, or offer more than promise. What good is a promise if it never holds you in it's arms? kisses you-- makes love to you? Answer me that, Etienne. You despise Pia, and yet you trust her word enough to believe her when she calls me beautiful, but you don't trust me enough to look into your eyes. What are you afraid I'll see? that you're not beautiful? Do you think me so shallow? I'm tired of this game, Etienne. I realize I set the rules, but I want it to end.
You write for me something truly beautiful, but you only take me halfway. I'm tired of halfway, Etienne. Take me home, or leave me altogether.
And with that she stood and he listened to her as she walked away.
----------------------------------------------
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...
Three, he said to himself.
No. Don't write simply because she wants you to.
Not Another Minute (Without You)
Dear God
Where are you in my life?
Where am I? In the light?
Or deep in shadow? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
My heart is near to breaking
In the pains of my own making
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I can't take another minute without you
Dear God
Do you love me even still?
As when I was in your will?
Or was I ever? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
The emptiness is killing me
Like harps hung in the willow tree
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I won't last another moment without you
Touch me Lord
Fill me with your Holy Spirit
By the blood of your son,
Oh sweet Jesus, please be mine
Touch me Lord and let me know that I'm still loved
Wash me clean from all the sins I bear
Let me feel your presence everywhere
But especially, Lord, heal my soul
Dear God
Must I spend my lifetime weeping?
Pray my soul that you'll be keeping?
When my last breath is spent? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
I want to spend my whole life loving you
Free of guilt and shame ~ just loving you
Touch me now, or when it pleases you
Restore my soul, I beg of you
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I can't take another minute...
No, not another minute without you
ELAshley
030512.031842.6
A song... in the vein of ...Roland Orzibal's Mad World ...dark and despairing. Or perhaps not so dark... something along the lines of Twila Paris or Michael W. Smith? I'm still working out the melody.
Originally posted at E is for Everything. The post's title mirrors my own present deep anguish...
Where are you in my life?
Where am I? In the light?
Or deep in shadow? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
My heart is near to breaking
In the pains of my own making
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I can't take another minute without you
Dear God
Do you love me even still?
As when I was in your will?
Or was I ever? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
The emptiness is killing me
Like harps hung in the willow tree
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I won't last another moment without you
Touch me Lord
Fill me with your Holy Spirit
By the blood of your son,
Oh sweet Jesus, please be mine
Touch me Lord and let me know that I'm still loved
Wash me clean from all the sins I bear
Let me feel your presence everywhere
But especially, Lord, heal my soul
Dear God
Must I spend my lifetime weeping?
Pray my soul that you'll be keeping?
When my last breath is spent? tell me now, Oh Lord
God
I want to spend my whole life loving you
Free of guilt and shame ~ just loving you
Touch me now, or when it pleases you
Restore my soul, I beg of you
Touch me now, Oh Lord
I can't take another minute...
No, not another minute without you
ELAshley
030512.031842.6
A song... in the vein of ...Roland Orzibal's Mad World ...dark and despairing. Or perhaps not so dark... something along the lines of Twila Paris or Michael W. Smith? I'm still working out the melody.
Originally posted at E is for Everything. The post's title mirrors my own present deep anguish...
If ever I needed a song to sing...
Mountains, Hills, and Mounds of Earth
There were flowers strewn
O’er mountains, hills and mounds of dirt
Cov’ring over every hurt
Now gone. Cruelly hewn
And felt no more
Honeysuckle in the air
Sweet on winds run through your hair
As you lay lying there
To feel again no more
I cried a lover’s tears
O’er mountains, hills and mounds of earth
Counting all I thought it worth
Now gone. How it sears
This heart for evermore
Strains of birdsong in the air
Singing gaily and unaware
Of you, love, lying there
To feel again no more
Heaven weeps to know you’re gone
From my side, yet not for long
Each day will seem eternity
Until your face again I see
Sore despond I threw me down
O’er mountains, hills and mounds of clay
My every cry a dirg'ed lay
Swearing I would rather drown
That I might feel again no more
Honeysuckle in the air
Sweet on winds run through my hair
‘tis grief you see now standing there
a breath and cry away from where
You feel again no more
ELAshley
030212.104326.1
Revisions:
031212.013950.6
After the War, 2
My world is grown numb
My heart aches
For the war has gone long
My heart wants only to
Lay down its arms
But how can I give in
Without first seeing you
And knowing you will understand?
