Calling Yesterday
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Unabridged my reflections drift
aft to the gardens of Luxembourg days of love, warmth and spring still I smell the scent of by gone times He whispered to me his undying love of a future bright, and a wedding white as countries do, sending men to war since then I have only forlorn days under cloud Over the seas, I visit him every year now red roses I lay, only give me tears what may have been, I obliterate leaves now fall on my heavy heart His voice was kind, soft and mellow for hours we'd meander through hollow streets I was enamored with his every word and every night a call to echo, I was his world Now I talk with ghosts at night no one else lit the flame of my delight I feel silly at times as I pick up that old phone calling yesterday, feeling like I am not alone |
Photographer : Sylvie Purdy
Model : River Doucette
This beautiful photo spoke to me, the romantic in me wishes I could sometimes live in times past.
Cette belle photo m'a parlé, le romantique en moi souhaite pouvoir vivre parfois dans le passé.
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Maryline Rivard is a photographer also from Quebec, Canada. I find her photography both inspiring but also very creative, it speaks on many levels.
You can find her on instagram @marylinerivard
You can find her on instagram @marylinerivard
The Three Swords of Justice
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The Three Swords of Justice
In a land of Vikings old Fairhaired Haralds rule would take hold With Viking Ships plundering far away lands Divided they were when returning to their own northland The Battle of Hafrsfjord, swords mightily displayed Uniting the valleys and fjords, and making for new ways The first King of Norway, brought justices scales Now this new land would voyage with new sails Unifying the people, bringing peace at hand Never forgetting the Three Swords making justice now stand In memory of the making this glorious nation The three swords stand guard, remembering salvation No more blood to be spilled upon Nordic soil Empathy, and humility, comes with our daily toil There will be justice for all, the three swords sing out We shall defend with poetry, repelling both knights and lout |
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Notes:
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When it comes to racists, white supremacists and Nazis, or for that matter anyone who seeks to divide and sow hate, stand up and say NO, do not be a silent one, let your voice for tolerance and acceptance of all humanity be heard.
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Two Painters
Their brushes wet In a meadow lush with rain drops and dew Two canvases stand on easels of wood Two brushes painting a landscape in hues The sun shining on nature’s ethereal beauty They shared thoughts and intimacies Glancing at each others moods and whims Sharing their creations in pastels and blue Lunches in baskets and laughter in old stories Two lonely painters, sharing different strokes Artists basking in one another’s dreams One day a brush was gone Neither saw the evil swan Suspicions mounted Lurking, a silence filled with darkness Shivering winds defeating loves hopes Paints covered and brushes washed Leaving nature’s paradise untouched Let the serpent roam They held hands, the canvases complete Love made them lovers No serpent would win with such hateful deceit Higher in the valley, was I with my brush Painting a love story, of two artists who would blush If they knew their love story, was a canvas to share I captured their fragrance of love in the air I smiled at two souls whom held hands as one Knowing the serpent was now left defeated and alone One day, I shall capture this serpent and his evil ways So that meadows lush with the morning mist Will remain pure and evil untouched My brush will strike right through the serpent’s heart Water lilies turning red, basking in the glory of dusks sunset Raindrops shall fall like tears from the sky Knowing lovers avoided the serpent’s maze And the meadows are now pure Of the evil ones gaze |
Lacking Eloquence
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Bullfrogs and lemmings crooning
In the swamp of dim intellect Spewing their haughtiness Through their noses the spittle drops Collecting in murky waters Their stagnation hiding within their bubble of hate When the swap dries lest it be said No one will be opening heavens gate One can not persuade a mind painted in black They the commoners’ collect like old dishes On a dirty rack Should the Cellarer ever turn his back Plato’s will attack in their packs Airs of allusive elegance Slipping away into the darkness Of extinction For those with black hearts and feeble minds They shall never see the ends of times Only when the white rose comes to full bloom Shall the meek and kind find their true home They shall be with angels above As those assemble in the quire Songs melodic under the arch Brothers plotting after songs depart Time eternal yet as always coward’s preach Solace coming from wisdom's speak Their persuasion lacking sincere tone As the sinners lay underneath cold stone |
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Ma Fia
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Mob Mentality
The years of prohibition The mobsters had no contrition They were a gang of thugs Lacking morality to judge If a poetess rose Simply stating humility thus opposed The Mob well, would not take to her goals In the ground thus the flower was to decompose She stood her position, so sound A parliament of owls she would not back down In full bloom, she shines in the heavens She heeds not the tongues below loading weapons The Tommy gun, the Chicago piano The seekers now all singing soprano! |
Mob Mentality
Through the years of prohibition There were mobsters, a gang of thugs Hoodlums who had no contrition Lacking morality to judge If a poetess boldly rose To convey the truth as her goal The Mob would bitterly oppose Gathering to take full control She stood firm in her position The Mob would never take her down Not a flower in submission To be decomposed in the ground Her congregation takes her stance With the devils she will not dance |
