More upbeat, by request!

[Pendragon]

Council of the Stones #2

The snow is falling down like powdered bones,
Yet I’ve made my pilgrimage here across the snow.
There’s something mystical about this Circle of Stones—

They seem to huddle together and converse in undertones—
As if their appearance here were something noveau.
The snow is falling down like powdered bones,

The wind sweeping it upwards into icy cyclones;
But I lean towards the monoliths and wish I spoke their lingo.
There’s something mystical about this Circle of Stones—

Especially at night, when the cold wind moans,
And repeats what they say in chilling echoes.
The snow is falling down like powdered bones,

To lie glistening around those erect, and over those that lie prone.
(That one and its white blanket make a rather charming tableau!)
There’s something mystical about this Circle of Stones—

Something ethereal, otherworldly; that nothing else owns—
Something that I pray I will never outgrow.
The snow is falling down like powdered bones,
There’s something mystical about this Circle of Stones…

D. L. Harris
© 4/4/98

[Virgil]

Great idea Pen. Now that snow poem will make Pensive jealous. She so wants to see snow, and I would love to give her all of mine. Please take it. :lol:

[mir]

:) nice poem, Pen! Is it Stonehenge?

[Pendragon]

:) nice poem, Pen! Is it Stonehenge?

No, this lies along the Appalachian Trail not too far from the house, a natural stand of stones. Very mystical. The trail has been re-routed, but I can still find them! :)

[Pendragon]

MORPHEUS #2

I’m trying to sleep, but Morpheus has packed his bags and fled,
And when you’re not really sleepy, it’s very hard to sleep.
I toss and turn and writhe upon my bed.

I don’t think these are sugar-plums dancing in my head!
I fall through a night that’s endless, dark, and deep.
I’m trying to sleep, but Morpheus has packed his bags and fled.

Oh, well. No matter what I order, he brings something else instead,
Rifling my dreams in search of something to make me weep.
I toss and turn and writhe upon my bed,

As Morpheus’ third-rate assistant messes with my head.
Like Sisyphus, I roll my weariness up an incline smooth and steep,
Trying hard to sleep. But Morpheus has packed his bags and fled.

Nightmares ride by, a ghostly cavalry dread,
Conjured by the daemon assistant at my feet.
I toss and turn and write upon my bed.

“Say, old boy, if you can’t do dreams any better, I’d rather be dead!”
“It can be arranged, if that is really what you seek.”
“I’m trying to sleep, but—“ “Morpheus had packed his bags and fled.”
“Yeah. So I toss and turn and writhe upon my bed.”

D.L. Harris
© 7/2/97

[Triskele]

Eclipse

Shadows flicker ‘round the soft pad of steel. Tromp, tromp, tromp. An iron shod stranger appears. glimpses of faerie wings dart in the dark. Footsteps on a silent road, dark shadows conceal what moonlight dancers seek to expose, the soft white echoes of mythology flicker through the leaves, unable to touch, flitting, flirting with the unknown. A whispering black cloak flits across the soft white light of Artemis’s eyes. Dancing shadows form the evening robe, slowly concealing thoughts of impiety. Bone stained shirttails flap ragged in the unseen wind whilst slaps of thought drive insidious truths to revolt. Chaos hangs in the air like gossamer strands draped on the frost stilled air of a winter breath. Piercing predatory eyes glance out past the tattered disguise, reflecting in them the pale face of a friendless love. The faded red strands of neglect flutter in the liquid black eyes of a stranger…round orbs of thought see the solstice sky of a wintry existence. The feminine grace of dancers rises almost ponderingly, questioning the painful risk taken in the heart. This mere thought of daylight dances spent alone leaps to the night to hide the pain. The scarlet robed fiend of smiles sees a twitched mouth, padded feet of fiery avenging desire seeks to show its worth in the flickering glow of a near sunrise. A red rose of shadow is presented to the day, driving phoenix lights flashing through the sky in a glorious exaltation of love. The flashing angry day draws the night to eclipse, its wandering shadow covering the light in a momentary glance of recognition. A burning understanding of loves fatal revenge in relationship. This dusky thought cast shadow over the impetuous night that sought the day. The red rose falls, vibrant emanations of color retreat to onyx stone. Chaotic rags of shadow again dance the road, flickering feet dance to the lilting tune of the night, beckoning merry wanderers into its cloak. The soft red light of the dusky rose remains serves only to remind of the blood red betrayal of the rose, given in love, taken for revenge.


there, a followup for your mythological poem, a fantasy inspired poem

[Pendragon]

Hey, Tris! I'm not competing with you, here! Inspiring, I hope! ;)
Nightmare #2

When the hour is late and the light is dim,
when the velvet shadows fill the halls—
the nightmares always come for him,

lurking in the twilight, pale and grim,
always there when the darkness falls.
When the hour is late and the light is dim,

and the chances of storms are more than slim;
he hears the sounds as the daemons call.
The nightmares always come for him.