~I fear my heart has already given up
Would the sight of your lovely eyes
Would the feel of your honey hair
Would the taste of your lips
Or the feel of your arms about me
Be enough to draw me
Away from the brink?
My chest is heavy
My eyes bleeding orbs,
~Empty of tears
~My wounds un-healing
Will the warmth of your embrace
Will your soft beautiful voice...?
Will you...
Will you still love me?
Despite all I’ve done
In this long exhausting war?
I have been so long afield
I often wonder if you're there
Do you ken I yet live?
That I try to reach you?
Have they told you I surviv?
That I return to you?
Or do you visit my grave...
An empty box marked with a name
I still own?
~I fear to tell you what I've seen
Have you spoken to others
Who have been to the fire?
Who stood tall before our flag
~and huddled against the barrage?
Who cleared the bodies from the fields?
I am coming home
Please wait...
Please, please say you still love me,
That you want me
That you will comfort me and
Help me to heal
To Become once more
The man you once loved
I have dreamt of you~
While we tore away the debris
Carried away the bodies
I have walked a waking dream
Of cloud and dust
And could not have survived
Otherwise without you there
Please tell me you're still there
That you still love me
Still want me
For I think my heart would otherwise break
I would rather die here
On my way back to you
Than to find no love in your eyes
At the end of my road
Please say you still love
That you want me still
That you dream of me as well
Say you can give me these things
And I will be saved
My heart could then beat
With renewed strength of purpose
And I could live again
Live for you
Belong to you and no one else
Ever again
Please say I am still yours
That you are still mine
My love
My soul
My reason for living
ELAshley
September 12, 2001
Visualizing what has come,
Anticipating what is coming
My heart aches
For the war has gone long
My heart wants only to
Lay down its arms
But how can I give in
Without first seeing you
And knowing you will understand?
~I fear my heart has already given up
Would the sight of your lovely eyes
Would the feel of your honey hair
Would the taste of your lips
Or the feel of your arms about me
Be enough to draw me
Away from the brink?
My chest is heavy
My eyes bleeding orbs,
~Empty of tears
~My wounds un-healing
Will the warmth of your embrace
Will your soft beautiful voice...?
Will you...
Will you still love me?
Despite all I’ve done
In this long exhausting war?
I have been so long afield
I often wonder if you're there
Do you ken I yet live?
That I try to reach you?
Have they told you I surviv?
That I return to you?
Or do you visit my grave...
An empty box marked with a name
I still own?
~I fear to tell you what I've seen
Have you spoken to others
Who have been to the fire?
Who stood tall before our flag
~and huddled against the barrage?
Who cleared the bodies from the fields?
I am coming home
Please wait...
Please, please say you still love me,
That you want me
That you will comfort me and
Help me to heal
To Become once more
The man you once loved
I have dreamt of you~
While we tore away the debris
Carried away the bodies
I have walked a waking dream
Of cloud and dust
And could not have survived
Otherwise without you there
Please tell me you're still there
That you still love me
Still want me
For I think my heart would otherwise break
I would rather die here
On my way back to you
Than to find no love in your eyes
At the end of my road
Please say you still love
That you want me still
That you dream of me as well
Say you can give me these things
And I will be saved
My heart could then beat
With renewed strength of purpose
And I could live again
Live for you
Belong to you and no one else
Ever again
Please say I am still yours
That you are still mine
My love
My soul
My reason for living
ELAshley
September 12, 2001
Visualizing what has come,
Anticipating what is coming
July's Nuclear Dream
The sky was once blue
Now its a gray ashy hue
And its burned on the memories
Of everyone I knew
Gone are the abbeys
The parks and the bars
Gone all discussions
Of Venus and Mars
Everyone's gone
Or near enough, anyway
Time to start over
If I can just find a way
Did we really think heaven
Would forgive us this day
Or forgive us tomorrow
Have you nothing to say?
