Submissions by Astyanax (Ceejay)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
As a poet, I am an observer and a commentator, never a preacher.
LOVE POEM
Published
2nd Aug 2010 3:02pm
2nd Aug 2010 3:02pm
First Aid
With my love
I tried to bind the finger of your indifference
And stem the flow of your loneliness.
I tried to bind the finger of your indifference
And stem the flow of your loneliness.
1058 reads
5 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Jul 2010 11:43am
24th Jul 2010 11:43am
Campaign
The first time, we walk into love
Like an infant walking into no-man's land.
All around us, brilliance and sound,
Lights and colours,
And no thought of shields or weapons.
We are, of course, mortally wounded.
The next time, remembering the first,
We seek again the vision and the moment,
The headlong rush, the reckless loss of self.
But now, from the corner of the eye, we notice movement,
And when the end comes, though it devastates,
We realize that it was half-foreseen.
And so, on.
As time goes by, we gird ourselves;...
Like an infant walking into no-man's land.
All around us, brilliance and sound,
Lights and colours,
And no thought of shields or weapons.
We are, of course, mortally wounded.
The next time, remembering the first,
We seek again the vision and the moment,
The headlong rush, the reckless loss of self.
But now, from the corner of the eye, we notice movement,
And when the end comes, though it devastates,
We realize that it was half-foreseen.
And so, on.
As time goes by, we gird ourselves;...
1164 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
21st Jul 2010 2:02pm
21st Jul 2010 2:02pm
Pleiades
The Pleiades,
The Seven sisters,
The beautiful daughters of Atlas,
Seven points of light,
Whirling forever across the heavens
In their endless dance.
Do you realize
We can see right up your skirts from down here?
The Seven sisters,
The beautiful daughters of Atlas,
Seven points of light,
Whirling forever across the heavens
In their endless dance.
Do you realize
We can see right up your skirts from down here?
825 reads
1 Comment
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
27th Mar 2010 11:31am
27th Mar 2010 11:31am
The Wall
It ran across the end of Afton Street,
The boundary of my world at five.
Beyond, another country: ships, and cranes, and sky.
While girls played intricate, intense games of house -
Cooking, cleaning, scolding naughty dolls -
We boys took part in active, manly games,
Tore down the street and leapt up at the wall,
Clawed fingers clutching for the top.
A pull, a heave, a scrape of tortured shoes,
And you were up astride the parapet,
And from your airy seat
You looked out over weeds and railway lines,
And further, to the ships and cranes and sky....
The boundary of my world at five.
Beyond, another country: ships, and cranes, and sky.
While girls played intricate, intense games of house -
Cooking, cleaning, scolding naughty dolls -
We boys took part in active, manly games,
Tore down the street and leapt up at the wall,
Clawed fingers clutching for the top.
A pull, a heave, a scrape of tortured shoes,
And you were up astride the parapet,
And from your airy seat
You looked out over weeds and railway lines,
And further, to the ships and cranes and sky....
882 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
17th Mar 2010 12:49pm
17th Mar 2010 12:49pm
Arrival
I came to Chicago across the plains of Illinois.
I was in the back, and Brian and Kathy in the front
became silhouettes against the blood-glow of sunset.
On each side, disappearing for a thousand miles into the darkness,
lay America, country of the road.
As always, I thought of Chuck Berry, Ray Charles,
Jackson Browne, Paul Simon,
and so on, and so on.
All of those voices which brought America to us
on our cosy European island.
And the voices told us of another world,
a world of high-schools and sidewalks, ...
I was in the back, and Brian and Kathy in the front
became silhouettes against the blood-glow of sunset.
On each side, disappearing for a thousand miles into the darkness,
lay America, country of the road.
As always, I thought of Chuck Berry, Ray Charles,
Jackson Browne, Paul Simon,
and so on, and so on.
All of those voices which brought America to us
on our cosy European island.
And the voices told us of another world,
a world of high-schools and sidewalks, ...
963 reads
1 Comment
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
12th Mar 2010 10:46am
12th Mar 2010 10:46am
Don't Blame Me for Spring
Alright, so it's March, so it's Spring.
Okay, so everyone wakes up at five a.m.
because millions of birds cannot be persuaded to do anything else at that time
but sing.
Look, it's not my fault that the elm tree bole's in tiny leaf,
and if the trees in your street are knobbly with buds or clouded with great sprays
of pink and white blossom, so that your heart aches just to look at them,
Don't give me any grief.
It wasn't me who put the clocks forward an hour,
so that people could stroll by rivers under blue-gold sunset skies,
or look in delight...
Okay, so everyone wakes up at five a.m.
because millions of birds cannot be persuaded to do anything else at that time
but sing.
Look, it's not my fault that the elm tree bole's in tiny leaf,
and if the trees in your street are knobbly with buds or clouded with great sprays
of pink and white blossom, so that your heart aches just to look at them,
Don't give me any grief.
It wasn't me who put the clocks forward an hour,
so that people could stroll by rivers under blue-gold sunset skies,
or look in delight...
1108 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
26th Feb 2010 5:38pm
26th Feb 2010 5:38pm
The Ancient Lark
On bright and blustery summer days
of childhood, I would often walk
along the path that led from Sandy Gap,
past caravans, fields and golf links, to West Shore.