Lead by a specter gaunt and Grim,
the ghostly troop marches down the hall;
when the hour is late and the light is dim.

He pries his eyelids open with a shim,
praying that daylight will not stall.
The nightmares always come for him,

and he thinks chances for survival are mighty slim.
Where do these things come from that come to call?
When the hour is late and the light is dim,
the nightmares always come for him…

D.L. Harris
© 4/7/98

[Triskele]

inspiring definitely... i have found myself in a rut as of late, the poems a bit flat, you have driven me to try peotry in a new mind... thank you... heres another.
Blue

The slow walk of notes wail, throb, escalate, forcing movement into tired limbs, the joints of an old man fly across broken keys, destined to open the locks of a clanking blue inspiration of ages. The thrum of a beast, low throb based on a deep sea color, the depth of a fiery music flaring to life in the icy grinding chords. Screams of joy emanate from a metallic mouth, harmonious growls, throats filled with music, eyes flash with inspiration, tunes dredged from reality, notes taken from life, the scholars of a deep blue thought, philosophers of a theory based on vibration. Golden honey pours from the mouth of a monster, so insatiable we love to feed our passion into the hungry maw of the cobalt beast, down its cerulean throat.

[Pendragon]

Good. I thought that the purpose of this whole section, To inspire each other! Your poems are quite interesting.

This one is a Pantoum


CHOICES

The summer is past; no summer sun,
The days are growing cold.
The shadows of the evening,
They seem so dark and long.

The days are growing cold;
The frost is on the ground,
They seem so dark and long,
These shadows. They reach the soul!

The frost is on the ground,
Painting the falling leaves.
These shadows—they reach the soul!
I must do something for relief!

Painting the fallen leaves
Upon the frame of stretched canvas—
(I must do something for relief!)—
Captures beauty in the silence.

Upon the frame of stretched canvas,
Each leaf stands out in unique detail,
Captures beauty in the silence.
So too, do I among my fellowmen.

Each leaf stands out in unique detail,
Has characteristics of its own.
So too, do I among my fellowmen,
Possess that which is mine, and mine alone!

“Has characteristics of its own.”
How those words describe my existence! I
Possess that which is mine, and mine alone!
Myself, My choices, My life!

How those words describe my existence! Ah,
The shadows of the evening—
Myself, My choices, My life!
The summer is past! The summer sun…

D.L. Harris
© 1997

[Triskele]

i like it, at first glance it seems a bit depressing, but as i went along, the hope shown through... well done

[Triskele]

hey pen... what is a "Pantoum", i have never heard of it...

[Pendragon]

A Pantoum is a Malay form. The second and fourth lines of any stanza become the first and third lines of the following stanza. The First and third opening line must become the final fourth and second line. Thus you move in a kind of circle. No rhyme is needed, but thought must be taken in choosing the lines as they will show up again, and may have to mean something different!

MIDNIGHT RIDE

Fear rides in on a pale horse,
Much like Death, only twice as cold.
He smiles a toothy, terrible smile.
He likes to watch you shake and tremble.

Much like Death, only twice as cold,
Fear is the thing that gibbers in the darkness.
He likes to watch you shake and tremble.
He toys with the imagination and memory.

Fear is the thing that gibbers in the darkness.
He laughs a dry, irritating cackle.
He toys with the imagination and memory.
They are his two worst tools of torture.

He laughs a dry, irritating cackle
When imagination sketches shapes in the shadows.
They are his two worst tools of torture,
For you never can quite remember...

When imagination sketches shapes in the shadows,
You jump at every tick of the clock
For you never can quite remember
If that shadow was there before…

You jump sat every tick of the clock,
Ear listening for the repetition of the sound.
If that shadow was there before,
Why are you trembling now?

