Everyday I like to learn as well as write. I have been studying 19th century woman poets. I look at them with an open eye to feminist perspectives. Today I read a few poems by Marianne Moore. She inspired me to write "POETRY".
Marianne Craig Moore (November 15, 1887 – February 5, 1972) was an American modernist poet, critic, translator, and editor. Her poetry is noted for formal innovation, precise diction, irony, and wit.
POETRY
An settled doubt
A knowledge of my mortality
Vocabulary so limited
Or without genuine sadness
But there is discovery
As I play this instrument
As, with a hole in my head
And hands waving about
Is my hair rising
Or palms asweat
Looking over these lines
Plagiarism of previous madness
organization so lacking
But does this matter
In allowing me some liberty
And the freedom of my doubt
interpretation beyond meaning
From those who simply are
Not sure of where they come
Not knowing what they read
some say I am holding a bat
Others, brushing a feather
Others still; making love
Where is my foolish heart
the continuous chain
From laugh to cry
Is an anecdote: child to adult
And back again, my guilt is fed
there comes before my eyes
A collage of recurrence
Without previous caution
In the hope that I do part
am I a critic
Angry because I do not understand
Lazy and pompous
Thinking I am first
Oh, I am plagiarism’s friend
I should continually laugh
But my poem is me
And that should be the road
Thou friend and gallery
Of my words so long
Do not expect to learn
Or satisfy your peculiar thirst
Just ponder for a moment
Then say “This is what he wrote”
It is simply that
My past forever towed
DeaBeePea 1-17-19
Inspired by the work of Laura Riding.
Laura Riding Jackson (January 16, 1901 – September 2, 1991) was an American poet, critic, novelist, essayist and short story writer.
The excitement stirred by Laura Riding's poems is hinted at in Sonia Raiziss' later description: "When The Fugitive (1922–1925) flashed down the new sky of American poetry, it left a brilliant scatter of names: Ransom, Tate, Warren, Riding, Crane.... Among them, the inner circle and those tangent to it as contributors, there was no one quite like Laura Riding."
Intent
This is not exactly what I mean
Because of knowledge
And suspect attachments
And thoughts wayward path
Yes, the sun is the sun
But our labels suspicious
Do I intend more closely
With my perception of shine
This awkwardness
It shall be the protagonist
Defining itself
In its contaminated bath
But there is levity
Self-effacing stumbles
Slapstick noises splashing
Where the waters dine
The world and I
In a brotherly feud
Respect and love
But so doubtful and sour
Searching for whereness
As I become an eye
Finding my bearings
And the earth’s wobbly compass
Do we ever meet
This spacious void and I
The first move in question
As the wind starts to scour
My vulnerability beckoning
As my heart opens wide
And my mind is rattled
In its armourless rumpus
What is this literary sword
Filling in for fear?
I suppose this admittance
Is honesty’s mouth
With this maturity, comers a draw
No winner arrives
But a contented sweat
Trickles down my chest
There is advice
From those of inclination
And I absorb this voice
In my wisdom’s drouth
Motivation found
In immortality’s cry
A perilous journey
To this unreachable quest
DeaBeePea 1-20-19
Serenity
Where is this day
As my breath expects
Freshness and a heavenly reach
Am I despondent in this awe
Like love
An unwillingness to venture
My arms petrified
Unable my vision to draw
Are the rays of the sun
So delicate in their passion
Or blinding my joy
With piercing shafts of light
My thoughts allow me
To warm in time
The tempestuousness saying goodbye
Restoring a dreaming sight
Yes, this is my place
In fragrant air
Losing months and days
But immediate time is blessed
Where has discontent gone
Or is it just hiding
Enveloping this mirage
In its all-encompassing jest
In the explanation present
In long and fustian prose
Or quiet words
Of romantic poetic flow
I dare say,
It is everywhere
Landing on my heart
My thoughts a tempered glow
My soul interpreting, enduring
A dedicated embodiment
Working forever
Despite its dying vitality
Is there victory
Can this river be crossed
The rapids feeding life
In their current modality
in this forever sphere
of gravity’s relied-upon hold
there is a seed
ready for water’s spoon
this is a rebirth
no more troubling rest
accepting my body as home
cynicism so calmly hewn
DeaBeePea 1-25-18
Inspired by the work of Marya Zaturenska
Marya Zaturenska (September 12, 1902 – January 19, 1982) was an American lyric poet, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1938.