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The poem on the left is what I would call insonnety and the poem on the right very sonnety! It was fun to do them both and I confess I had great help on the sonnet from a very talented poet, Marti Sunderland. If you are wondering about the photo on your right, yes that’s Marti! That beauty could never be banned here, the beasts have no sway here! I enjoy learning and growing, it’s always nice to comprehend new things and be shown new ways, and I might add poetry is filled with such diversity and creativity, I find it a pleasure, the sharing of ideas and growing both as a poet and person. |
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Lake Vaso
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Skies falling, upon the ragged heart pasquil
Tranquility ripples across the lake in plethora She is there, in my heart, a sweet delusion As I cross the waters wishing I was omnipotent I drop my oars on forest floor, seeking Aurore I run along the earth clad pathways towards the cloister Praying that accrued love still has her beholden Kneeling on one knee, I look up with a glint of promise Alas, The Lantern reflects back the softness of her eyes |
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The Engineer
Build bridges Open dreams Voltaire screams For ice creams Open hearts Feed souls Hug the children Its compassion's role Open books Hold hands and sing Learn new ways Listen to your traditions, acknowledge an elders praise Play music While an Imam dances Be a chef of humanities diverse cuisine Wine and heart was Rumi's very start, his dreams |
Quotes
"A strong bridge requires both an Engineer and a Philosopher
The Bridge then becomes indestructible" - Arthur Vaso
"One must always unmask his own mind, to appreciate the beauty of foreign lands." - Arthur Vaso
"A strong bridge requires both an Engineer and a Philosopher
The Bridge then becomes indestructible" - Arthur Vaso
"One must always unmask his own mind, to appreciate the beauty of foreign lands." - Arthur Vaso
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Caput et Versus
Many a saga have been written Books by the million Stories told Stories bold Hearts tossed here and there Lovers discarded, left bare Untold chapters Untold fables and tales Tyranny prevails Six million verses burned The world full of silent ones The earth full of the decomposed Each word uttered from your sweet voice Is a symphony of music to my weeping ear Cathedral lights Candles burning bright Sins exposed The rose laid on stone Whilst the dead dance from beyond They know we are singing their song Latin phrases hidden in vaulted rooms Words flutter like butterflies let go They seek flowers to sow their wisdom's flow They have things so say The kings and queens say nay My love Was a verse A page A story untold Her tears drowned the red rose I lie now Close to the gate Where we all shall end up, tiss eternal fate Be I early or be I late Here shall I rest Unrequited love Turning stale Like the death of my breath Lacking last ale Look past my eyes Look into my heretofore Love was so cherished Yet never could thrive, thus die Chapters untold If I may be so bold From the graves of the beyond Far away, where glory died long ago |
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The Prophet
July 2016 I read the words of a poet From the days of tomorrow His verse flowed backwards in time And rhyme… I, a fair maiden, doomed to a fate Of obligations unseen If only the book on my lap Was not ahead of my youthful station on this earth Verses seeping with promise I long for the voice of this master of the pen I day dream, and lose my place in this world of pain To hear his softness in the blowing wind Alas it must be the times he lives No man can carry such passion Inside a book within a book of dreams Yet, here I am, to ponder The romance of a tomorrow I shall never see I am doomed to village laws and customs A stoning that is so unjust For I unveiled my eyes to the world before me Staring into the depths of mans possessive hatred I ran in fear, I ran towards the forest of hope As they drag me by my feet The book clutched close to my breast Bloodied and in the moonlight, I open it To find out, even in the future of majestic noble poets There lies evil still Stealing the breath of innocents and infants I hope one day I shall meet the author of these words I may slap him across face for my silly fantasies So long I dreamed the world would change as does the seasons For better days filled with peace and kindness I hope one day I shall meet the author of these words I may plant a sweet kiss upon his soft lips Singing of songs he has long forgotten I slowly wrap the rope around my neck I shall kiss him sweetly in my death They will not stone me They shall not claim any victory over me The poets words, hidden deep between my legs Shall melt within my soul For better days filled with love and kindness |
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Happy Valentines Day 2016
You Are the One and Only
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The Sound of Music
Music Eight little notes Strung upon the lines Pages of magical dancing combinations Eight little notes Opening the doors of humanities soul Mathematical rhythms in colors you see Keeping a universal score Eight little notes Surviving every love and every war For music makes all men brothers in arms In the highlands they march to this very score Eight thousand mathematical dreams Traveling through history, both rocky and serene When they seek out those eight magical music notes Lovers often find their lovers bed Eight times some have to listen For ears are not always open nor glisten When they come to hear the message They soon see the waltz is only the commencing Music The eight roads to any heart Marching towards eternity Scores of notes tell us just so ( Alizee told me so J ) |
This poem was inspired by Casarah Nance, and thus dedicated to her, a guest poet you can read on this site!
