The brook
Has dried up
And the barren shore
Calls to the desolate moor.
Once the water ran pure
While children frolicked on the shore.
But the sun has gone
And time moved on.
A golden age of delight?
The night
Is always there
For those who care
To stare
At the distant horizon.
The dark
Is forever rising
“Nymph, I wonder where you are going
Your hair
In the midnight air
Blowing.
Your face is a mask
Dare I ask
What be your task?
The gate’s hinges squeak
And the owl speaks,
“She may do as she will
For good or ill.
The light is on in yonder place.
Oh her face
Such passing grace”.
—
“Man why so pale of face?
Why pace
You so
To and fro?
Your eyes fixed on the clock
Straining to hear the gentle knock.
Your sweat
Carries the scent of regret.
The owl winks,
“Methinks
Some things are better left unsaid
As mere conjectures in the head.
Do they ill or well.
Be it heaven or hell
I will not tell”.
When I pass away
My books will stay.
Who can say
Whether readers will delve
Through dusty shelves
And discovering my book
Take a look
Into my soul.
The whole
Me
Now free.
No longer able to care
About those who stare
At what I wrote
In earnest or joke.
What is this desire
That my words light a fire
In hearts I will not know?
I am lust
Dust
And scribbles on a page.
‘ No great matter, when I am mouldering in the grave.
I am not brave
And grope
For hope
In the here and now.
For the plough
Will not disturb my sleep
Nor will I weep
In the solitary grave.
When the wine flows
Sense goes
Walking.
People begin talking.
Trouble you will be courting.
And a reputation you will be sporting!
The school grounds I pass.
A ball flies through the grass.
The sound of children playing.
I wish you could be staying.
But you went away
Many a day
Ago.
Do you remember the snow?
I recall
Frost hung on the wall.
Delicate and white
In the sun’s light.
Your passing smile
While
The ice shimmered on the tree.
Watched by you and me.
The frost did not stay
And melted away
Leaving a blank wall
Yet the icicles I recall
And still the water doth fall
On a winter’s day
Far away.
Thank you to Laura A Lord for her guest post announcing the launch of a new poetry journal, The Reverie. Good luck to Laura with her project and do please check out her site.
—
The Reverie is a poetic publication that features submitted original work in a biannual journal. A themed anthology is published once a year.
Which is a fancy way of saying, we are looking for your work! We will be hosting weekly prompts here to get the creative juices flowing, but during our reading periods you are welcome to submit work to us for potential publication.
Please check out our Prompts Page and our Submission Guidelines for information on both of these options.
Visit our anthology page for information on submitting for this year’s theme.
What are we looking for?
We are looking for poetry that is real, brutal, honest. We want the words you are afraid to speak out-loud. We want strong voices that cut through to the heart of the matter at hand. We want to step away from your poetry feeling a little raw. We want words that awaken emotion.
Check out our About page for more info!
Laura A. Lord
thereveriejournal.wordpress.com
K Morris - Poet 