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  #31  
Old Oct 4th, 2009, 03:07 PM
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She Whispers, Loneliness
 
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Coy love
Dark dove
Held by another

Prisoner of heartache
Inspiring muse
Look at me now

Pray do not hope on me
Vagabond least of the marks
Stamped upon my warrant

Though hopeless in regards
I'm caught again
And again

I'll extend my hand
For the slow long run
and stride for the night shore

The pleasant tide
With rolling waves
Is a passing phase

Rising with the moon
And hiding again
Too soon

We'll smile
And bide our time
Pining on simple play

Who's the fool
Who's the gambler
Who's the tool

My caution is witless
And my wonder is great
On the reasons for it all

This entertaining game
For right now
It is named so

A change
When it comes
Greeted like the day

A stretch
And ready to move
I'll take you on
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  #32  
Old Oct 5th, 2009, 11:36 PM
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Let me see
For my inner eye is blind

Let me hear
For my heart has shriveled, blue

Let me taste
For dust is dry, my mouth rife with it

Let me feel
My nubs flipper, numb

Oh the fragrance of you
And the world in my mind
It opens upon a beautiful plain
Colors dance in my soul mirror
The sounds, they tell me to love
All sweetness has tamed my tongue
And it is you that I hold


While in the world
My body
A hell's torment freed
And visited upon my flesh

All memory is balm
In Nietzsche's realm
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  #33  
Old Oct 11th, 2009, 09:35 PM
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Melancholy
My seductive mistress
I release a sigh
To know your touch

Melancholy
Oh wicked master
Stealing thought and desire
Making them bonds and scourge

Melancholy
Dearest friend
Sipping tea with fey laughter
Sharing quiet sorrow while parting

Melancholy
Favored toy
Whirring quietly
My rapt attention held

Melancholy
One old song
Creating a pause
Filling the empty spaces

Melancholy
Passing muddy water
Carrying crystalline sand
To places away and farther

Melancholy
So suffused
Let me go
And then I will not know

Melancholy
Complete in the grasp
Hold me tight
That I remember
All my why's

Melancholy
Tears
Laughter
Sorrow and joy

Melancholy
Let me sleep
Cozy in my bed
Good night.
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  #34  
Old Oct 26th, 2009, 12:12 AM
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Gonna get down on my pillow and sleep away my tired eye blues.
Gonna lift up my mind to the dreams flyin' there.
Gonna know an' gonna do.

We'll see what color sunrise brings when my eyes open wide.
We'll see how the palette mixes... in the morn, in noontide, an' eventide too.
We'll see all any eye at all can see an' we'll see if we come home again with the tired eye blues.
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  #35  
Old Dec 13th, 2009, 11:25 AM
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I woke up this morning
No real surprise there
Could of been different, I guess

Got moving, doing things
And threw my scraps to my angry dog
Wonder where that other dog went

Got a day to get done
The sooner, the better
Maybe that lovable hound will be back around

There are only two, you know
And no room for others
Just a little place set aside

One must be fat and content
To have gone off that way
The others fairly hungry
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  #36  
Old Dec 21st, 2009, 11:34 AM
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Ere foam and spray
Did stain the planed
And Bent Timbers

Eyes cast out
Beyond the vast shore
To sea, to see

Now seen
Then to know
Birthed and berthed

Great ships destined
To sail to sea
To see
To know

Whipping canvas
The hum of ropes
Gulls in the wake

Storms on the horizon
At sea
To see
And to know.
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  #37  
Old Jan 12th, 2010, 01:12 AM
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It's evermore in discovering a muse
Down town frown time
When she don't smile
And it's every creative thought
You've ever had, left you loose

That might be disconcerting
Main line ditty rhyme
If she ever smiles again
And it's all those thoughts
You'll never have, outbound flirting

Maybe keep that distance
Hella back uber rack
Her smiles for you
Now it's all naughty thought
Your mind's dalliance, in her pants

Now jump up and look for fun
Jilly jog hilly frog
If you smile in return
And it's all those thoughts
She's having, turnabout that'll make you run.
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  #38  
Old Feb 6th, 2010, 10:21 AM
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The Guilt Trip Doll