No Intent
A trickle of blood
Through air did seep
From rapier-like anger
Of humiliation’s bed
But was it of making
Or a social frame
Disposing their insecurity
Into what was said
Where did this blade
Have the courage
Etching through humour
Making an evil phrase
Now there is silence
And stale greeting
But the same room stands
In this refracted glaze
When venturing on
The walk will be slow
Cautious and pensive
In possibility’s know
There will be a Samaritan
In their roadside path
With a simple inducement
Of warming glow
Embarrassment and humility
Will heal the discord
And a heartfelt wish
For goodwill’s hold
Why is soon forgotten
And guilt is now born
Then revelation
A wise story told
DeaBeePea 1-24-19
Today I was looking through the poetry of Vita Sackville-West. Her poem Days I Enjoy inspired me, although mine took on a more positive tone. Victoria Mary Sackville-West, Lady Nicolson, CH (9 March 1892 – 2 June 1962), usually known as Vita Sackville-West, was an English poet, novelist, and garden designer. She was a successful novelist, poet, and journalist, as well as a prolific letter writer and diarist. She published more than a dozen collections of poetry during her lifetime and 13 novels. She was twice awarded the Hawthornden Prize for Imaginative Literature: in 1927 for her pastoral epic, The Land, and in 1933 for her Collected Poems. She was the inspiration for the androgynous protagonist of Orlando: A Biography, by her famous friend and lover, Virginia Woolf.
Alone
Nothing happening
oh what joy
my inner self rests
no jury as a pest
yawns and burps
inclined towards indignity
bohemian thoughts
no connection of dots
just a whirlwind
in my room
an indistinct clutter
and no corrective stutter
there is laughter missed
but loneliness rides
on my magic floor
a carpet where I pour
ideas and restless feet
sheets aflutter
ne’er crumpled notes
of sinking boats
a growing freedom
of satirical nakedness
my head no longer turning
to ears so burning
no order of things
a stew before the cereal
wine and coffee amix
and performing chaotic tricks
no engagements
by disturbances withdrawn
I am stuck in myself
And my jig-saw shelf
Life is too short
To avoid this magic connection
Affording this sacred time
Remaining so sublime
But I dare say,
This brings no awkwardness
In knowledge of being
To put forth to others seeing
It ignites my soul’s belief
My colours now so bright
the image no facade
as words are stylishly clad
There is such praise
Bestowed towards my friends
Accepting this amateur scribe
In my searching poetic imbibe
DeaBeePea 1-23-19
White
a master's art
this blanket of mist
winter's claim
to heaven's hold
caught in time
a motionless sky
of blinding beauty
as infinity dies
the trees appear
as tattered lines
mysterious sticks
in flickering cold
no space defined
nor distance known
closed in this wall
of a prisoned guise
our helplessness engulfed
no doors to find
as we cross our arms
with staring awe
the magic is here
within our soul
we now humble our hearts
and bow to the storm
how long it lasts
is memory's creation
as we look for a path
like a struggling claw
this sheet of peace
declares our place
bereft of supremacy
as our life transforms
DeaBeePea 2-1-19
Life
Yes indeed
A topic
Of extreme expanse
I must say
But every morning
It is
The first word
Of mental interplay
Am I an example
Of this thing called “life”
Now that’s pretty scary
I think, so stupefied
Being imperfect
A part of our blessing
So I shouldn’t feel bad
With so little rectified
Trying to console
I smile in the mirror
And say to myself
“You’re a miracle”
Well, my friends
There are better examples
But here I am
Something empirical
But the great creator
Isn’t done
He’s still stirring his elixir
To fix the mistake
I guess that means
That I’m not done
Waiting for that next
Test tube quake
Whether that’s before
I quietly (or not) pass
Or if it’s after
I do not know
But what is this change
I am still waiting
But holding my breath
Might be wastefully slow
So I’ll go on
With this silly act
But having a ball
In my ramblings and rhymes
Trying to define
What life is
And getting nowhere
Committing literary crimes
DeaBeePea 2-4-19
The Great Thaw
oh so frozen
a compromising block
full of respect
down the widest path
little inklings
of knawing pain
I blamed myself
with my tunnelled eyes
