Poetry Corner

All The Grey Stars
by Angela C

Go carefully soldier,
Stones cast themselves upward
at the rising moon...

Chords on the wind,
Trumpets in the trees,
Set aside your steely crown

and bury me now.
Forget my satin tongue
and all your praises it spun.

Will you find your voice,
Will you reach that peak
and taste the clouds alone?

Poetry Corner

Parting
by Angela C

Red moon rises,
bleeding low
in firelight
and candle glow.

'Neath its glare
I glimpse ahead,
the smoldering glow
of a flower bed.

Fascination
overtakes me.
Curiousity
again forsakes me.

Setting foot
inside the gate,
heartbeat quickens,
breath abates.

By rose's grasp
my heart is torn,
spun within
its rusty thorns.

Leave this place,
release my hand,
trapped as a bottle
on the sand.

Cruel moonlight
fades to black.

I'm sorry,

I'll not be
coming back.

Poetry Corner

Vantage Point
by Angela C

when the hillside
so long sought
then rises under
foot, its
petals cradling
soles and soul
in welcome

tell me,
what then?

great Someday,
you evade me
stretching on
and painting
the next horizon
an alluring
shade of
possibility

i dare
press beyond

Clarity, you're within my reach
Simplicity, you regard me from a distance

anonymity and
emptiness
have become the
white noise
by which i sleep,
their comfort
baseless and
incomplete

but somewhere
beyond this
valley of shadows,
a far off melody,
mesmeric
familiar,
stirs my soul
unexpectedly
to dance

Thanks to Jackie

For alerting us that April is poetry month.

I am, of course, none other than blank verse. I don't know where I'm going, yes, quite right; And when I get there (if I ever do) I might not recognise it. So? Your point? Why should I have a destination set? I'm relatively happy as I am, And wouldn't want to be forever aimed Towards some future path or special goal. It's not to do with laziness, as such. It's just that one the whole I'd rather not Be bothered - so I drift contentedly; An underrated way of life, I find.

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Although this really isn't entirely me
it captures my relaxed and wandering pace
at getting from point A to B in life.
It should not (will not) come to be a chore
if i can stay spontaneous a bit.
I can't be bothered planning life too much--
it's true, but nonetheless I have a goal.
I'll reach my dreams eventually, you'll see.
It's gradual but still it shall unfold.

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Blank verse may not rhyme but it's often written in our old friend
iambic pentameter. So in its (and my) defense, there is
rhythm and movement and purpose. Just can't be bothered
fitting it all into a carefully plotted rhyme scheme. :)

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