Ear listening for the repetition of the sound,
He smiles a toothy terrible smile.
Why are you trembling now?
Fear rides in a pale horse.

D.L. Harris
© 1995

[Triskele]

thanks... i may try to do such a poem, i like the concept but it will take a bit of thought to perfect the wording

[Pendragon]

Questions #2

I am afraid that I will never understand life:
The many shadows of reality;
the distorted reflections from a thousand mirrors;
the same hymn played and sung in myriad combinations.

The many shadows of reality;
the shades of what might have been;
the same hymn played and sung in myriad combinations.
How does it all come together and form an individual?

“The shades of what might have been.”
Too often we place too much emphasis on
how does it all come together and form an individual?
Life is life, it cannot be more or less.

Too often we place too much emphasis on
the road behind, not the road ahead.
Life is life, it cannot be more or less
than making certain each moment counts.

The road behind, not the road ahead,
is the one forever barred to our footsteps. Anything less
than making certain each moment counts
is the only true waste of time.

The one forever barred to our footsteps, nothing less;
the distorted reflections from a thousand mirrors;
making certain each moment counts.
I am afraid that I will never understand life:

Raven Darkendale
© 2002

Raven is one of my Pseudonyms

[Pendragon]

Final Breath

She softly exhaled her final breath,
And a peaceful smile lit up her face.
The silence echoed like the laugh of Death,

And I felt bad for wishing that he’d been sure and swift
And not let her suffer so. I knelt to give her one last embrace.
She softly exhaled her final breath,

Leaving me feeling lonely, sad and bereft,
With no one to help me run life’s race.
The silence echoed like the laugh of Death,

This invisible creature that had came, taken her, and left
Only her memories to fill up the space.
She softly exhaled her final breath,

And I held her hand and desperately wished
That I might somehow take her place.
The silence echoed like the laugh of Death—

Well, he’d taken the best wife in the whole length and breadth
Of the universe—in any place.
She softly exhaled her final breath—
The silence echoed like the laugh of Death…

D. L. Harris
©10/10/97

[Triskele]

Starving Christ

Stride powerfully, long steps eating the miles, coat tails flap in the wind, noisily marking this passage, silent masses note your oblivion to the quiet, a quick glance down, a cold shake of the head, footsteps echo in the distance, the last opportunity for a starving man, the son of God, huddled in a doorway, gravel toned pleas lined with the broken glass of his life, are silenced, the end of his quiet condemnation to a private hell, chilled concrete havens, shared by others, each alone with their sins, what did we miss in this person, these people… only infinity


somewhat depressing but i think a valid point, tell me what you think pen...

[Pendragon]

Starving Christ

Stride powerfully, long steps eating the miles, coat tails flap in the wind, noisily marking this passage, silent masses note your oblivion to the quiet, a quick glance down, a cold shake of the head, footsteps echo in the distance, the last opportunity for a starving man, the son of God, huddled in a doorway, gravel toned pleas lined with the broken glass of his life, are silenced, the end of his quiet condemnation to a private hell, chilled concrete havens, shared by others, each alone with their sins, what did we miss in this person, these people… only infinity


somewhat depressing but i think a valid point, tell me what you think pen...It's good, Tris. I haven't really seen the style before, Prose poem? I would break it into lines for free verse, but, yeah, good poem! :thumbs_up

[Pendragon]

Here. Try something new. Tell me what you think! ;)

ALONE ON BALD MOUNTAIN:
REVERSIBLE #9

Fog rises, shadows deepen,
somewhere-- wolf howls.
Pulse quickens as branches crackle.
Slinking shadow passes.
Startled, heart races.
loneliness and fear descend.
Wolf howls closer.
Eyes dart everywhere—
Nothing! Fog and dark…

Dark and fog—nothing!
Everywhere dart eyes.
Closer howls wolf.
Descend fear and loneliness,
races heart, startled.
Passes shadow, slinking.
Crackle branches as quickens pulse.
Howls wolf—somewhere!
Deepen shadows, rises fog…

Dale Harris
© 1997


http://www.wolftimbers.org/images/ingohowl.jpg

[Triskele]

wow, i like it, you have a hell of a way with words, does the backwards/forwards concept have a name? if so, please tell, i am always eager to learn. as to mine, i call it continuous freeverse so that it all flows together, almost as if the entire poem is just one glance.