cautious steps
with occasional stupors
dusting myself off
guarding my wrath
the years did quicken
in family ways
and my busied patterns
among little white lies
but the ice was strong
holding me in place
a cubish impede
from freedom's dreams
my heart was split
in guilty splinters
I needed the sun
to devise its plan
I beached myself
in rays of simmering fervour
anxious in sweat
and its soothing streams
there was a corner
in the isotropic distance
beckoning to my soul
for my view to scan
the next day I woke
from beneath an arctic
my blood was warm
and head was spinning
awakening to hope
and a many-forked trail
mesmerized in choice
in a larger world
dispersing the twinge
that stabbed my brain
to new cluster of illusion
and potential beginnings
it is now my season
when I see myself
and recognize the birth
of a life unfurled
DeaBeePea 2-2-19
Old
I am getting old(er)
and yet
youth springs
within me
my skin is funny
hair is grey
memory shakey
and bones do creak
but in relative terms
I have a long way to go
as I dust off my snowshoes
and look out with glee
I still love snow
despite its occasional trap
with its banks of scowl
and fields so bleak
it's nature's call
a determined cry
of chilling rest
before re-birth sighs
so it's just a cycle
round and round we go
with tears and laughter
hopes and fears
but the numbers mean nothing
just mathematical jargon
as we sprout our thoughts
with fewer lies
wisdom and tolerance
testing our patient pull
not sure of which path
will provide our cheers
so, I snap my suspenders
in comical jest
a self-effacing gesture
for my endless quest
to be something
I know not what
but an arthritic friend
with a hearing loss
so, you might have to yell
and I'll yell back
and I'll take your order
as a cocktail guest
we can laugh together
about things of past
childhood pranks
and MS-DOS
DeaBeePea 2-3-19
Contentment
the endless journey
for this peaceful rest
sitting back
with a kitten on lap
a loss of anger
and endless smile
love for all
and a modest nod
being thankful
for a being state
and a self-directed pat
for missing the trap
building your floor
from what you are
and padding your feet
with a fluffy sod
not having answers
no longer a care
enjoying the search
with a wardrobe so fit
passion and love
stirring the broth
that is subtle in flavour
seasoned with reason
I don't think I'm there
and may never it be
as I ponder my words
in my restless sit
if I give in
there will be shame in my heart
for slowing in mind
committing soulful treason
DeaBeePea 2-1-19
White
As I ponder my view
I think of white
Its adhering stripes
So bold and high
And the fluffy blanket
Stretching so far
A velvet ocean
A brand new sky
We dance in the clouds
And feel the flakes
Brushing our memories
As snowmen appear
We hear the bells
From days gone by
And look in the woods
For fanciful deer
Our minds are steered
To images pure
Peace and goodwill
And quiet nights
The fallen crystals
Decorate our monuments
Keeping the shape
In its cooperative flight
No resistance
To our questionable ways
It’s a happy touch
In its startling glow
The opposite of black
This rolling scene
Challenging the sun
To end the show
And if there’s goodbye
We do not worry
The cast is set
And prepared to sequel
With season’s passion
We wait again
For the blizzard of mist
We cannot equal
This spiritual lust
To teach us our humility
Blinding our distrust
Clearing our unfaith
As the trees do sway
In the warning wind
I nod my head
To this glorious wraith
DeaBeePea 2-15-19
The Creeper
I am the vine
In moral dictation
But living by rules
Pleasing a selfish head
A globe of the past
Looking back
Not explaining
Unforgotten dread
But the sprawling branches
Breed my courage
My petioles aspiring
To faceless walls
But oaks and maples
Invite the search
My pinnation broken
In hesitant crawl
Do I look for light
Fashioning like a periwinkle
Boasting success
In rotting truth
Or is my path
Directing me astray
On skotopropism’s way
As a bitter gourds sleuth
There should be a mission
In my running chalice
Enlightened tendrils
In optimistic embrace
I must hide my thorns
In pacifist smiles
Forming a helix
With widening face
In my rooting betel
My foundation is found
In curiosity’s mound
And unsoiled airy berth
My grapes are sweeter
And when I cry
The wine is also laughter
In fascinated mirth