All I ever wanted was your touch and time
Not to be thread bare in box on a shelf

My buttons never saw you smile
But my cotton heart felt it all

Now, I wear several patches
And the years have shown you most kind

It's being locked away
that my limp and lumpy limbs pine

I admit, there are few plastic parts
I'm not very new

Just a little light
And the thought of you

Holding, swinging, hugging
And even a playful toss

Now I sit here in the dark
Feeling a bit lost

I know you are out there
Every now and again I feel you close

I know you've grown older
With new toys to entertain yourself

All I ever wanted was your touch and time
Not to be thread bare in a box on a shelf
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  #39  
Old Jul 1st, 2010, 12:49 AM
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Facebook Time Lapse Verse

Lord, Mr. Ford
Lord, Mr. Ford

Cheers
Drink up and Be Somebody

Sometimes...
25 Minutes To Go

I love 'The Man in Black'
Sunday Morning Coming Down

Suddenly this makes sense
Down the Road
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  #40  
Old Sep 11th, 2010, 11:26 AM
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Ain't No Tellin

How you knows
When you're on the road
To feelin low

And how you supposed
To Knows
When you're comin back up

Ain't no tellin
Which the ways
Never was

Just feels that grit
crunchin loose as you go
Heels down and toes to follow

Walkin lonesome
And by yo'self
Livin in the dark

Ain't no tellin
Which the ways
Never was

Now, there's light
Sure enough
Some soft dim glow

They'll calls it luv
And maybe a bit some lust
All seemly, a fiery sunburst

Ain't no tellin
Which the ways
Never was

You got to holds on tight
Tight, I tells you
Never lets it loose

Cuz, in the dark
Some bit of shine
That's your only guide

It's the only tellin
Which the ways
Always was
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  #41  
Old Aug 12th, 2011, 07:04 PM
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What Do Bees Know?

So much like a daisy
Petals never to be plucked
Blooming in season
Shedding beauty at the last
And all that is left
Are memories of the past

Snow white fields
On a warm summer day
With waves made by winds blown
And wild riding bees’
Quickened wings drone

Not so much for honey
Or playing in the sun
But for knowing that they’re there
Just bees being bees
Contemplating flowers and the air
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  #42  
Old Aug 27th, 2011, 04:43 PM
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Thank you to those who read

With words of Ode
I thank you
Your time not ill spent
In written word read

Minds eye splayed upon the screen
I thank you
With rhyme sans any reason
More's the time you'll spend

Tis hopes and lessons not precisely shared
I thank you
No mere digressions
And all purposeful intent

You are my audience
Still I thank you
No matter how small
Of import to me you are
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  #43  
Old Feb 4th, 2012, 02:12 PM
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When Caterpillars become Butterflies
And Ribbons become Bows
Nice tied up
Fluttering away
Wellsprings in Full do Flow
.
Not brazen Cymbals clashing out of Time
With Harmony's mellow Rhythm
But Chords and Flutes
Blended and Bending
Creating Clarity, Peace, and Freedom
.
Change in Accepting
Accepting in Change
Courses Lain before Us
Never Knowing which way to Go
Transforming Over again while we Grow
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  #44  
Old May 11th, 2014, 10:35 PM
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There is a message
That I would share with you
Pain of loss
Much less the burden
Than pains of regret

You'll find yourself
Considering this
As one is wont
After your heart and brain
Can't decide what to do

So in efforts of avoidance
Make sure that you can
Tell all those people
Whose importance you value
How much they mean to you

When the lasts are at last
The days are all gone
And you're up late at night
At least you'll have these
All the best and good memories
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  #45  
Old Jun 3rd, 2016, 08:54 AM
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In the hour passing what decent folk call late and even an hour plus an hour more, the common room of Helga's Taproom had begun its transformation to a boarding room for those too drunk to walk home or those without homes seeking shelter against the damp night. The last logs thrown into fireplaces at both ends of the long room near their half-life as the flames flicker, licking the stone chimney and warming those lucky enough to choose a space close by. While some nestle down into packs and blankets they have carried with them from wherever they come, others still huddle up to tables to drink the last mugs handed them by a retreating wait staff.