To my left, the stony beach sloped down
to rock pools, and beyond, a great expanse
of bright, exhilarating sand, and then
the blinding, glittering Irish Sea.
To my right, rough grasses and a far skyline
of shipyard cranes and neatly-planned estates.
Here, by the links, I’d stop to hear a sound,
the endless trill and chatter of a lark.
No pause for breath, no moments of self-doubt,...
of childhood, I would often walk
along the path that led from Sandy Gap,
past caravans, fields and golf links, to West Shore.
To my left, the stony beach sloped down
to rock pools, and beyond, a great expanse
of bright, exhilarating sand, and then
the blinding, glittering Irish Sea.
To my right, rough grasses and a far skyline
of shipyard cranes and neatly-planned estates.
Here, by the links, I’d stop to hear a sound,
the endless trill and chatter of a lark.
No pause for breath, no moments of self-doubt,...
829 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
24th Feb 2010 3:28pm
24th Feb 2010 3:28pm
Archaeology
Preparing for the living-room's latest face-lift,
I pulled the old shelves from the wall.
For twenty years, they and their rows of dusty books
Had helped to form the image of the room.
Now that they've gone,
I see the strips of long-forgotten paint that they concealed.
Aubergine! A fashionable colour of the time;
A time of marriage, crawling infants, tensions -
Different lives lived by other selves.
In the ancient, untouched dust
Lay artefacts and relics:
Tarnished coins, a scrap of dried-up leaf,
Memories of meals and drinks,
And...
I pulled the old shelves from the wall.
For twenty years, they and their rows of dusty books
Had helped to form the image of the room.
Now that they've gone,
I see the strips of long-forgotten paint that they concealed.
Aubergine! A fashionable colour of the time;
A time of marriage, crawling infants, tensions -
Different lives lived by other selves.
In the ancient, untouched dust
Lay artefacts and relics:
Tarnished coins, a scrap of dried-up leaf,
Memories of meals and drinks,
And...
876 reads
5 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Feb 2010 9:05am
24th Feb 2010 9:05am
Spring's Cohorts
The snowdrops steal in first,
Quiet, unobtrusive, pale and frail,
They infiltrate unnoticed,
But suddenly, they’re there.
Silent, drooping, humble, shy,
But undeniably There.
Winter blusters on, unready for defeat:
Wind, snow, floods, ice,
Sharp skirmishes of frost,
But all to no avail;
The die is cast
And Spring will not be cowed.
Today, the crocuses turned up.
Brave in yellow, royal in purple,
Fearless in their livery,
Their bright platoons defy drab Winter’s hordes.
They will not yield,
They will not be denied....
Quiet, unobtrusive, pale and frail,
They infiltrate unnoticed,
But suddenly, they’re there.
Silent, drooping, humble, shy,
But undeniably There.
Winter blusters on, unready for defeat:
Wind, snow, floods, ice,
Sharp skirmishes of frost,
But all to no avail;
The die is cast
And Spring will not be cowed.
Today, the crocuses turned up.
Brave in yellow, royal in purple,
Fearless in their livery,
Their bright platoons defy drab Winter’s hordes.
They will not yield,
They will not be denied....
1016 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2010 4:17pm
23rd Feb 2010 4:17pm
When I'm Not There
What does my flat do
When I'm out at work all day?
Does the sunlight filtering through the dust
Charm my cheap guitar to play?
What of the hallway, long and austere,
Does it play the coquette and laugh too loud
When I'm not here?
What about the carpets
When there's no-one walking around,
Surely they conspire with the floorboards
To make some kind of sound?
The plants stand still - or seem to -
Whenever they catch my eye,
But I bet they shake and rustle
As they hear my footsteps die...
Air, shadow, silence
Is it really like that...
When I'm out at work all day?
Does the sunlight filtering through the dust
Charm my cheap guitar to play?
What of the hallway, long and austere,
Does it play the coquette and laugh too loud
When I'm not here?
What about the carpets
When there's no-one walking around,
Surely they conspire with the floorboards
To make some kind of sound?
The plants stand still - or seem to -
Whenever they catch my eye,
But I bet they shake and rustle
As they hear my footsteps die...
Air, shadow, silence
Is it really like that...
1064 reads
8 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2010 4:12pm
23rd Feb 2010 4:12pm
The Land of Sleep
The Land of Sleep is hard to reach
When you set out from Not Tired Beach.
Ahead stretch miles and miles of night,
But Slumber Point is not in sight.
Deep in the woods of Wide Awake,
You thresh around. Which path to take?
You try the route of Tranquil Thought,
But all your efforts come to nought.
Perhaps a book? The clock tolls one,
Too tired to read, you soldier on.
For hours, your thoughts and sleep contend;
God, will this journey never end?
As first light dawns, you sense a calm,
A peaceful, drowsy, healing balm.
Dozing, you drift...
When you set out from Not Tired Beach.
Ahead stretch miles and miles of night,
But Slumber Point is not in sight.
Deep in the woods of Wide Awake,
You thresh around. Which path to take?
You try the route of Tranquil Thought,
But all your efforts come to nought.
Perhaps a book? The clock tolls one,
Too tired to read, you soldier on.
For hours, your thoughts and sleep contend;
God, will this journey never end?
As first light dawns, you sense a calm,
A peaceful, drowsy, healing balm.
Dozing, you drift...
1124 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Astyanax (Ceejay)