My sinister inclinations
A bindweeds story
Are an invasive imposition
That my new heart leaves
My honeysuckle rose
Is kindly exposed
And is a hummingbird song
That love believes
DeaBeePea 2-13-19
Where Did She Go
I see her arms
Pointing to the sky
Each branch, free advise
To conquer my soul
I see her eyes
Spinning their act
A river of no tears
Under my crumbling bridge
I see her hair
Blossoming vines of love
Dancing on the streets
Where I’m seen in lonely stroll
I hear her gentle feet
A pendulum’s taunting stroke
Saying goodbye
From twilight’s dying ridge
I see her doubtful lips
In horizon’s sunset image
Waiting for tomorrow
When hope regains its guile
I see those frantic legs
Taking me everywhere
The knees in flailing balance
Steady, in confusions path
I swallow her imagination
The stories casting shadows
Her past and future melded
In protagonists happy smile
I feel her fever
In the morning window’s glare
Pushing out the walls
In their anxious steaming bath
I listen to her words
Curt and simply honest
Looking at myself
My head ashake with shame
I breathe her tranquil mist
Cautious of its power
Knowing it’s my world
The perfect place to be
I listen to her heart
And its steady eager beat
Improvising in its journey
Through the crippled world’s flame
I’m thankful for her love
From wherever it may be
My thoughts in poetic heaven
Dancing out to sea
DeaBeePea 2-11-19
Nonsense 4
pizza, the works and football jerks
soggy lasagna, and a movie with Fonda
watery beer, and little cheer
belching and burping and constant chirping
this world abuzz, it's an image 'cause
I've been there before, and know the score
my basic opinion, about the dominion
nightmares and dreams, of volatile screams
right wing and left, no arguments bereft
pretzels and chips, and stupid quips
there is no answer, and I am no dancer
but dodging I do, correctness in lieu
sporadic appetite, with an impulsive bite
crunching and grinding, with a result that is binding
in political strain, I use my brain
but it seems to skitter, overcome and bitter
problems persist, on my growing list
pork and beans, and dirty blue jeans
factored reality, and visionary duality
the dessert bowl empty, and face unkempty
socialisms future, implemented in suture
my conservative side, an enemy to abide
down with fobby slobs, with frothy gobs
a profusion of lies, and orange dyes
it's time for a burger, my stomach in verger
crisp onion mustard, and tomato custard
fluffy buns, and juice that runs
a liberal diet to keep me quiet
I seem to be askew, a theory I blew
hypotheses shrouded, and details clouded
profound I am, but at times a sham
quite a confession, from a poetry session
elections and primaries, no bowl of cherries
pits and bytes, while flying kites
let go of the string, it's just a fling
there's no direction, in oblique reflection
the court has ruled, opinions pooled
the verdict is chaos, full of dross
as Dorothy Parker fussed, excuse my dust
something to ponder, as I look over yonder
the rent is high, as my money dies
severely taxed, no longer faxed
logging in to my name, it's me I claim
a complex world, my patience unfurled
hanging in so far, entering a bar
with a funny joke, and a teasing poke
but sitting here, with my open ear
and running fingers, as sanity lingers
DeaBeePea 2-8-19
Nonsense 3
The head was bald, spinning in scald
And the hands were weak, unable to speak
Nervous as hell, in a steel-trap shell
Aimlessly stuttering, while the rest were muttering
The chili splashed, and his hopes were dashes
With too-spicy thoughts, and vomiting tots
Pots and pans and waving fans
The heat was wicked and the flavor insipid
White beans and ground pork, inefficient with a fork
With a crock-pot attitude, sky-rocketing his latitude
Unreliable measurement, and fuming temperament
No matter I guess, there’s always chess
The TV was on, but Leave it to Beaver was gone
A bygone time, of sparing a dime
Melamine laminate, poppytail plates
Stainless steel banding, and father downstairs sanding
The place I’m at, where I previously spat
Angry at nothing, while angrily cuthing
Cutlery clanking, and I am banking
The wine will be good, which certainly it should
My reading behind, and the book is signed
A reputed author, who’s someone’s father
Chapters and pages, and mental cages
It’s only a book, why such a hook?
