Logres Son

of all the blood that coursed man's veins,
one stands out from the rest,
once smelt by a giant man,
and flows in Arthurs breast.

for once a upon a time,
in an island in the sea,
a boy did live with honor,
and fought with chivalry.

but the blood that ran beneath his shirt,
was more precious by only one,
for the blood he bled was from Logres,
and he was Logres long lost son.

The Sun Sinks Down

                the sun sinks down, the sun sinks down,
                wearily dropping between the trees,
                 making all gold, asleep, and free,
                 to dream of rest,
                 beneath the crest,
                 of a mourning, roaring sea.

                 and man once young, is old and weak,
                 ready to share a dream,
                 for rest to seek, 
                 golden, asleep, and free.

                  the sun sinks down, the sun sinks down,
                  touching the waves, refusing to stay,
                  to sleep and rest,
                  beneath the crest,
                   of a calling, roaring, sea.

                  beneath the mound,  man does sleep,
                  to find the final quest,
                  while the grass grows round,and the reef does pound,
                   he sleeps the endless rest.

                 the sun sinks down, the sun sinks down,
                 its brow plunged in the hissing sea,
                 a final glimpse, of earth and men,
                 and give the stars the vault of heaven,
                 beneath a roaring sea.

                 the stars wheel, and sing, and shine,
                 crying like angels in the sky,
                 shining their light on a tomb of stone,
                 of a man that flew past their unblinking eyes.



               

His Blood

Every time I read certain nonfiction work, with varying names, more or less The Holy Bible,  there is an interesting pun in Acts chapter 5. it the part where the Sanhedrin is holding a hullaboo over the apostles, what do the Priests say? not: "you guys get on are nerves" which frankly would probably save them a lot of talk, but: "you guys are trying to cover us with this man's(aka:Jesus) blood." aha! got the pun? the apostles are sitting around Solomon's lemonade, er columnade,   (or is it portico? does it really matter?) and preaching to the people, when the Sanhedrin guys appear and try to mess everything up. the priests are saying: "stop trying make us feel guilty" but how do they say it? cover us with Jesus's blood, which is pretty funny, seeing as they're trying to convert every body to Christianity. if one says that everything God planned every thing from start to finish, which then mean that every pun and joke, every rhyme and song was conceived in His imagination, then yes. kind of strange, that one of the many ways to convey meanings, one would be chosen by God so that two thousand years later an insignificant book elf would look at it and wonder.

The Rain

the librarian I work for requested me to copy this poem, and I decided to place it up hear where hopefully the moth can not devour or the robber break in and steal.

                                 The Rain




                     the skies grow dim, blotting out the sun,
                      the clouds move in, stealing all shades save one,
                     gray, the color of rain is here,
                      accompanied with thunder, and a few silent tears.
                    
                   then lighting burns through the sky,
                    flashing through the unseen breeze,
                   and the clouds cry.

                  quietly at first, as the winds increase,
                  then rushing down in tempests, refuse to hold its peace.
                  dampening the dusty earth, splattering, splashing, giving up its worth,
                   to the thirsty ground.
                  
                   they go hurrying past in rivulets,
                   trickling to every brook,
                   whitening every river,
                   making puddles in every nook.

                  but finally they fade away,
                 till a few tardy coming quietly down,
                 dripping off every leaf and branch,
                sinking into the ground.

                and just in case lest we forget,
               one last display is shown,
               though Bifrost reaches up to the gods,
              to men, God's mercy had come down.
           

The Wind

             The wind was whispering in the trees, like a silent silver lance, a short lived wintry breeze, the chose the leaves to dance.

The wind was singing among the stones, like a sad and solemn bird.

Speaking of some holy bones, buried beneath a Christian stone,

To a sleeping world.

The wind was roaring around the rocks, like a lion for its prey,

A roar that at the Nemean it mocks, shattering the night time, and echoes into day.

The Fairy Queen

                                       The Fairy Queen

                                The fairy queen,

                                Was clad in green,

                                And danced beneath the Hemlocks tall,

                                For the trees made a roof for her woodland hall.

                       

                               

                               The hemlock boughs,

                               They made a wreath,

                               Or perhaps the sun’s shining sheath-

                               And moon’s soft beam.

                               The fairy queen,

                               Was clad in green,

                               And danced through a mossy dell:

                               For there a crystal spring did well.

                               And far away she did go,

                               And where she dances,

                               No man does know.