The Poet on the Hill

“Poet on a Mountaintop” by Shen Zhou (1427-1509)

THE POET ON THE HILL
By PoeticMeditations

Wan, blue sky as dawn o’er the city breaks
As it awakens to yet another day
Slowly comes alive to a frenzied bustle
Of traffic as people rush about in haste

Secluded in their glass, gilded cages
Perfunctorily perform their soulless tasks
Laboring like Sisyphus from eight to five
For the price of earning their daily wages

Dinner, a little TV, then to bed
To sleep in dreamless void until the morrow
No room left for thoughts of beauty, truth, or love
Where next day, for them, the same awaits ahead

While high on a hill beneath the trees
Reclines a poet in leisure pose
Singing of love and eternal truths
Pond’ring beauty and life’s mysteries

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From Whence Blows the Wind

“A Gust of Wind” by Corot

FROM WHENCE BLOWS THE WIND
By PoeticMeditations

From whence blows the wind
That trembles the soft leaf unseen?
Traces ripples across the pond
Nods the primrose bathed in sunlit sheen

From whence comes this love
That moves this heart to ecstasy?
Can shatter it beyond repair
Binds two lives for all eternity

From whence comes the soul
That gives life to this earthen shell?
Lives nobly or in lowly mien
Makes of life a heaven or a hell

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Reflection

John William Waterhouse’s “Echo and Narcissus” (jwwaterhouse.com)

REFLECTION
By PoeticMeditations

Once bright eyes now dark and brooding
Reflect not back youth’s hopes and dreams
Twin beacons the heart found soothing
Lit life’s pathway like pure sunbeams

Now the visage in the mirror
Stares in stoic gaze of wisdom
While the eye sheds a bitter tear
For all regrets and misdeeds done

The golden years of what may be
Have long since decreased in number
Remains this stark reality
Whence we waken not from slumber.

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After the Rave

 

 

 

 

 

 

AFTER THE RAVE
By PoeticMeditations

The house lights come up revealing an empty room
With glass-stained tables and litter strewn on the floor
The air hangs quiet like the stillness of a tomb
Red exit signs stand like sentries above the doors

Vanished the frenzied, glittering, pulsating life
The smoky, mysterious allure of shadows
Sharp-edged sirens whose cold beauty cuts like a knife
Seekers of night’s pleasures living out their credos

In a crowded room with a throbbing, driving beat
Searching for intimacy amidst a bleak scene
Fanning the blood to heights of passionate, white heat
From this hollow delusion can one be redeemed?

Red exit signs stand like sentries above the doors
The air hangs quiet like the stillness of a tomb
With glass-stained tables and litter strewn on the floor
The house lights come up revealing an empty room.

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Syrinx

François Boucher
Pan and Syrinx
1759 National Gallery

SYRINX
By PoeticMeditations

Sullen wind upon the hollow reeds
Sounds a forlorn dirge from a wounded heart
The plaintive cry of a soul that bleeds
Love forever fated to be apart

Sylvan nymph who softly tread the ground
Whose ethereal beauty outshown the sun
A pure, chaste moonbeam cascading down
My love, for me, she was the only one

Fate did intercede on her behalf
Now wherever upon the earth I roam
On these reeds a mournful tune I craft
Set adrift – lost, forsaken, all alone.

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Apricity

Image: Carbonbrief.org

APRICITY
By
PoeticMeditations

When the flames of passion have died down
Remains behind the glowing embers
Smould’ring in the chambers of the heart
Where quiet stillness now reigns profound

The heights obtained can soar no higher
Gone the blazing heat of summer’s sun
Consumed the passion that fueled the flame
Empty now the heart once filled with fire

Does loving make a saint or sinner?
Although it briefly lasts a season
Leaves behind faint traces of its heat
Like the warmth of the sun in winter

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In Praise of Her Beauty

An ekphrasis inspired by John Singer Sargent’s “Portrait of Madame X.”

“Portrait of Madame X” by John Singer Sargent

In Praise of Her Beauty
By PoeticMeditations

Lush, auburn tresses cascading upon
Alabaster shoulders soft as a fawn
Eyes of bright, sparkling emerald gems
Elegant and lithe her smooth, supple limbs
Soft, pliant lips – sweet nectar to imbibe
Breasts twin orbs of paradisial delight
Rare, breathless beauty that commands the sight
Vision of loveliness – image sublime
Fashioned by heaven – perfection divine.

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Starbucks Dude

STARVING POET: At the suggestion of my buddy, PoeticMeditations (WordPress) aka Poetinagarret (Twitter), I wrote this Starbucks version of my previous poem that I posted on his blog and Twitter account, “DQ Dude”; he being more of a café kind of dude, and I, more like a Dairy Queen sort of fellow. In spite of our differences, he and I are still good buddies. We have a lot in common: we both love/write poetry and both are dirt poor. I also sent this off to Starbucks HQ hopin’ to get some free coupons.

STARBUCKS DUDE
By StarvingPoet

I’m a Starbucks Dude in a DQ world
Live my preference like a banner unfurled
Love that the recessed, subdued, soft kind of light
Not that harsh lighting: fluorescent and bright
Hate the hard, plastic seats and white table tops
Starbucks’ plush decor pulls out all the stops
Tall, coconut milk, cascara latte!
Not just reg or decaf — the DQ way
Can snack all day on their cremenilli
A BeltBuster is the last thing I need
A barista not a short-order cook
Café life for me, not some boring book
In a DQ world, I’m a Starbucks Dude
The common life?  I’m just not in the mood.

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DQ Dude

STARVING POET: Thanks to my good buddy, PoeticMed, for letting me guest blog and use his Twitter feed, so I could post my latest creation. I did send it off to the Dairy Queen head office hoping to snag a few BeltBuster coupons or at least a couple of Blizzard coupons, but nooo – all I got was what looked like a standard reply telling me how they appreciate me taking the time to write, and that they would pass on my praise to the appropriate personnel. For my transatlantic fans (if I have any), DQ is short for Dairy Queen, a fast-food restaurant that pre-dates MacDonalds.

DQ DUDE
By StarvingPoet

I’m a DQ Dude in a Starbucks world
Live my preference like a banner unfurled
I like my lighting fluorescent and bright
None of the recessed, subdued kind of light
Like the hard, plastic seats and white table tops
Not plush, upholstered chairs designed for fops
Tall, coconut milk, cascara latte?
Reg or decaf is the DQ way!
I’ll pass on the snack tray cremenilli
A juicy BeltBuster is all I need
No barista just a short-order cook
Simple life for me, but not by some book
In a Starbucks world, I’m a DQ Dude
Fancy coffee? I’m just not in the mood.

 

 

 

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Melancholy

MELANCHOLY
By PoeticMeditations

Late at night, the forlorn wail of a distant train
Calls me back when as a youth on warm summer nights
Abed with the darkness outside the window pane
Dreaming of faraway places with their delights

That lay beyond the four borders of this small town
Of loves that yet await me in the far-off years
Not knowing where my fated destiny was bound
Or if my lot would be fortune or grief and tears

Now I find myself here with all these years flown past
Abed with the darkness outside the window pane
Knowing love, hope, and happiness can never last
Late at night, the forlorn wail of a distant train.

 

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