The Poetry of Arthur Vaso

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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Aurore



She was blind to my love
knowing not, her arrow ruptured my heart
If only the monarch
butterfly whispered to her
that empty walls may whisper
echo's flutter in illusionary desire
death dressed in the arrows
attire


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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

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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White Knights
 

 
In white robes they ride to battle
Beware of the color, is deceptions rattle
 
Pure of heart, they are not
Supremacists with solely black hearts
 
They proclaim their goodness
Slandering those different with their rudeness
 
They are seekers of conflict, venting pure evil hate
Soon they shall be marching towards hells fiery gate
 
Twisted words, and lacking moral fiber
Loathing their feeble worthlessness, lazy imbibers
 
They lash out with fists and the fires cross
The are losers, they have already lost
 
They hide behind monikers and duplicities mask
Cowards each and every one down to the last
 
Stand up and shout down, the serpent’s twisted tongue
Only then will dignity and love from Angels be sung







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Notes:
In response to events in Charlottesville, Berlin and Quebec City to name but a few places where white supremacists Nazis and haters march for division and violence.

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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

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Lacking Eloquence

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






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

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

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

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You Are the One and Only
 
 
A dozen of the longest stem red roses I could find
For no expense was too divine
For all the love I had to expose
So immense and eternal as the single red rose
 
When the clerk smiled her kindly approval
I was imagining her naked in my pool
Seeing her lovely curves and assets too
I was thinking of how a new romance to brew
 
She asked me if I had any other purchase or wishes
Taken aback I caught my composure
I smiled and said the roses twelve will do me over
She wrapped them up in pretty pink paper
 
You sure nothing else to go with that?
I thought why yes, as I adjusted my top hat
Give me 12 cards of those over there
That say your the one and only
                 ….with such poetic flair
 
 
 
After that, I do confess
In the shop of flowers so sweet and nice
Was the sound of dead air, you could hear the mice
As it was so so suddenly cold as ice

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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!

The music although in french, has many similarities to the poem, with the same sad sentiments, anyone can read the lyrics with lyric translation sites, however this music is simply beautiful in any language!

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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

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

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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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    • Woman in History
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    • Limericks
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  • Stories
    • ChildrensPoems
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    • Guests2016
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    • Music of the Week
  • ARTGallery
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  • Support