~The Dragon Flies' Lair~Thread XIII~

June 13, 2004 | bentfeather and Poets of The Lair

[Soaring Feather]

My Dragon Fly and Me

If I could be a Dragon Fly
and wing my way through the sky
I would never be shy
just me and my Dragon Fly!

By moonlight we ride the wind
chase the comets tail for fun
by day we would hide from the sun
our fragile wings would come undone

On darkest nights we would use
fireflies as our guide
we would dip and we would glide
through the heavens open wide
and scatter diamonds in the night sky
my Dragon Fly and I...

And we would wing past our lovers
silent in the night...
to kiss their face in our flight
much to their surprise and delight
my Dragon Fly and me in sight...

Such a view do we share
away up here in the air
of breezes soft through our hair
my Dragon Fly and me a pair...

bentfeather©

[Soaring Feather]

Thanks Sam.

[SAMWolf]

In days of Old, When knights were bold,
And chivalrous and trusty,
They sweated in
Their suits of tin
And all their bits went rusty!

Lucy Blades

[Soaring Feather]

LOL oh that's hilarious!

[Old Sarge]

I have girt myself in armor
to protect myself from useless ardor,
faithless friends and fickle damsels
threatening pain and heart full sore,

Standing tall and strong before them,
memories plain, and hurt to shore them,
prop my heart against the coming storm
armed as if for war.

[Old Sarge]

Curse these CENSORED stupid CENSORED uncultured CENSORED CENSORED people that CENSORED CENSORED live in these CENSORED barracks and can't CENSORED let a poet get a CENSORED line of CENSORED verse get CENSORED started CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED .......

[Soaring Feather]

I fear the winds of war blow hard
and everyone is hit with shard
I gird myself in clothes of warmth
for strong winds come from the North
Blasting cold upon my hearth
daggers thrown for revenge
knifing all on the fringe

As Sir Valiant brave and bold
wore the daggers in the old
days of honor to defend
the friendship of a loyal friend.

Are those days gone when honor
stood in brilliance and fealty
respect of privacy
of honor to all about
may lay in ashes from the shout.

bentfeather
07.05.04

[Soaring Feather]

Well, you did it in spite of them

[Jen]

*swoon* Beautiful poem Sarge. Thank you so much for sharing it with me.

[Old Sarge]

Oh, wow! I got a "swoon" tonight.

You're more than welcome, Jen!

[Old Sarge]

Let the winds howl, and shriek, and wuther,
for I have known them, like no other,
fear them not, for I shall stay,
and protect, for my heart knows no other way.

Need is a thing which can harden a heart,
shatter romance and tear friends apart,
but Need can also be hearth and heart's fire,
for to be Needed is everyone's secret desire,

So keep of fair cheer at this late evening hour,
for, though I have consigned myself to my tower,
the sally port's open, to enter the fray,
for there's one last hero who will try and save the day!

(c) 07-05-2004 by JSR

[Soaring Feather]

Alas fair Knight
tis the night
that holds the horrors
and unleashes them
to the hounds of winds....

Yes, I fear they reap a harvest
of blood and guts and flesh
the hounds of hell with teeth bared
and no soul unscathed
the pound of flesh is paid
all the cards show spades
the road to Hades is paved
with bones along the way
glistening white by light of day

So in your tower stay
safe from the fray
to look in joy upon another day
from the turret far away......

bentfeather
07.05.04

[Old Sarge]

Now, what manner of hero or soldier be I,
to hide in yon' tower at battle's full cry?
The winds may buffet and howl, 'tis so true,
naught but noise and bluster is what they can do,

For I know their power, that thing which eggs on,
the rabble behind them, that tempest-tossed con,
that false and baseness, the horrors of gloom,
and I know the verse that will spell for them, Doom!

So, stand 'neath my cloak, and we'll weather this squall,
and scales from eyes, like feathers shall fall,
and new friends and old, shall we make and rejoin,
and Trust and Love shall again be the Realm's Coin!

(c) 07-05-04 by JSR

[HiJinx]

Have you heard the story of another poet who, when teased about writing romantic fluff, came back with a bit of horror?

I'll freepmail it to you, let me know if you think it's post-able...

[Old Sarge]

Oh, that's one big OH-YEAH! from me! It's fantastic!

[StarCMC]

Hey - I like!! :o)

Evening Ms. Feather!!

[StarCMC]

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)
 

Song to the Evening Star

 

             Star that bringest home the bee,

           And sett'st the weary labourer free!

             If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,

                  That send'st it from above,

             Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow

                  Are sweet as hers we love.

 

            Come to the luxuriant skies

            Whilst the landscape's odours rise,

            Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,

                  And songs, when toil is done,

            From cottages whose smoke unstirred

                  Curls yellow in the sun.

 

            Star of lover's soft interviews,

            Parted lovers on thee muse;

            Their remembrancer in heaven

                  Of thrilling vows thou art,

            Too delicious to be riven

                  By absence from the heart.

 

[HiJinx]

Well, here you go then. Keep in mind that you're not the only one to have your detractors and that poetry speaks differently to different souls. This is from a book of Poetry, Smoke From This Altar, by Louis L'Amour. The book was published in 1938 or '39 after Louis had been sailing on tramp steamers throughout the Pacific.

In the foreword, Louis' wife says that "One night in a ship's foc'stle, Louis had been trying to work out a particularly romantic poem when several of the other seamen began to tease him about only being able to write "love-stuff." After several hours of work he presented them with "My Three Friends," proving that he indeed had other talents."

To wit:

My Three Friends

I have three friends, three faithful friends,
More faithful could not be--
And every night, by the dim firelight,
They come to sit with me.

The first of these is tall and thin
With hollow cheeks, and a toothless grin;
A ghastly stare, and scraggly hair,
And an ugly lump for a chin.

The second of these is short and fat
With beady eyes, like a starving rat--
He was soaked in sin to his oily skin,
And verminous, at that.

The crouching one is of ape-like plan,
Formed like a beast that resembled man:
A freakish thing, with arms a-swing,
And he was the third of that gruesome clan.

The first I stabbed with a Chinese knife,
And left on the white beach sand,
With his ghastly stare, and blood-soaked hair,
And an out-flung, claw-like hand;

The fat one stole a crumbling crust,
That he wolfed in his swineish way--
So I left him there, with his eyes a-glare,
And his head cut off half-way.

We fought to kill, the brute and I,
That the one that lived might eat,
So I killed him too, and made a stew,
And dined on human meat.

And so these three come to visit me,
When without the night winds howl--
The one with the leer, the one with a sneer,
And one with a brutish scowl;

Their lips are dumb, but the three dead come
And crouch by the hollow grate--
The man that I stabbed, the man that I cut,
And the gruesome thing that I ate.

Their lips are sealed, with blood congealed,
But they will not let me be,
And so they haunt, grim, ghastly, and gaunt,
Till death shall set me free.

I have three friends, three faithful friends,
More faithful could not be--
And every night, by the dim firelight,
They come to sit with me.

~Louis L'Amour

[Old Sarge]

Magnificent, Jinx, just what a drak and stormy night needs - like mine, up here in Wisconsin...

[HiJinx]

Seems to me Poe might also fit the bill...

[HiJinx]

Ummm...do we do fifties in the Lair?