Welcome to the thread where you can post those occasional spots of poetry that strike you!
Starting things off, we have "To Lenora" by Evening Star.
TO LEONORA
She walks in beauty like the spring
As fragrant apple blossoms nod
And lilacs in the zephyr sway
When Nature plucks her mystic lyre
To bind the blight of cold away.
She speaks, and trembling in the air
The woodnotes wild and cadence pure
Ne'er harshly speaks of any soul
Nor fails to soothe the aching breast
For such is she, in beauty rare.
EVENING IN TASHBAAN
(Written to Rimsky Korsakov's 'Song of India melody' from Sadko)
The crimson sun is sinking in the sky
As yet another starry night draws nigh
And people crowd the old bazaars;
The sound of vendors trumpeting their wares
Is blending with the caliph's evening prayers
As seekers pray beneath the stars!
'Tis the subtle magic only Tashbaan can play
Gorgeous as the sunset at the death of the day!
Can you walk its ancient streets without a stirring in your heart
Can you drink the music that is sweeter than a summer lark?
Wafting like a dream across the ages
Sung by bawdy bards and solemn sages
Writ upon the poet's vellum pages!
The evening star looks down upon the sand
And smiles with joy with all the starry band
As Tashbaan sings its old refrain;
The tenor of the busy life goes on
Until the golden glimmer of the dawn
Reveals the sun to shine again!
Ever at the pinnacle of a Calormen dream,
Tashbaan, splendid ruler of our hearts!
Never thought I could so approve of an ode to Tashbaan! 😀
That is really lovely and beautiful, EveningStar. It really does take you there as it were.
Posting this too late to be seasonal, but here's a little thing I wrote up for my Mom for Christmastime.
...
Welcome back to the seasons of wonder:
Trace the thread of memories.
Childhood's glitter, distant thunder,
Joys and sorrows on the breeze.
Rare Southern icicles,
At least one Northern snow –
My childhood dryad-fingers,
Aluminum-silver you used to know.
Lives twine in old and new traditions,
Candles flare bright and depart.
Christmas ghosts or clouds of witnesses
Linger in memories of the heart.
We brace ourselves for a world made anew,
A page freshly turned, a New Years’ true.
That's lovely. Tell me more about the aluminum and the dryad fingers?
Both references to my Mom and my respective childhood Christmas trees! Hers was a tiny silver one her parents brought to the mission field with them, mine was more standard real-ish looking artificial but the way the pattern of lights blinked between the branches always made them "dance" across the wall and the kids, being tiny Narnia fans, were always reminded of dryads by the shadows...
I don't write poetry very often... but I did this morning.
NEW SEASON
Snow
Flying swiftly,
Settling softly,
Melting quickly,
Nourishing gently,
Growing slowly,
Growing swiftly,
Spring.
(Which is an odd thing to write about while looking at a tree in our backyard with autumn leaves, but, oh well...)
Love it!