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Beautiful Disaster
There she is Silhouette in the night Lights glimmer, as fame simmers She is all of my desires She is all of my fires Here I am wet Flooded with pain There she is dry As a desert rain Her beauty rouge bleeding into my soul I wash my hands I wash my meaningless life Of sins and woes Alcohol in the sails As I fade to seas far away She at my feet Singing her lovers lullaby Me in the wind Of sadness’s despair The air soon to confess a sin All my life, no lover in the morning bed No future for a chance to wed There she is now so devoted Yet here we both are so bloated Throats cut and floating On a rivers dream |
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Bha e brèagha an-de
It was Beautiful Yesterday There was a sailing vessel With many a sail proudly lapping in the wind A flag of the Celtic honor, in ruin an rented As all the sailors sing Of my love for you From long ago Before death became our friend Oh would I be sailing from stormy seas to the Scottish glens To lay some flowers at your side Your beauty is now far under My love ill wait for all eternity For loves resurrection’s stormy thunder Our bodies may be under stone Our memories long lost in tales and fable Let no man ever lay any such claim Our love was not the gift of briny seaworthy fame We be only stones, in a meadow blue When you come upon our fate Tiss with this verse, I state my case The life that escaped our sadly date Love though was true as sky For long ago, she bid adieu Her sadness at my drowning departure As I her lover was told to be Buried deep and under sea Both sadness and the tossing waves Took the life out of her and me So when you look at fading stones Remember the love that used to be |
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A Bridge Over Silent Waters
Never judge your fellow man Before seeking your own reflection Not the one that shines in a glass mirror Seek it in the eyes of your fellow man His eyes shall reflect your compassion or lack there of When a pond has no ripples Look for the lies, underneath When you see the waves upon the water Know that the winds are singing to you Truth will always seek you out Never close your heart to a strangers smile His smile may bring you serenity or deception Trust in your inner being to know It shall open up towards the rainbows or seek refuge To protect your soul When you see a human suffering Flea not inside your reflection Instead reflect upon his suffering Share the waters of your pond with him This shall promise you both more rainfall |
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Summer Rain
I lay in slumber Dreaming lyrical dreams My mind is perhaps here Maybe is there or even over yonder Where my future lies Will my dreams expose? The truth of all my ironies Or the lies that sleep underneath I lay in slumber Musical renditions invade my dreamy thoughts Summer rains from Finnish skies All my dreams are drowned in sorrows and rain A band is playing all inside my head Homeless they play on blankets on the grassy glades Praying for sunny days ahead Yet all they do is live in yesterdays Just as I do Dancing in yesterdays dreams Touching thoughts that smile and die In this deep slumber I know I do cry Where summer rains are always overhead |
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The Constitution of Sadness
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Life seemed rather bleak
The grey skies to him did speak Of a better world Somewhere, but not here He was thought of with smiles Always a good word A Laugh or two Who the hell thought, inside was all blue He dressed up one day As a gigantic peanut Of to the circus he did go Knowing his fate, he paid at the gate An elephant’s eye lit up A dessert finally of size He ate the gigantic peanut The skies have now turned gaily blue They say committing suicide is nuts This irony is that it turned out to be true The coroner took care, waiting and waiting At the elephants end, for suicides revenge As the dark and despondent man quite frankly Had such a shitty termination The smell of sadness Hangs in the air |
The Library of Trust and Hope
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She was all but four years of age
Birthdays were such magical moments The cake was filled with candles The balloons still in their package twelve on the table Daddy daddy, I can not fill these balloons!! They are not magic like you said!!!!! Do not fret Becca, its daddy who is magical I shall help you little one, let me see those balloons Sure enough daddy blew up twelve white and pink balloons Maria was in awe at daddy’s magical powers She knew her daddy would fight dragons to bring her but a smile Maria knew she was safe in daddy's arms, oh what a birthday this will be Maria was now ten years older Fourteen years old and already filled with so many happy memories On this fall day, home from school There was grandpa in the back yard as usual He was tending his garden of roses When she was younger, he told her they were magical roses Grandma would speak to him in his magical garden From the heavens above Now at eighteen, daydreaming in a coffee shop A stranger picks up a rose from an empty table A smile oozing in charm, stares into her eyes This is for you, beauty for beauty She was swept off her feet, in a whirlwind romance They danced and dined, it seemed all on her dime Until the morning she awoke, completely alone Both lover and credit cards did abscond Now twenty one, and wise to the world Absorbed in her studies, somewhat colder than one should be for that age A chilly fall day in an empty library A stranger comes, giving her a drawing of a red rose Hello he says! I drew this for you! Oh no she thinks to herself, not another one! Politely she smiles and replies thank-you, but I am taken This stranger smiles right back and says, the drawing is for you no matter The next week, and the weeks after, the