[Pendragon]

It's a reversible. It must be a perfect reverse though, no tricks. Ideally, you should get one view forward and one view back. Sometimes, it can seem two different poems. I've published almost every one of them, including this one, but it's my copyright, and my poem. ;) The magazine got reprint rights only.

[Triskele]

naked desires wandering, the few remain sane, the ancient grow insane, the why, simple, its truth, pondering questions exist, nobody that is thought rational, but innocence remains... remains but innocence, but rational thought is that nobody exists, questions pondering truth, its simple why the insane grow ancient, the sane remain few, the wandering desires naked...

there yah go pen, or did i get it wrong, i think it is reversable, please do comment... i love the concept of this style of writing and would like to get it RIGHT, not just sort of... thanks for the help with my poetry,

[Pendragon]

naked desires wandering, the few remain sane, the ancient grow insane, the why, simple, its truth, pondering questions exist, nobody that is thought rational, but innocence remains... remains but innocence, but rational thought is that nobody exists, questions pondering truth, its simple why the insane grow ancient, the sane remain few, the wandering desires naked...

there yah go pen, or did i get it wrong, i think it is reversable, please do comment... i love the concept of this style of writing and would like to get it RIGHT, not just sort of... thanks for the help with my poetry, You slipped up here on your reverse turn: It should go ""remains innocence, but rational thought is that nobody exist, questions pondering truth, it's simple the why insane grow ancient, the sane remain few, the wanding desires naked...

A Perfect reversible. No switching the order of the words!

[Triskele]

hey pen, i have been working on my sonnetry, and here is a three verse sonnet about death, can you help me rework it... please

Shadows, Dust, And All That Remain

Simple ephemeral ribbons of red
Dances the air of winters frozen breath
This scarlet silk slips through hands like death
Where the color of black cloth is our bed
Silent eternal rest draws the weary
Along the long silk road to the last gasp
Of breath, grating and chilling does winds rasp
Echo of death, testing god’s theory
Religious answers questioned by the end
This ultimate journey to Dante’s mind
Where heaven and hell are combined by time
And to this silent black sphere, our souls send
Where we meet, and are meted out justice
A white draped truce within us is this

Dust motes float gently on a red sunrise
Ethereal sights pierce the golden rays
Swords of the sunset end the brief gray rays
Decline of the light shines on temporal lies
The deceit of life, to think we go on
The rose petals of riches, only fall
To earth, we’re held in nature’s rotten thrall
Deceived to believe that we last past the dawn
Human error, mans grave sin betrays
The error of arrogance in our decline
We claim to be mightier than lord time
That pitch pit fiend, who claims the final say
All fall to ashes, our minds fill with dust
Into echoes of our sin we are thrust

This gold purge of mans final destiny
Betrays us all, leaving only our deed
Tricked from our riches, by mans silver greed
We ignore the simplest way to set us free
The costless act of a simple mans word
Held true by his actions, honor and love
Inspire the bards who sing from above
These bleak shadows and dust leave the absurd
Notions that loves coin rewards not death and life
This coin of our deed will pay for our sin
And countless gold cups, pay not for our strife
All lifelines aside, our time here on earth
Is determined not by our date of birth


-Triskele-

[Triskele]

thanks, other than that boo boo, what do you think, b/c i think that once you remove that second misplaced "but" the poem actually improves...

[Pendragon]

hey pen, i have been working on my sonnetry, and here is a three verse sonnet about death, can you help me rework it... please

Shadows, Dust, And All That Remain

Simple ephemeral ribbons of red
Dances the air of winters frozen breath
This scarlet silk slips through hands like death
Where the color of black cloth is our bed
Silent eternal rest draws the weary
Along the long silk road to the last gasp
Of breath, grating and chilling does winds rasp
Echo of death, testing god’s theory
Religious answers questioned by the end
This ultimate journey to Dante’s mind
Where heaven and hell are combined by time
And to this silent black sphere, our souls send
Where we meet, and are meted out justice
A white draped truce within us is this

Dust motes float gently on a red sunrise
Ethereal sights pierce the golden rays
Swords of the sunset end the brief gray rays
Decline of the light shines on temporal lies
The deceit of life, to think we go on
The rose petals of riches, only fall
To earth, we’re held in nature’s rotten thrall
Deceived to believe that we last past the dawn
Human error, mans grave sin betrays
The error of arrogance in our decline
We claim to be mightier than lord time
That pitch pit fiend, who claims the final say
All fall to ashes, our minds fill with dust
Into echoes of our sin we are thrust

