ORPHEUS & EURYDICE
Gifted by the nine Muses’ fire,
Bestowed with a seven-string lyre
To sing all day with words that charm,
The wild beasts could do no harm.
One day, appeared sweet Eurydice,
Became his world a paradise.
Hymen’s smoking torch attended,
Near the sea, by vows were wedded.
Sweet days of joy and nights of bliss,
Song-filled hours sweetened with a kiss.
Appeared a lusting bee-keeper
Who tried to have his way with her.
In fear, into the forest fled,
On a serpent, by chance did tread.
On the wind her cries were carried –
Keen Orpheus did not tarry.
Too quick the poison reached her heart
To Death’s dark realm did soon depart.
Orpheus sang, but could not charm
The lifeless body in in his arms.
Helpless, away her soul was borne.
In twain, his sorrowed heart was torn.
In preparing to write a series of poems about Orpheus and Eurydice, I have just finished reading Orpheus: The Song of Life by Ann Wroe – a lyrically written exploration of Orpheus built on the premise that he was a real person.
THE NEW ROMANTICS (Not Taylor Swift’s)
March to the drummer of a romantic beat,
Follow in the footsteps of Byron, Shelley and Keats.
In the fairer sex, take great delight,
Stay up late writing poetry by candlelight.
Live like lords without a penny to our names,
Scorning all ambition, fortune and fame.
Take for our themes love, beauty and death,
Proclaim them all until our dying breath.
Let the choicest words fall from our lips
As from the comb, velvet honey drips.
With a heart full of fiery passion,
Our love will never go out of fashion.
In this crude world, we’ll be in denial,
Living our lives in true poetic style.
Forever, we’ll always keep on dancing,
Forever, we’ll always keep on romancing.
Shun this insipid, shallow world so frantic,
Come and join us, the new romantics.
(PoeticMedittions © 2016)
Writing poetry by candlelight (Photo: PoeticMeditations © 2016)
THE RAREST OF ALL RARE DELIGHTS
Summertime picnics on lush, green lawns;
Gray, quiet morning hours before the dawn.
Barefoot in a bright April shower,
Conversation to pass the idle hour.
Afternoons spent in a used bookshop,
Long, rambling walks to a distant hilltop.
Dark, stormy days in a pensive mood,
Fond memories recalled in solitude.
A book of verse and a glass of wine,
A silver pocket watch to tell the time.
Bottles of ink and parchment paper,
The busy clatter of a typewriter.
But the rarest of all rare delights
Is writing poetry by candlelight.
WHAT’S THIS GENTLY STIRRING IN THE HEART?
What’s this gently stirring in the heart?
Long forgotten after all these years.
From the beginning, a vital part;
Traces left behind like fallen tears.
The bright flame now a dying ember;
Passion subsided to contentment;
The mind struggling to remember;
Exhausted, it lays there quietly spent.
Long gone the euphoric, mad elation;
The loss of focus and appetite;
Gone the giddy, acute sensation;
The sense that in the world all is right.
Only boredom bred by dull routine.
Lightning, a raging fire can begin;
With parting clouds, the blue sky is seen –
Falling in love all over again.
Posted in Poetry
A colleague gave me a jasmine blossom the other day. I taped it to my lapel, and through out the day, every time I happened to look down, I caught a whiff of its sweet, delicate scent. Inspired, I wrote this haiku:
Tiny, white blossoms
dancing in the blazing noon –
sweet scent of summer
Of course, there’s Seals & Croft classic lines:
Sweet days of summer, the jasmine’s in bloom
July is dressed up and playing her tune . . .
THE FALSE LOVER
The false lover’s full of treachery,
Sham acting against cheap scenery.
Deceit and cunning thrive in the heart,
Truth and sincerity play no part.
Lying lips are given free license
To flattery and all pretense,
To say whatever pleases the ear.
Whispered words of tender love so dear
Quickly turn to bitter words of hate
That pierce deep the heart and lacerate,
Grows from blazing heat to frigid ice,
Transforming love’s virtue into vice,
Leaving scars that remain forever –
Love again, the heart may never.
THE POET TELLS BEAUTIFUL LIES
The poet tells beautiful lies,
Paints the world in vivid colors,
Of reality oft’ belies,
Composes songs quite dolorous.
Of charmed images spins and weaves,
Never for accolade or wealth,
But for the sake of the soul’s health.
Offers glimpses of what could be,
Of endless possibilities.