Silent as a tombstone
And dead as the sky
Who's now left to ponder
Our dream's dying sigh
Cause I can't find a reason
Or an answer just the same
Why I should stand here living
Amid the dead and the flame
Color me pessimistic
Color me a fool
Things could be better
Wading my feet in the pool
Where the bodies lie floating
Or to the bottom submerge
While the shrill keen of missiles
Sing their hideous dirge
I'm just hoping for something
Some substance I cannot see
Looking for the evidence
Of a greater faith in me
Only I can stop this
I could awaken from this dream
Beat my sword into a plowshare
Cast my fears into the stream
And let the waters carry them
To rivers and to seas
Give my life to understanding
to flowers and to bees
Show the world I love them
Not in word but in deed
For there is nothing in these weapons
We should ever want or need
ELAshley
071211.112535.1
Revisions:
032612.092530.1
Now its a gray ashy hue
And its burned on the memories
Of everyone I knew
Gone are the abbeys
The parks and the bars
Gone all discussions
Of Venus and Mars
Everyone's gone
Or near enough, anyway
Time to start over
If I can just find a way
Did we really think heaven
Would forgive us this day
Or forgive us tomorrow
Have you nothing to say?
Silent as a tombstone
And dead as the sky
Who's now left to ponder
Our dream's dying sigh
Cause I can't find a reason
Or an answer just the same
Why I should stand here living
Amid the dead and the flame
Color me pessimistic
Color me a fool
Things could be better
Wading my feet in the pool
Where the bodies lie floating
Or to the bottom submerge
While the shrill keen of missiles
Sing their hideous dirge
I'm just hoping for something
Some substance I cannot see
Looking for the evidence
Of a greater faith in me
Only I can stop this
I could awaken from this dream
Beat my sword into a plowshare
Cast my fears into the stream
And let the waters carry them
To rivers and to seas
Give my life to understanding
to flowers and to bees
Show the world I love them
Not in word but in deed
For there is nothing in these weapons
We should ever want or need
ELAshley
071211.112535.1
Revisions:
032612.092530.1
Another Song
Broken
Broken in two
The sky full of blue
Sun shining brightly
On the day I lost you
Heavy as a cloud in the sky
Light as the tears burning in my eye
I'm broken in two
Nothing left to do
But say goodbye
Broken in two
Thought you loved me too
Thought your heart yearned for me
The way I yearn for you
Every bird in its high high tree
Sings a dirge for the heart in me
Broken in two
Nothing left to do
But weep and cry
If my heart were an ocean
There'd be nothing you could do
Oceans can't be broken
They're not in love with you
And if I weren't so tangled
In all the pain you left behind
Perhaps I could forgive you
But you don't care either way, so...
Never mind
Broken in two
I'm broken, it's true
Tomorrow I'll forget you
Or in a year, maybe two
I could take some time to lick my wounds
Try to get my heart strings back in tune
But today I feel broken
With nothing left to do, but
Weep and cry
If my heart were an ocean
There'd be nothing you could do (to me)
Oceans can't be broken
They're not in love with you
And if I weren't so torn and tangled
In the pains you smugly left behind
Perhaps I could forgive you
But you won't care either way
So never mind
Tomorrow I'll forget you
Or in a year or maybe two
But today I'm still broken
Nothing more I can say but...
Goodbye
Goodbye
We were two
Now I'm one
Goodbye
ELAshley
062811.1048.6
Revisions
062911.090545.1
Broken in two
The sky full of blue
Sun shining brightly
On the day I lost you
Heavy as a cloud in the sky
Light as the tears burning in my eye
I'm broken in two
Nothing left to do
But say goodbye
Broken in two
Thought you loved me too
Thought your heart yearned for me
The way I yearn for you
Every bird in its high high tree
Sings a dirge for the heart in me
Broken in two
Nothing left to do
But weep and cry
If my heart were an ocean
There'd be nothing you could do
Oceans can't be broken
They're not in love with you
And if I weren't so tangled
In all the pain you left behind
Perhaps I could forgive you
But you don't care either way, so...
