Musings and Mutterances, Poetry thread

[Fleur]

I've had like this PLAGUE of spiders recently. Gigantic, freaky spiders. I hate them. I can't stand to go near them. So, I present the hastily scrawled...

Ode to a Spider

Oh how I truly hate you so, you vile and loathsome beastie,
Yet I cannot bring myself to kill you by my hand.
Your legs are long and hairy, and your body short and squat,
You stare at me with beady eyes, full of evil planned.
I feel the hairs at nape of neck stand frightened and alert
As you scuttle past me concentrating on how best to scare,
You think you’re oh so clever, but I have news for you
I have a secret weapon. Attack me if you dare!
Disgusting little critter, you make me feel quite sick,
If I could make myself go near enough I’d put you out the door
But I think it would be pointless, as wicked as you are
You’d turn around and laughing soft come straight back in for more.
And so I bravely raise my voice and utter forth a cry
At which appears my saviour, my gorgeous little cat
Who quivering spies an intruder there and swells to twice her size
Laugh again then, spider, for soon you will go… splat.

[Fleur]

A reply, by the ever-talented Steelthunder, posted so that others may see the lesson given to me.


Ode to a Woman

I know you truly hate me so, misguided though you are,
I feel a certian sadness while within your house so grand.
My legs are long and formed with hairs that warn me danger near,
I stare at you with eyes so lost as you fail to understand.

I know you mean to kill me so t'was as if I never were,
I see you tense and quiver then retreat beyond the stair.
All I seek is warmth and food, much as you do yourself,
But you'll end my life without a thought, by means you think are fair.

I keep your house so clean and clear of many creeping things,
Working tirelessly in garden, walls, rooftops and then more.
But when I get a mite confused and walk inside 'your' home,
Your culture teaches you to kill, your fear is such a flaw.

So hate me if you will, oh girl, for whom I mean no harm,
You raise your hand before me now and bring out faithful spat.
Watch me die so slow beneath her claw with words you cannot hear,
I'm just like you, we share but a single life...

[Fleur]

The Gift

When in my outstretched hand you place a leaf,
I - bemused for I had expected the warm
Firm dryness of your skin - curl my fingers
Soft around the thin, rounded shard and frown.
What message can this be, this tiny fragment
Of green? Is it just a passing fancy, pulled
From air and donated on whim, or a belief
Carefully chosen and wistfully handed down
To tease me? I am to this solution bent.
If it had been a flower – say perhaps a rose –
I would have felt a warmth, that on me lingers
Whenever I contemplate the desires of your heart,
Especially if I presume to count myself thus.
But it is not a bud, satin-sheened in innocence,
Nor a honeyed petal that you have given me.
It is this broken piece of tree, and I suppose
In that I find my answer. I am to remember
That the summer larks are temperate singers,
That all that passes must be soulfully meant
As youthful life itself may end if sharply rent.

[Ixon]

Put the Mask Away

Put the mask away
And smile like you mean it
Not the wry one
With the corner of your lip curled
But the one that shows
All of your teeth
The joyous one
The laughing one
The one where you’re happy
Because that’s the one I love
The smile I love
On the woman I love
Keep the mask away
The mask made of doubts
The mask made of fear
The mask made of sighs
Throw the mask away
Keep the smile on
And smile like you mean it
Not the wry one
With the corner of your lip curled
But the one that shows
All of your teeth
The joyous one
The laughing one
The one where you’re happy
Because that’s the one I love
The smile I love
On the woman I love

[John Needles]

Ode to a present

The random choices that one makes
map out a course that veers past aches
and takes the time spent fast in t'wake
of a proper slice of good fruit cake.

To learn is but to lie awake
aswim in thoughts that absence take
in fear of loss of wealth made fake
by a proper slice of good fruit cake.

Salmon, mackerel, cod and hake
all fruit of the sea whose flash may flake,
they cannot compare in taste or take
from a proper slice of good fruit cake.

[Fleur]

Untitled, for beautiful inspiration




In the gale the rain flies hard against the door
As if an unknown guest demands an entry
With forceful rattle of dissipated desire.
Howling gale screams angered yelps,
Curls into the chimney and across the floor
As there in the inn the assorted gentry
Huddle together beside the guttering fire
Which pales against the chill and barely helps.

Above them in a room that hires by the night
A couple clings, with fear of no storm parting
Nor drenched aftermath to cause a chill.
They have so little except the time alone
Which passes... all too fast, the coming light.
One final touch, before their lives restarting.
Tossed before the tempest, falling at its will,
Tavern folk weave insecurely home.

[Fleur]

Inspired by a dream - thank you for the vision.


I am waiting on the pier with the saltspray on my skin
And snow diamonds settling in my hair.
Behind me is our house, each room painted by your hand
With a plume of smoke rising into the sky
As the biscuits bake.

The azure of our home belies the happy love within
So I miss you every moment you’re not there.
Boiling purple sea spurts froth over the land
To where you are watching me and try
Memories to make.

You call my name in heated passion lost in the din
Of howling wind, a cry you cannot share.
I know you cannot possibly begin to understand –
She catches snowflakes in copper kettle why?
– Dreams to wake.

[Fleur]

Wick

Creeping, crawling shadows murk
Round every corner quietly lurk
Light has dimmed to pallid sick
Flickering candle, at the wick.
Where am I when light has gone
Sentient sunlight weakly shone
For here it is, so softly laid;
Every ghost the toll has paid.
And in the rising, roaring night
Vanished is that trembling light.
Eddied storm and clouded drift
Encircling the most precious gift -
A hearty fire that burns innate,
Which illuminates a finer fate.

[Korrith]

Ok... Haven't posted a poem in a while but thought I'd share this little thingy.

I wrote it for Fleur's (Lorna's) birthday, so, here's the document in it's almost entirety (Editted to make sense for people reading it here).

"Anyway. Here’s a poem! I haven’t tried writing one in ages and as a result well… I think this is pretty poor. But, it’s the thought that counts, right? I’d like to apologize to Petrarch, Shakespeare, and anyone else who ever wrote a sonnet for completely murdering their art form by messing with the number of syllables per line, and I’d like to apologize to you, Lorna, and anyone else who ever reads this for the festival of clichés they’re about to experience.

Have a wonderful day and congratulations. Hope this next year is fantastic for you, no matter what life might throw your way."

Fleur (A flower 27 years in the making)
From cold roots and ruddy soil
A shoot may thankfully spring.
It may grow through unknown toil
Until petals brightly sing.
If fed and watered with love;
As stem arches toward sky,
A growth may reach up above,
Yet be hidden with a sigh.
A plant can’t live in darkness
It must be shown its own light
And a few years of starkness
Reveal a final sweet sight.
As many now lay wilted on the ground,
The world hath not a greater bloom yet found