same routine He comes to her with a drawing of another beautiful rose She politely declines his advances Maria knows that a rose, has a stem, and that comes with pricks The twelfth week and here he is again What is the poor girl to do? She is curious, and she can not quite help herself She asks, from what do you draw such beautiful flowers? He smiles kindly and replies How about next week, I show you? We can have a coffee, and discuss art Hesitating she just can not say no to this simple gesture of kindness They are walking along, and surprisingly she finds herself Quite intrigued with the ease of their conversation He takes hold of her hand, and says I live over there, the house in red She has no time to object as he pulls her forward to the backyard She stares in absolute shock and awe at what appears before her Why its the most beautiful, wonderful, enchanting English garden she ever saw You? she stammers, you made this? He smiles shyly and says; well now you know what inspires my drawings Now Maria is eighty and filled with both happiness and sadness Her husband of all these years has passed on To be with all his precious roses in the heavens waiting She sits in their garden, remembering a life time of memories She picks a single rose, and inhales its fragrance Contemplating the wisdom's of life I miss you so much my love You taught me trust is earned and not given Your love was my blanket of happiness, wait for me my love, I am yours eternally |
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, MariaDear Reader
I was lucky in life to have had a good upbringing. My daddy, showered me with love, but most of all he taught me that gifts were not objects, balloons were not magical, nor was he. I learned that what was magical is the time and effort he took to love me, and protect me and those memories I so cherish, but they also he showed me the values I hold dear in myself and those around me.
Then there was dear old grandpa. His garden was his passion, and I suspect that if I could have had more time to spend with him, it was really grandma’s passion, and after her passing, this was the activity that kept him close to her soul. In that respect, I guess it was truly a magical garden. Whenever he saw me, his eyes would light up, he would pour lemonades and he told me such wonderful stories. Unlike many though, he listened to all my troubles and told me, that in life I had to learn some things the hard way, but that he himself knew for a certainty that I would find the love and happiness, that as a young women, I felt would be lost to me forever.
I re-tell my story for all the people out there that have lost trust in others, or have lost hope in humanity. You may have your heart stolen for awhile, someone can bring you sadness, but never let them steal your soul. Learn that trust is earned, not given, and never punish the rest of the world, for your bad experience, for ultimately it is you who suffers most. Be giving, kind and generous, with a strong will and mind. If someone does not respect you, then they shall never earn your trust, and that’s how it should be. Be wise, be prudent, be safe, but most of all be open to love and kindness
God bless, Maria Sefue
I was lucky in life to have had a good upbringing. My daddy, showered me with love, but most of all he taught me that gifts were not objects, balloons were not magical, nor was he. I learned that what was magical is the time and effort he took to love me, and protect me and those memories I so cherish, but they also he showed me the values I hold dear in myself and those around me.
Then there was dear old grandpa. His garden was his passion, and I suspect that if I could have had more time to spend with him, it was really grandma’s passion, and after her passing, this was the activity that kept him close to her soul. In that respect, I guess it was truly a magical garden. Whenever he saw me, his eyes would light up, he would pour lemonades and he told me such wonderful stories. Unlike many though, he listened to all my troubles and told me, that in life I had to learn some things the hard way, but that he himself knew for a certainty that I would find the love and happiness, that as a young women, I felt would be lost to me forever.
I re-tell my story for all the people out there that have lost trust in others, or have lost hope in humanity. You may have your heart stolen for awhile, someone can bring you sadness, but never let them steal your soul. Learn that trust is earned, not given, and never punish the rest of the world, for your bad experience, for ultimately it is you who suffers most. Be giving, kind and generous, with a strong will and mind. If someone does not respect you, then they shall never earn your trust, and that’s how it should be. Be wise, be prudent, be safe, but most of all be open to love and kindness
God bless, Maria Sefue
The Highlands of Scotland
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Alone in the Highlands
Where will she appear? Where prey tell shall she be from A dream or vision true Or will she be there, just over yonder The woman with a heart as strong as the heather Who will grasp my hand and smile along with me As we wonder through the highlands and hills Discovering all that used to be true Will she have fiery soul? Will she hide her shyness in a shoal? Shall we laugh when the fog rolls in, or She saying lets sleep a wee bit more in the inn Shall we take a stroll amongst the village shops? Rainy days, and scones of butter Will you of my dreams make my heart a flutter? As I stand on the lonely hill Playing the pipes and staring a yonder Shall you gaze upon the valleys and dream of me? For if you do Will ye no come back again? With a kiss for the heart of a lonely piper Through the thistle and primrose fair Let us run amok in the bogs and glens Tiss these visions that dare dance in me head Alone in the Highlands |
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