Never mind
Broken in two
I'm broken, it's true
Tomorrow I'll forget you
Or in a year, maybe two
I could take some time to lick my wounds
Try to get my heart strings back in tune
But today I feel broken
With nothing left to do, but
Weep and cry
If my heart were an ocean
There'd be nothing you could do (to me)
Oceans can't be broken
They're not in love with you
And if I weren't so torn and tangled
In the pains you smugly left behind
Perhaps I could forgive you
But you won't care either way
So never mind
Tomorrow I'll forget you
Or in a year or maybe two
But today I'm still broken
Nothing more I can say but...
Goodbye
Goodbye
We were two
Now I'm one
Goodbye
ELAshley
062811.1048.6
Revisions
062911.090545.1
An Affair Over Tea
Un Peu Poésie Légère
(A Little Light Poetry)
I came for the tea,
said I. And she
with eyes like kohl
in diamond lit dew
smiled. Whereas we,
'neath lush camellia tree,
sojourn singly, the soul
of this deep amber brew,
bids us sit. The bowl,
to its subtle brim,
where ripples swim
sings, 'drink deep of me.'
Our cups is empty
said I. Then she
lips blush like figs
bright softly wet,
On this lets agree...
I'll fill you, if you fill me;
my soft petals to your stout sprig!
Our engagement now set,
'forget the din,' * quoth she
Then plunging ladle deep and up
smoothly filled my empty cup
singing, 'Drink deep of me.'
I came for thy tea!
Spoke I. And she
cup shy to tongue
and a tilt to her gaze
Answer now, I challenge thee...
Lovest thou my heart more than tea?
For though we are yet young
wilt thou love me all my days?
Stay thy cup! Thy troth unsung!
'Neath stars, moon, sun, camellia bowers
pledge thou me thy love's endless hours?
Ne'er tiring to drink deeply of me?
Of thee, thy tea?
Asked I. And she
'Yes' in her eyes,
Come drink of me
of mine own heady brew!
You sing to me, and I'll to you
of our lives desires
'neath the circling sun!
And I smiled, filled with its fires
I would that our cups never empty
that your lips soft and chastely
ever desire to drink deep of me!
I came for the tea!
She said. And she,
a dapple of sun
on her soft silk brow,
smiled, I would drink thee
daily, nightly, bold and lightly
Oolong, White, Matcha, Pu'er
hot, cool or chill,
where'er you lay
And her lips kissed the brim of her porcelain cup
brow softly down, her eyes looking up
Come, drink only of me!
For an age of me!
Forever of me!
Come, my love, let's tea!
ELAshley
062411.044007.6
Revisions:
091211.105641.1
102011.125103.6 [including last two stanzas]
020316.030827.6
-----
* "Tea is drunk to forget the din of the world."
--T'ien Yiheng
50,000 words -- "Eternus Bellum" Part 1
"We have the upper hand," she said matter-of-factly. She had said as much half a dozen times in the span of half an hour. The other two didn't bother to comment.
"Come on," she urged, "we have more men. We can take them." You could hear her frustration; her patience with the others seeming inability to make a decision long past metaphorical midnight. There were nine of them hunkered down in the hole and only six of them; six assholes trying to get away from yesterday's rather successful sortie-- though not so successful in that they were stuck down in the town's square behind a dead and mangled tractor.
Deacon turned away from his view of the square. "What makes you so sure?" he asked, with just a touch of impatience all his own crept in.
She raised her hand and ticked off a finger... "There's only six of them, and they've been hunkered down behind that wreck for near the whole day." She ticked another finger. "They're out of ammo, or they're holding on to what little they have left." Another finger. "They've got no reinforcements coming." ...another... " and, Mason wants us to wait."
"Then we should wait," Malice replied from across the hole. Deacon turned back to his view of the square and echoed Malice, "we should wait."
"Wait for Mason 'cause he wants the medal? Or wait for Mason 'cause you're too chicken shit to step out?" She said, hushed and scornful. "Which is it Deacon?"
Deacon sighed. Not the long heavy kind, but the short impatient variety. "Those assholes took out a mess with more'n three-hundred soldiers... armed soldiers. And they did it with under ten men. Those assholes may or may not be out of ammo and, frankly, I'm not trading my ass on slab for a worthless medal should those six assholes prove just as crack cornered as they were yesterday at ten."
