A scattered collection of poetry I have written between stories and songs over the years. A lot of this is inspired not by my time as a harpist, but rather stories I've heard or experiences I've had. Enjoy.
Sonnet #3 -Early 2018
They told me heaven's gate I’d meet at end
The good-light of the angels I’d attend
My life to glory given it would be-
And then another voice addresséd me
To freeze- my prefer’nce of the soul’d be found
And not of pearl-cast metal I’d be bound
This place where sin and levy I could flaunt-
Do you think you will tell me what I want?
I do not think I’d mind the friends of lust
To call me down for causes that are just
Nor would oppose I an extended hand
To carry me to there above the land
But if you’d ask me where I’d like to be
I want to find myself from bondage free
Peningagjá -Late 2017
I wish you well through the misty mornings
That love to tell of rains to come.
Casting spells, Oh- the light at dawning
Lightly keens for the unsung.
Throwing coins down to water’s shelter
From the edge of wells or a bridge’s bend
‘Til I’ve lost track of that hand-dulled copper.
Yes- the answer’s stay again.
When warm of heart befell your longing
See past the stone walls of ancientry
To the hills doused with vine-less vineyard,
Sewing swords, and ferns beside.
I wish you well as you journey past-ward
Though your mind may be full of rigid prose.
Sun kissed grass and sagebrush guide you-
Who’s searching for your county's rose.
I Know that the Stairs are Hollow
I know that the stairs they are hollow
because of the shoes that I wear.
Heels that fill me with power
as they echo the well of stairs.
They echo the streets of the city
And are heard far above car exhaust
Trapping along on the sidewalk
A show that will cost you no cost.
They say there’s a hallway beneath me
And this marble is genuine stone
An afterthought sent from a building
Made by my gate alone.
I know that the stairs they are hollow
Because of the steps that I take
In shoes that have never quite fit me
When I walk, the earth I quake.
Three thousand moments over and over Tenderly telling of time. Trill the voice via vicorus sweet spoken words- Words I work to withhold from following false frailties of future. So now, staining sheet in ink longingly lyric lover, shall I speak sacred of your smile? Your wiles or wit? Nay withheld from the world- livid light and love illuminating life for the lost. Graciously you give But the best you bestowed before I. So special. Lucky this lady lies None know of you as I. And I am so blessed.
Pied Piper -Early 2017
Mister Tale, why do you call me so?
Your laughing, your baffling
of others with wit,
Such is the pit of your undertow.
Sir Fable-air, with no compare, why can’t you let me go?
Hearts united, unslighted
is mine, Not a bit!
But stolen was it to make so.
Oh! Mon Amie, Grand Reveille, days with you spark infamy, but where did you put the woe?
Bright my night, and day is light-
er--Oh how strange the fit
When you I admit to lie with me low.
Christmas Cat - January 2018
A day or two ‘fore Christmas guests a stranger came to my doorsteps.
In mottled snow and raggéd coat, with ribs to show and soot to boot
And so I took her in my arms against the cries of Da’s alarm.
A year or two has passed since then, my home from voles she does defend.
Thus, ki-ki cat of youthful grey-my feline friend and friendly fiend.
So simple thoughts for foggy minds, clear the space for finding rhymes.
A Market Commotion -2018
The nobleman’s dead!
He was stabbed in the neck and the ground struck his head!
Who done it?
Surely no kid!
Do you think it the tradesmen with buttons undid?
Do you think it the cobbler? Or think it the scribe?
The tailorman's wife! To her let’s ascribe!
If it not be her fault then why did she hide?
The tailorman’s wife!
Drag her and beat her to an inch of her life!
Let me tell!
Above this crowd yell!
The old man in the corner with junk that he sells!
He killed him!
Blue-blood this man spilled!
The cracks of the streets of the market it filled!
No life she has taken!
From your stupor of rage will you people awaken!
Could it be? Can you see?
He runs! There he flees! Bring him to his knees!
There’s blood on his coat and through crowds he does squeeze!
Please listen to me?
The murderer flees! And ‘tis not a she!
Yes? Little girl?
You too hear her skirl?
Selling your wares as injustice unfurls.
What has become of this beautiful world?
Girl, look at this thing!
She is maiméd still while to the tailor she clings!
The crowd cares for not any truth when they’ve got
A scapegoat to take in the anger they’ve wrought.
Just in matters of months this will all be forgot.
Three Hours -2018
I have three hours until I need to be present
And I have a tendency to want to waste that time
I think I have annoyed the woman behind me
When I pulled out my chair
Now on my feet
I have pain in my stomach
But I have a reputation to build
So while away from home I cannot lie down
Today I have worn my jacket with only one button
And the part of my skirt that is torn
From flattering my waist
I have hidden under a belt of the smallest size
That is pinned because it is too long
I have a napkin that is drenched in red from my lipstick
That has smudged itself on the corners of my mouth
I have lipstick stains on the inside of my wrist as well
And a little bit of soup to tide me by
When you taught me to ride a bike you let go from far away.
You let me have my fun for once you let me have my play
Even though you knew that soon I would be falling down
You let me go so willingly and picked me up from off the ground
You put up with my tantrums when I don’t get my way
Basically you put up with my stupidity day to day