This common blur, like international stew
So many ingredients, I can’t be expedient
The heat is on, particles are on
My sweating skin, and natural sin
The laughter rises, and my mind surmises
There’s a comical tint, to my creative splint
But I have no idea, or any criteria
For this silly path, and my rubber-duck bath
They shout hurry hard, missing the guard
The inturn approach, the house to encroach
Like watching paint dry, some do imply
As I calculate delivery, during my misplaced shivaree
The coffee is stale, so it’s time for ale
And the clock is ticking, while the town is slicking
I’m confused and scratching, my ideas unthatching
Maybe dozing, will be my day closing
But it’s afternoon, as I seek a balloon
To burst my bubble, and get out of trouble
Baking bread, until I’m dead
Sipping my wine, so grapey fine
My schedule full, and so is my bull
Nonsensical chatter, thinking what is the matter
There are four seasons, for many reasons
Now fancy that, she swallowed a cat
DeaBeePea 2-8-19
Sound
Hey!
my head turns
even before
I hear the name
why would it be me
am I guilty
of playing
some silly game
using words
to twist and turn
making ears
twitch and squirm
it's only poetry
of a primitive form
describing blasts
in eloquent terms
jazzy bops
and Gershwin lyrics
and laughter
the best of din
tears, well
they beckon concern
but be wary of
privacy's violin
and winds that seem
to frighten us
a voice from Gods
of unfamiliar kin
Thunder answers
when we think we own
this delicate world
in which we sin
barking dogs
and screaming kids
seem to take us back
in sentiment's place
the noise of crowds
assimilating little
except bright anticipation
for a change of face
what I ask
will propel our spirit
yes, it takes an effort
to achieve this diet
but, in respect for peace
and thoughtful ponder
the ultimate melody
to hear is quiet
DeaBeePea 2-5-19
So Jejune
I taste a liquor never brewed,
Of love's sweet magical potion
An inebriate of your kiss
And my naïve romantic notion
The air forever a perfume
And dew, such sweet wine
As spring is just a warning
As we swim in summers brine
If I turn a drunken lover
Let me out of the Inn’s door
To join the pollinating bees
As I stumble over Nature’s floor,
Am I such a seraph
So empty-headed and numb
In the bliss that has me stupored
As I drink to beauty’s rum
DeaBeePea 3-29-19
The first line of the poem is the title of o poem by Emily Dickinson
Spring
There is doubt and fear in March’s song
The winds of the North singing
We ponder our breaths future
And what thou yonder is bringing
But alas we see the buds
In April’s balmy verse
As it prints among our memories
Of summer’s coming purse
The rain at first our tears
Then hopeful dancing rivers
The thawing of winter’s bitter dreams
And future’s cynical shivers
The flowers sit in darkness
Still talking to the moon
Their petals teasing our beach-laid thoughts
Writing their April tune
The earth so worried from its burden
Now accountable for our smiles
Carrying its shining message
As we consider playful whiles
Should we carry such a fantasy
Is our wisdom so secure
Or is magic pending our surprise
For new vision to endure
Does the vast grey tragedy of man
Shroud this blue-sky illusion
Are we laughable in our selfishness
For the arrogant thoughtless collusion
With evil manifestations
We welcome nature’s anger
As it hold on to exquisite honour
In its blooming radiant clangour
Do I dare speak of sadness
In this spring of coming days
Seeing in the horizon
Our futility as it preys
The air of mouldy pungence
Speaks life in foul words
A language of rotting seasons
And the boastful coming of birds
The immaculate conception
Perfect winds in sail