He looked away from the crumpled tractor and studied her for a moment. "You can go get your ass handed to you if you want. I won't stop you; frankly, I'm tired of you. But if you get it handed to you, and we lose the field... If you get out alive, Mason will kick your ass across seven hells of white-hot fury. And when he does, Hanna, don’t come bitchin' at me. Don't come bitchin' at any of us. Better yet, don’t come back. 'Cause if you’re stupid enough to go it alone, you’re stupid enough, sooner or later, to get the rest of us killed." Deacon turned his focus back to the wreck in the square and the occasional peep of helmet over its jagged summit.
"Glory isn't something any soldier should court, Hanna," said Jeckle. "Glory's for songs and regaling the past. Men live in the present. Time enough to live in the past when you’re dead." Jeckle was a scarecrow of a man, wiry and tough as sinew. He looked gaunt and half dead already, and only his eyes gave anyone reason to believe him still among the living. They assumed a constant fever glow; a spark of something hot, something either insane or dangerous. Or both.
[524]
ELAshley
050511.032707.6
"Come on," she urged, "we have more men. We can take them." You could hear her frustration; her patience with the others seeming inability to make a decision long past metaphorical midnight. There were nine of them hunkered down in the hole and only six of them; six assholes trying to get away from yesterday's rather successful sortie-- though not so successful in that they were stuck down in the town's square behind a dead and mangled tractor.
Deacon turned away from his view of the square. "What makes you so sure?" he asked, with just a touch of impatience all his own crept in.
She raised her hand and ticked off a finger... "There's only six of them, and they've been hunkered down behind that wreck for near the whole day." She ticked another finger. "They're out of ammo, or they're holding on to what little they have left." Another finger. "They've got no reinforcements coming." ...another... " and, Mason wants us to wait."
"Then we should wait," Malice replied from across the hole. Deacon turned back to his view of the square and echoed Malice, "we should wait."
"Wait for Mason 'cause he wants the medal? Or wait for Mason 'cause you're too chicken shit to step out?" She said, hushed and scornful. "Which is it Deacon?"
Deacon sighed. Not the long heavy kind, but the short impatient variety. "Those assholes took out a mess with more'n three-hundred soldiers... armed soldiers. And they did it with under ten men. Those assholes may or may not be out of ammo and, frankly, I'm not trading my ass on slab for a worthless medal should those six assholes prove just as crack cornered as they were yesterday at ten."
He looked away from the crumpled tractor and studied her for a moment. "You can go get your ass handed to you if you want. I won't stop you; frankly, I'm tired of you. But if you get it handed to you, and we lose the field... If you get out alive, Mason will kick your ass across seven hells of white-hot fury. And when he does, Hanna, don’t come bitchin' at me. Don't come bitchin' at any of us. Better yet, don’t come back. 'Cause if you’re stupid enough to go it alone, you’re stupid enough, sooner or later, to get the rest of us killed." Deacon turned his focus back to the wreck in the square and the occasional peep of helmet over its jagged summit.
"Glory isn't something any soldier should court, Hanna," said Jeckle. "Glory's for songs and regaling the past. Men live in the present. Time enough to live in the past when you’re dead." Jeckle was a scarecrow of a man, wiry and tough as sinew. He looked gaunt and half dead already, and only his eyes gave anyone reason to believe him still among the living. They assumed a constant fever glow; a spark of something hot, something either insane or dangerous. Or both.
[524]
ELAshley
050511.032707.6
Id Dimitte
Every kind, cruel word
That hangs in the air
Write them all down
Sign your nom de guerre
Best not repeat
All the things that she said
Give them no room
On pillow or bed
Turn ~ Turn away
From the song of her ire
Take the page you have written
Lay it on the fire
Best not remember
Forgive if you can
Let wave and surf
Pull it from your hand
The sum of her words
You will never be
Let them all go
And you are free
ELAshley
041211.025921.6
Revisions:
041911.103651.1
051711.050303.6 (redraft of last 4 lines)
That hangs in the air
Write them all down
Sign your nom de guerre
Best not repeat
All the things that she said
Give them no room
On pillow or bed
Turn ~ Turn away
From the song of her ire
Take the page you have written
Lay it on the fire
Best not remember
Forgive if you can
Let wave and surf
Pull it from your hand
The sum of her words
You will never be
Let them all go
And you are free
ELAshley
041211.025921.6
Revisions:
041911.103651.1
051711.050303.6 (redraft of last 4 lines)
Capulet
I've got a headache. The kind that shoots spears of blinding pain down the muscles of the neck and back. It's a vice that seems to know but one direction. Headaches, for me, cause everything else to grind to a near standstill.
