Yoda (10-Apr-2008)

So I was dead tired last night and finished journaling and I could feel a pleiades forming in my head. It was around the letter "M" but I could tell that it would be the same bleeding heart stuff I've written lately and I just wasn't in the mood. Out of no where I could hear Yoda's voice in my head and so I wondered what it would sound like if Yoda wrote a pleiades about his broken heart instead. And I knew "Y" would normally be hard to tackle anyway.

Yoda

---

You love too much I do
Yearning heart now I have
Yawning chasm calls I
Yellow suns brightly burn
Yes say you must to me
Yet afraid very am I
Yielding never shall I

Pandora’s Revenge (21-Jan-1985)

This might by my earliest love poem...or at least it's about that emotion and the impact it has on our lives and why some of us avoid it at the same time we seek it out.

Pandora’s Revenge

Here I sit;
I look about my room.
I stop -- pause:
There in the corner,
Is a box.
The box is small.
What it contains is immense.
Should I open it?
No.
But I, like Pandora, have no choice.

I turn the latch.
I wish I hadn't.
The darkness erupts turning my room black.
I grope in a fruitless effort to return
       the darkness to the box.

Taxed (8-Apr-2008)

In case it isn't clear, this is not about the politics of taxation but the cost of relationships. It is another in my series of 26 Pleiades.

Taxed

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Tax my soul, take my heart;
Tax my hands, take my art;
Tax my eyes, take my sight;
Tax my wings, take my flight;
Tax my thoughts, take my mind;
Tax my seek, take my find;
Tax my love, turtle dove.

Pondering (6-Apr-2008)

Another pleaides. I was quite bored and tired at a rehearsal and decided I should try to write a poem to stay awake. Sometimes weariness seems to help me find that muse within.

Pondering

---

Past moves forward with us.
Pieces of our lives that
Push us toward our future.
Protagonist in our
Play scripted for us by
Patterns of force unseen
Published in the present.

Closed Loops (2005) Unfinished (?)

Sorry I have been missing in action but life happens, as they say. In fact it's been happening so much I didn't realize I missed two days, I thought it was only one.

I found this fragment marked unfinished but I'm not so sure it is. Maybe I couldn't finished it because it was done and I just didn't realize at the time that there was no more. Let me know what you think.

Closed Loops

---

Each life, so closed.
Running around our loops.
How does one break into another's loop?
Moving about my loop.
Seeing another's
Wanting to be apart of so many loops.
My loop stops and I stand
Watching the other loops go 'round.
After breaking out of my loop
How long can I be a part of no loop?

The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

I thought I would post another of my influences. I have loved this poem since high school and actually had to memorize part of it once for school. There isn't much to say about it...it stands on its own.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had tried to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
" 'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door; ——
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind, and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster — so, when Hope he would adjure,
Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure —
That sad answer, "Nevermore!"

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and Nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Let me quaff this kind Nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting —
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!

Dawn Blue (8-Apr-1986)

This was written for an earlier muse. I have long considered it one of my best as regards my many attempts at love poetry. There is something short and sweet and, for me anyway, profound about the sentiment. Although there are times I read it and wish there were more, I think it is best to leave the reader with that feeling. This is probably why many of my poems are short...although that might just be my laziness.

Dawn Blue

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Dream a dream that dreamers dream,
And sing a song that dreamers sing.
Without the worries of the world
No-one can dream their lilac dreams.

Before the setting of the sun,
Laugh a laugh that lovers laugh.
Until the crowing of the cock
Exists a light which lacks a lamp.