This gold purge of mans final destiny
Betrays us all, leaving only our deed
Tricked from our riches, by mans silver greed
We ignore the simplest way to set us free
The costless act of a simple mans word
Held true by his actions, honor and love
Inspire the bards who sing from above
These bleak shadows and dust leave the absurd
Notions that loves coin rewards not death and life
This coin of our deed will pay for our sin
And countless gold cups, pay not for our strife
All lifelines aside, our time here on earth
Is determined not by our date of birth


-Triskele-Well, I've never seen a sonnet written this way before. I use the Shakespearean form which goes like this:
A
B
A
B
C
D
C
D
E
F
E
F
G
G

Petrarchan, which I think is what you are trying to accomplish, has a different rhyme scheme:

A
B
B
A
A
B
B
A
C or C or C
D C D
E D C
C C D
D C C
E D D

The final six lines are called the sestet. Yours doesn't fit either form. So maybe you have invented a new form. The poem is good, well written. But those who are picky about sonnets won't accept it. Good luck.:thumbs_up :)

[Pendragon]

thanks, other than that boo boo, what do you think, b/c i think that once you remove that second misplaced "but" the poem actually improves... Right. It's a good reversible. Just take care to totally reverse things. What you look for are words that have more than one meaning or such. :thumbs_up :)

[Pendragon]

the haunting

an endless invasion of incoherent sounds
assaulting my auditory system,
a verbal barrage from
wispy, indistinct shapes
that materialize out of the ether,
defying all effort
to determine their nature or purpose—
but sometimes the jeering, gibbering faces
become focused enough to identify—almost.
there’s something eerily familiar about them,
even their voices have faintly recognizable sound—
i am being haunted by the most dread entity
to ever tread clawed foot among the darkness of this world—
myself…

D.L. Harris
©7/20/96

[Triskele]

Well, I've never seen a sonnet written this way before. I use the Shakespearean form which goes like this:
A
B
A
B
C
D
C
D
E
F
E
F
G
G

Petrarchan, which I think is what you are trying to accomplish, has a different rhyme scheme:

A
B
B
A
A
B
B
A
C or C or C
D C D
E D C
C C D
D C C
E D D

The final six lines are called the sestet. Yours doesn't fit either form. So maybe you have invented a new form. The poem is good, well written. But those who are picky about sonnets won't accept it. Good luck.:thumbs_up :)

i liked the concept of a iambic pentameter sonnet, but i switched the ryming scheme to:
a
b
b
a
c
d
d
c
e
f
f
e
g
g
because i liked the flow of the sandwiched quartets with the two lines at the end sort of adding a soft conclusion to the sonnet, while not making a hard break in order to enable the continuation of the poem to another sonnet section.

i realize that my peoms do not fit into the traditionalistic forms, but i used to do only freeverse, and now i am branching off into other styles of poetry, so it takes a bit of work to acclimate my self to a more rigid style of wording and syllable count. i AM trying though and i think at least steadily improving.
thanks for your input. :):D

[Pendragon]

i liked the concept of a iambic pentameter sonnet, but i switched the ryming scheme to:
a
b
b
a
c
d
d
c
e
f
f
e
g
g
because i liked the flow of the sandwiched quartets with the two lines at the end sort of adding a soft conclusion to the sonnet, while not making a hard break in order to enable the continuation of the poem to another sonnet section.

i realize that my peoms do not fit into the traditionalistic forms, but i used to do only freeverse, and now i am branching off into other styles of poetry, so it takes a bit of work to acclimate my self to a more rigid style of wording and syllable count. i AM trying though and i think at least steadily improving.
thanks for your input. :):D Well, it's GOOD! So that's really all that matters. I don't syllable count for anything except haiku, cinquain, and tanka. With a sonnet, I let the flow of the words guide me. So mine are slightly different as well, as you might have trouble fitting them to iambic pentameter. Poetry is a very individualized art, even if you use a form, you can make it your own. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Tris. Your've doing great. Learn to trust that. :thumbs_up :)

[Triskele]

thank you for your advice, and your encouragement, its nice coming from such a prestigious individual