Touching what it needs to waft
As roots conceive their trail
What will be the news
Before June’s humid lesson
Announcing its decision
Before we bath in bountiful cresson
DeaBeePea 3-28-19
The Muse
Waking to a special magic
Not really in need
But enjoying the anxiousness
in a surge of inspirational deed
is it laziness
to carry a poet’s ball
or grasp an author’s theme
and twist it into my call
do I need a Dickensonian character
as jovial and foppish as Fezziwig
or such one as Madame Defarge
the screaming and vengeful prig
alas, my racing thoughts to offer
an array of crazy misfits
but there lies within me
an impulsive turning-back desire
hence; how can I compete
with Miss Scarlett’s self-indulgent flight
Chandler’s Philip Marlowe
Or Carmen Sternwood’s spite
This muse a fairy
That dances all around
Quickly changing colours
And wardrobe in each bound
In wildly amusing acts
Of hard-to swallow dictum
Imposing in poetic mind
Writing as confusion’s victim
This strange source of garble
Of which I self-define
Somehow spread by genius
Found in history’s brine
So as the pages turn
And the chapters are consumed
This all-encompassing medium
Creatives a chronic spume
DeaBeePea 3-25-19
Shapes
If I only knew
The shape of my mind
In this polygonic world
Of distorted signs
If the idea is triangular
Is the bottom right
Especially under isoscelean
Views in the light
Refracted notions
Some square in scope
From rectangular vision
Lacking in hope
As I ponder my spinning rhombus
I see its distortion
As homeomorphism
Elongates my threat of inproportion
I see the drum
Both convex and concave
The pounding music
In a tribal crave
Creating a complex plane of disunity
In the cyclic currents
The geons traveling
Within my ideological torrent
The painful trapezoid
Is its stubborn pride
Spurning the ninety-degree reality
Structuring the tide
But we must uphold
The congruent possibilities
Striving for a realization
Of our cognosciblilities
What is this mirror image
That questions our individuality
Making us equations
Of criss-crossing morality
My circumference is greying
And my mind a steep declivity
But the perimeters of my anger
Deny my passivity
DeaBeePea 3-25-19
The Story
Years of tale
Some
As if in a tomb
There was no glory
Lying
In a lidless coffin
There was gloom
No cedar
But no tears did loom
Just mystic silence
Adjoined
Trumpet blasts so often
This was sacred
Knowing
Of coming miracle
How was there, this hopeful reign
waiting
in dumbfounded fear
Eyes and ears
Not buried
In my mind so spherical
A failure to be hidden
Mindful
Of surrounding cheer
This numbing ambiguity
Thirst
For something more
I was unaware
Potential
Of freedom’s search
Shackled in ignorance
asking
What was I to pour
My rhythmic anxiety
Causing
An aimless and sudden lurch
Now a cluttered mess
Confusion
And the joy of congregation
Now, no life or death
Being
In amazements song
Shaking my head
Guilt
Sorrow wrapped in elation
Now there is infinite love
Happiness
Knowing where to belong
DeaBeePea 3-24-19
Untied Lace
A loving voice
In a world of disdain
A bright shell
On a decaying beach
A white rose
Amidst the black brambles
Budding branches
In a hopeless reach
A little chaffinch
Alone in the night
Blue jays and hawks
In contested flight
A golden silence
In a wild black eve
Tentative streets
Where dreams conceive
Bold white doors
Behind stubborn hedges
Solemn lanes
With withering edges
Invisible pain
Of stimulating force
A delay of grief
Confidence enforced
I smell the fire
A burning protest
Hordes of ideas
For futures best
Calamity’s upheaval
Amidst humours nod
Hopeful portent
For impending Gods
A family’s unity
Confesses this storm