The mumble and rustle of a quieting room continues without regard to the quiet click of an opening latch and easy swing of Helga's front door. An entrance at such a late hour is nothing noticeable to such a late night crowd. And a dark figured cloaked against night air brings little interest.

Taking a slow path across the room and around sleeping patrons at the edges, the figure moves past one table and then between the next. Eyes look up and conversations cease as the figure passes. Further into the room past tables dotted with customers still bent on sleepy rebellion, all of whom put eyes on something common but also unusual, the figure moves on towards the hearth. Sitting up to rearrange bedding or not asleep yet, travelers on the floor also begin to take note of the newcomer. Huffs and coughs rise up from the crowd on the floor warding off the newcomer from encroaching on hard won territory.

Undaunted, the dark figure moves to the hearth and sits slightly to the edge to avail themselves of warmth but not blocking the flickering light. In a shifting moment of arranging robes and making a bottom comfortable, something strange happens. A dizzying effect of light brightening and diminishing at the same time, something the mind twists and refuses to accept. So harsh does this confused moment impact those surrounding the dark figure that some so deep in their drink lose their gorge, releasing putrid bile to the floor. Groans and grunts issue out of the crowd both from being uncomfortable and now assailed with offal.

A scowling inn keep comes quickly with mop and bucket for what was surely an anticipated event but one come earlier than expected. The stranger by the fire now sits still as the room comes back to life. Some shift in their blankets to stare. Others stand, moving away from mess and smell. Quickly, comfort reasserts itself over the room and quiet follows.

Unbidden, unexpected, coarse and broken by age, a strong voice, not loud but easily heard begins from beside the fire, "These long ago days we have knowledge of that were broken by violence and loss by all, this is the story I will now tell to you..."


Choosing not to listen is a choice that anyone can make and some that very morning grumbled quietly under their breath while turning in for a second time hoping to quickly drown out the sound with their own dreams. Others, never having wakened, still slumbered without a single thought to the new-come stranger. And while there were those now alert in their stupor who had definite harsh thoughts about the interruption of the evening or morning, there was not a single soul in the room that would harass the storyteller to cease and let the room in peace. Surely, there were not many souls at all that would be so brave as to speak against a storyteller, not even one poor of word and tone. For in all the years of remembered history, it had been the storytellers who offered treasure that none could remove once given. The telling of tales had a long history from before words had even become scritches in the sand or on a wall and there were a great many who valued the tale. In fact, a good tale was worth more than coin in trade if the teller was just that eloquent. Why, an entire kingdom could be purchased with a truly magnificent tale. All the legends, told by storytellers for sure, alluded to storytellers themselves once having been powerful wizardfolk, weaving magic with uttered words, and that through time the tales had diminished as memory faded and so to the magic and greatness of wizards. But still, in every word their remained a spark from those forgotten times. That’s how the cloaked figure could regale his unwilling audience without consequence and burden the establishments owner with the cost of lodging and a meal before moving on.

“…And the fair prince had no thoughts for those beyond his own amusements. Young and gifted with everything a noble lineage backed by near infinite wealth could offer, he could do mostly as he pleased. Keep poor Eartford to your mind for his deeds are the deeds of each of us and his crime most of all.

His story begins well before his birth or the birth of any of our sire’s sires, nigh back to before the need of nobility sparked in the heart of his own forbears and even further back before wizards walked the land doing great deeds with fell words. Now only the tales remain and those who share them.