I wrote a poem once, while in the beginning throes of a migraine. As short as it is, it still took more than an hour to get right.
This time around my inspiration came not from the headache, but from a single word which caught my eye while scanning a random page of text... That word?
Capulet
Capulet sing
To the morning sun
Of all the things you haven't yet done
Ask him to stay
A little long 'neath the cover
Give you more time
Alone with your lover
Capulet sing
Capulet sing
To the dark starry night
Sing of the things you haven't got right
Ask them to shine
A little long in the sky
Give you and your lover
More time for goodbye
Capulet sing
Soft-throated murmurs
And sighs on the bed
Clasped and fervent
To the boy you have wed
Oh, Capulet sing
Of eyes deep and burnished
Tongues steeped in honey-sweet dew
Your lips on the curves
Of your dear Montague
Oh Capulet sing
Poison and daggers
Are terrible things
Sing and let go
Without fear or doubt
To your sweet Montague
Unstained and devout
Sing Juliet and maybe you'll see
A life beyond whispers
And cold rosary
Capulet sing
To the cold fates of love
Pray to the God who watches above
For Romeo rises
And Mercury too
Tumult and Tybalt
By the hand of your dear Montague
Oh, Capulet sing
Soft-throated murmurs
And sighs on the bed
Clasped and fervent
To the man you have wed
Oh, Capulet sing
Of dreams for the future
Love unembattled and true
Your lips on the breast
Of your dear Montague
Oh, Capulet sing
Capulet ring
Capulet love
Till the morning takes wing
Oh, Capulet love
Oh, Capulet sing
Daggers and poisons
Are terrible things
ELAshley
033111.110726.1 / .113625.1
Revisions:
041211.031831.6
This is more of a song and, as is rarely the case, I actually have a melody for it-- I already know the chords, I know notes of the whistle between chorus and verse. The poem/song is what's called an aubade. The tune 'Save Tonight' by Eagle Eye Cherry, is a fine example of an aubade.
I wrote a poem once, while in the beginning throes of a migraine. As short as it is, it still took more than an hour to get right.
This time around my inspiration came not from the headache, but from a single word which caught my eye while scanning a random page of text... That word?
Capulet
Capulet sing
To the morning sun
Of all the things you haven't yet done
Ask him to stay
A little long 'neath the cover
Give you more time
Alone with your lover
Capulet sing
Capulet sing
To the dark starry night
Sing of the things you haven't got right
Ask them to shine
A little long in the sky
Give you and your lover
More time for goodbye
Capulet sing
Soft-throated murmurs
And sighs on the bed
Clasped and fervent
To the boy you have wed
Oh, Capulet sing
Of eyes deep and burnished
Tongues steeped in honey-sweet dew
Your lips on the curves
Of your dear Montague
Oh Capulet sing
Poison and daggers
Are terrible things
Sing and let go
Without fear or doubt
To your sweet Montague
Unstained and devout
Sing Juliet and maybe you'll see
A life beyond whispers
And cold rosary
Capulet sing
To the cold fates of love
Pray to the God who watches above
For Romeo rises
And Mercury too
Tumult and Tybalt
By the hand of your dear Montague
Oh, Capulet sing
Soft-throated murmurs
And sighs on the bed
Clasped and fervent
To the man you have wed
Oh, Capulet sing
Of dreams for the future
Love unembattled and true
Your lips on the breast
Of your dear Montague
Oh, Capulet sing
Capulet ring
Capulet love
Till the morning takes wing
Oh, Capulet love
Oh, Capulet sing
Daggers and poisons
Are terrible things
ELAshley
033111.110726.1 / .113625.1
Revisions:
041211.031831.6
This is more of a song and, as is rarely the case, I actually have a melody for it-- I already know the chords, I know notes of the whistle between chorus and verse. The poem/song is what's called an aubade. The tune 'Save Tonight' by Eagle Eye Cherry, is a fine example of an aubade.
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