Aware of the attacks
On this holy form
Calloused hand
With good work done
Contented smiles
In late afternoon’s sun
Where are the ashes
Of this lengthy endeavor
Searching for nothing
With multitudes forever
Peace and goodwill
A precarious path
But the castle waits
In its moated bath
DeaBeePea 3-23-19
Muntins
The wind is determined
My window unsure
Its frames yielding
To insistent squalls
A paranoid fear
Am I being punished
As stubbornly wait
For my brand new season
These blasting servings
A mockery
Testing an angered patience
As my aging skin crawls
But there is a journey
Through love
That calls out to me
In its fanciful reason
Allowing me to weep
With a strange invisible hope
Giving my tired legs
An impulse to walk
But there are words
Of boundless foolish energy
That are blind and unfeeling
But are freedom’s wake
The darkest day is lit
And as I move forward
Somethings comes toward me
In its stiff and breezeless frock
Coming from far away
Not in taunting
But in welcoming silence
Interpreting my words in slake
Yes, this is my place
So my waiting secures
An individual home
Clad in my decorative confusion
The sounds and echoes of death
Sit and rock with a smile
While this strange infinity
Devours my creative soul
There is no fear
Because I am ignorant of such things
Looking into emptiness
As I peer into the illusion
The street of time seems meaningless
But what I find
Might be a treasure
Of a faithful trusting parole
DeaBeePea 3-20-19
Lá Fhéile Pádraig
The zephyrs show their wings
Blowing festive smiles
Setting the emerald aglow
starting a fire of glorious whims
This long-cherished morning
A whispering spirit of home
My heart and soul of Erin’s green sod
As I hum those Celtic hymns
A youthful blood plays within
Enlivening dreams
Throwing about the wiles and woes
As dew-drops in my eyes do sparkle
A full chord of an Irishman’s heart
Yo’ I do hear the music
Dancing over the Burren
From valleys hidden darkle
Those little green fairies
Picking the Armagh blossoms
Up to no-good prankery
In their gold-buckled mended shoes
What is their silent laughter?
Is it a point of mockery
From those ancient treasure-crocks
And escape from legends muse
But alas, we see the dancing
And merriment of lore
The happy red breeches
And cheerily ruffled frieze
We see the butterfly orchids
And lady’s tresses aspread
And scatterings of maidenhead fern
Irish eyebright in the breeze
The bur-thistle stands,
And looks around
Do you dare to meddle with me?
In stern demand of victory’s beam
And in amidst the céilithe
My romantic heart is throbbing
For my beautiful mavourneen
And her vivacious and impish gleam
On St. Paddy’s holy trinity
Lies a map of future’s light
Holding up our shamrock
Proudly shadowing our earth
St. Patrick’s Day! St. Patrick’s Day!
Oh! thou tormenting Irish lay—
Let merriment be our incantation
For love’s forever birth
DeaBeePea 3-17-19
Tribute to International Women's Day
Profound Lips
the strongest voice
is from the heart
of affirmative timber
and knowing truth
the cries and whispers
while holding hands
marching in harmony
in the spirit of youth
the message is forever
it is not new
but neither is the injustice
that has reigned eternal
we have been so blind
in the act of deprivation
our ears unlistening
to wisdom's journal
looking at power
so ill-defined
avoiding respect
for our inherited affection
it is in the clutch
of forgiveness and strength
the combination of honesty
and understanding's perfection
we must open the door
with the brightest smile
welcoming this friend
as our special essence
it isn't too late
for equality's tide
to sweep us ashore
in this joyous coalescence
DeaBeePea 3-8-19
1-844-389-4754