In this very hamlet, though it was not a hamlet then. On the very hill set at the center of this stone-walled city, though there was no city or even a single thatched hovel then. There were trees and a great forest abounded. People, as we know, were once unafraid to carry on their lives in the open world filled with all manner of animal and beast. Unafraid and quite in love with the natural wonder of it all. We were friends to every creature, taking what was our need and no more, sharing all that we had. The story of peace in those long ago days is an old and happy tale and I wish the tale could stay there in that happy time but it does not last.
On the very hill just a short stroll away lived Feyfolk who we then shared the forest with. They came in all manner of shape and size, some appearing as people do, while others had the appearance of animals, and still others looking almost unlike anything that words could tell of. And the Feyfolk taught us much of what was good for one thing and another. They even schooled the very wise among us so that wizards could be born and magic beyond natural wonder could flourish. In that time, magic, even to the Fey, was a small and simple affair. Only what was needed and no more. But people, people have the need to know and create, making more and more until there was no need. And further still until every want was met but want can never be met fully. For a time, maybe, but want will always outgrow its place. In time, want surpassed need and need began to be neglected. Sadness and sorrow and tears came then. I will not recount all the tears but for a few.

Feyfolk and People had lived carefully together for many long years and some still did. The hill still held a stand of trees but all around the hill, trees had been cleared and turned into covered dwellings. At the edges of those first homes, the forest suffered as it was pushed back and push back again. All Fey were sorrowed for the need of the cutting of the first trees, for they said that trees could tell the tale of ages unremembered but they had lost their voices and the tales were lost but not the memories of the memory. With the cutting of those first trees was the loss of so much of the tale and every tree since a few more memories become lost. As the sorrow grew, Fey migrated away from the hill leaving only a few wardens to care for the stand there. In time, even the warden’s sorrow grew but always they had the stand to look after. A day came though when the want of some people grew so large that they wanted the entire hill. Only the wardens lived there and they did not need much space. The trees could be cleared, for people forgot that trees once spoke and knew and felt. Want became confused for need and plans were made to clear the hill and erect the largest dwelling yet seen.

Oh how the sorrow and tears of the remaining Fey grew. They could not believe that people would take the last trees and erase all history known on the hill. All was quiet even though such events as would transpire were certain to come on the next day. And as day arose, people awakened to find that the Feyfolk had all left the hill and with them had gone all the trees save one. And then People knew sorrow for the loss of the Fey. No trees were needed to be cleared from the hill and the sole survivor stood at the center. It seemed such a small twig sprouted there with no company. Abandoned by its kind and all of its protectors. Alone.
Something forgotten occurred to People then. Compassion, a small kernel, returned. They remembered that trees remembered and knew the entire story. This lone tree knew and it had lost, becoming lost. With great care, People built the dwelling. It was tall, and very wide with many rooms and windows to look out upon the dwellings below and the forest beyond. A special courtyard was built to shelter the lone tree and it was wide as well so the tree could grow and continue to remember in hopes one day it would learn to speak again and tell the tale. But the tree never grew, though it seemed content with its lot. Every year since, it would flower and shake in the breezes. Happiness returned to the people and they sought bring the small tree company but no tree would ever grow there. Not a single tree, nor shrub or other flowering plant. The loneliness of the courtyard could only be met by short growing grass. Tree and grass, these alone grew where nothing else would.

People never contain sorrow for very long because their memories are so very short. In time, efforts to bring happiness to the lone tree ended, though stones and other things were brought to decorate the little world cut off from all other trees. All that was done was deemed enough and the tree was left to live as it could.”

A pause in the story brought every attention to the storyteller. Shadowy with the flames still a dying backdrop, the cowled figure raised one hand. The following harrumph by the lounging inn keep sent out the signal that beverage was needed and sent some poor individual to work again. Many that had struggled to return to sleep had given in to listen and even a few who had slept awakened to hear. Quickly, the drink arrived along with bread and other various morsels so that the story need not be interrupted again. With purpose, the stranger sipped and then fed themselves which created a lengthier pause. To lengthy for one inebriated fellow, “Hey! Hey!”

The inn keep’s arms came unfolded as speech broke the silence. The tubby man looked at his longtime patron with an awful scowl and issued a not so quiet whispered warning, “Hush you, or into the street!”

Still speaking while being warned, threatened no less, “Hey! What about Eartford? What happens to him?”

“Indeed”, came the same strong, age broken voice.

Last edited by Securis; Jun 3rd, 2016 at 08:56 AM.
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