Is it starlight–doth shimmer down from sky,
Bereft of cloud, that doth pretend such grace?
And is it moonlight, floating down, as show
She doth, configuration’s subtle face–
As though, to cover all, she doth thereby
Intrude, and douse these tiny candles–cool,
As her reflection, ripples undergo,
With counter-sparkle in a quiet pool?
Is it lamplight–that doth she overfly
From out a window, for its calm, perform?
Or is it firelight, setting us aglow,
For which she doth abound, surrounding warm?
Her hand, doth she, Romantic, try her charm
Protecting us from storm, and so from harm.
Posted in Sonnets Tagged Art, Beauty, Bereft, Fire, Firelight, Happiness, Lamp, Lamplight, Life, Love, Moon, Moonlight, Poem, Poetry, Religion and Spirituality, Romantic, Romanticism, Sonnet, Spirit, Starlight, Stars
Configuration’s subtle face
Reflecting in a quiet pool.
Romanticism’s gentle hand
Protecting us from harm.
Posted in Introductions Tagged Art, Arts, Beauty, Bereft, Fire, Firelight, Haiku, Happiness, Lamp, Lamplight, Life, Love, Moon, Moonlight, Poem, Poetry, Rain, Romantic, Romanticism, Spirit, Starlight, Stars
Once spoken, sweet perfection cannot wane
Before the fleeting hour, nor the year;
The truth is stronger still than all the fear
Which once kept vigil over our domain.
Once felt, the spoken truth is carved at last
In virtue’s medium the truth requires:
The stone or clay perfection’s gift inspires;
The whole of this, our truth, is thus so vast.
Once heard, such music cannot be denied,
For, doing so would be a travesty,
And even if such truth is made to hide,
The trueness of it speaks in majesty.
Once touched, I knew the many years would melt,
So powerless to curb the art we felt.
An hour, a minute, found,
Rescued from stone or clay or dust,
Something that cannot be denied.
If Atlas’ Eyes were burning from our stain
Of festering foul collectivization;
Shrieking of our dehumanization,
Bloody streamt His Ears with piercing pain;
His Arms, and Knees, and Shoulders, bled with strain
With the weight of our dying population;
Retching! from the stench of our starvation;
Weakening Resolve! at our disdain
For men who build; who might, His Burden, ease.
So, would ye dare to task Him; “Hold Thou, Muse!
One moment more, ’til we depose these smug,
“Self-righteous beasts! No more! shall we appease
Esurience’s philanthropic ruse!”?
Or fear our thousand-years, and bid Him “Shrug!”?
Posted in Sonnets Tagged altruism, Atlas, Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand, Beauty, Courage, Death, Frankfurt School, Fraud, Hope, Insight, Life, Loss, Muse, Musing, Mystery, Poem, Poetry, Retribution, Romantic, Spirit, Terror, True, Ugly
When once, Atlas, you beheld
Holding, as we are now, Earth aloft,
What would you He do?
Posted in Introductions Tagged altruism, Atlas, Beauty, Courage, Death, Frankfurt School, Fraud, Hope, Insight, Life, Loss, Muse, Musing, Mystery, Poem, Poetry, Retribution, Romantic, Spirit, Terror, True, Ugly
Fold me into your deep embrace
I ask just once, I lower a mask, show a tender, timid face
A face of love and need and heart and trust
Ask for you once, before this moment scatters as dust
Lead me into a place of warm abode, a safety I’ve not felt
Into the places of you, I beg to melt
How a soul can feel this close to mine,
…inside, flushing heart through spine,
Turning about in a turbine,
…spinning in high pitched tone
So lean into my breath and lips,
Flush with me, through all the colours that love shades and splits
While insides turn outward, and outsides in
Bring me close, to find we are both warm and safe within
Words have finished their paths, reached a scorching, fired end
Bring skin to skin,
…a heart thunders for every synapse that every nerve can send
This is what was written
…in every book since dawn of time
So now…not another word,
I need to make you…body and soul…mine.
Posted in Sonnet Blog Tagged Art, body, heart, Lady Day, Love, Mind, Poetry, Reflection, RL King, Romantic, Romanticism, Soul, Spirit