The Cry of the Twins

I stood in my socks as the water poured

Down over my shoulders and past my shins

And somewhere beyond the wooden door

I heard the cry of the twins

I had a feeling that something was wrong

But my brain just couldn’t quite pin it

As I heard the cry

—and the plaintive song of the twins

How long had I listened?

—an hour? A minute?

Was the fault with the shower? Too cold or too warm?

Had I forgotten to turn on the spigot?

I couldn’t think as the water poured

Over my shoulder and past my shins

As I listened by weeks by hours by minutes

To the cry of the twins beyond the door

And still through the fog of my sleep-deprived brain

That functioned as well as a bag of rocks

I stood in the warm and calming rain

Contemplating my purple socks

How long did I stand there?

How long did I stare?

How long did I struggle

with a deep fretful frown

As the water poured down

And slowly I drowned

In the plaintive song

from beyond the door

Slowly I drowned in the cry of the twins

As the shower poured

Over my shoulders and past my shins

And through my sleep-deprived brain

A light shone through this bag of rocks

Basking in this calming rain

I see the problem!

I’m in the shower wearing socks!

And the thought goes through my mind—

—how odd! How funny!

What reason did I find

To wear socks on a day so sunny?

In this balmy summer season?

Oh well—I’m sure I had my reason!

And so I stand in my socks as the waters pour

Down over my shoulders and past my shins

And somewhere beyond the wooden door

I sigh to the sound of the cry of the twins

Sea Song

Rocky shore in a rocky land

Harp lifts its voice to gentle hand

Dances wind among the strings

Softly sighing, the soft breeze sings

Burbles the brook beside the song

It adds its voice and sings along

A child stops to listen and see

Pirouettes with joy and glee

Her skirt spins out and her hair blows free

Waving her arms and clapping her hands

On a rocky shore in a rocky land

Little Joke

Are you having fun yet, is it all just a joke?

Are you getting anywhere

Or are you just blowing smoke

In my love-clouded air?

.

You bragged to me of your honesty

Then wrapped your truth in shrouded layers

Did you think I was so blind I couldn’t see

The flawed man hiding there

Like a soft bass solo in a symphony?

.

You forgot that I’m a skilled musician

As you wove us both in fantasy

A smooth romantic composition

Believing yourself the supreme magician

.

But step out now from your illusion,

Come to me, speak plain

Tell me is it your joke

Is it all just a game?

Or are you finally betraying your pain?

Daisies

Daisies fresh are

In the glass jar

Plucked from backyard

By childish hands

.

Brings me tears

Swift fly the years

Sorrows and cheers

Flow time’s swift sands

The Bard

Based on ancient bardic forms of poetry: The Bard

Hardship brought the foreigner

A man of songs and singing

Tales of dame and coroner

With bold adventures ringing

 

Such great epics detailing

With skilled and learned bardship

The world he is regaling

With tales of woe and hardship

Pretty Doll

You saw me sitting on a shelf, a pretty little doll

I could tell a tale and twirl and dance, I could do it all

I was enchanting to your eyes, compelling to your mind

Entrancing to your whims, I was your greatest find

And so you pulled your wallet out, and waved your platinum card

An easy million dollars for your dancer, muse, and bard

Look around, you see my shelf? Clearly I don’t care for wealth

You dress me in the latest fashion, but money cannot buy you passion

I’m sticky in your moneyed web, helpless in your shopping cart

But learn, before you run your card, that money cannot buy my heart

Put me back upon the shelf, there to sing and dance

To weave my rhymes and tell my tales, until I find my true romance

Medieval and Modern

A Translation of a Medieval Poem

Merry it is while summer lasts,

With birds in song;

But now there threaten windy blasts

And tempests strong.

Ah, but the night is long,

And I, being done such wrong,

Sorrow and mourn and fast.

 No Second Troy, William Butler Yeats

 WHY should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?

In Shady Paths

Dragon King

And so we come around again

Gentle words, my dearest friend

Who once to me was everything

My heart, my soul, my lord, and king

Who slayed the dragons that threatened me

Who set my wild spirit free

Now after the tempest, after the storm

The raging threats that drove us apart

Back we creep, a furtive reach

For soul and heart

And yet I know it cannot be

The dragons slain, you’re bored with life

You crave new battles, drama, strife

I can’t save you from yourself

But only set my own heart free

Your gentle words, my dearest friend

You know I’ll crave them till the end

But as I breathe each word, I know

That I must somehow let you go

To save yourself, your own worst foe

For don’t you know, have you not seen it unfold?

You’ve become the dragon who eats your own soul

Taking A Bath

A fun poem!