I wasn’t born on the Virgin Islands
No books prophesized my coming
No shiny stars above the hospital bed
Only handmaidens welcomed me in
Most likely with awe struck expressions
Slap some air into that baby me, please
Make me scream, make me cry out loud
What have I gotten myself into
Mom says tears streamed down my cheeks
Yet, she swears I was smiling too
Nothing’s changed now that I’m old and grey
I’m still just a spark igniting a flame
I still smile when I cry
At all the lies and the pain ...
Nobody’s perfect
Watch out for betrayers, the knowing handmaiden said.
Cleopatra took the apple, not realizing she would soon be dead.
The asp was hidden well, same color green as the apple’s stem.
The handmaiden was tossed into the tomb, her fate totally grim.
I see her often,solaced with beauty,the rich sweet softness of her eyes, that all my senses now apprehend. Elixir of all vertues, handmaidens, Pandars of the bodies pleasure. That Virginity a virtue,kept by modest chastity ‘til willing and desirous to yield.
A black butterfly visits
a morning display
of dew wet flowers.
No concern about the mere mortal
tending the garden.
It's soon joined by
a phalanx of small whites.
Handmaidens
to a royal presence.
The beauty brazenly sits
on an extended hand.
Opening and closing wings
while surveying the feast of nectar before it.
The tiny whites move as if
dancing to an unheard melody.
My day is off to a great start.
.
.
Nemesis of well tended graveyards
flourish with abundant life—
luscious with nourishing reward.
Birds and worms feast without strife:
basking in the sun are ripe red tomatoes;
rivaled only by the soil’s full bosom potatoes.
Clouds of joy shed quenching spring tears;
Zephyros, Chloris and Carpus have been kind.
Life blooms in fullness without any fears;
butterflies daily hovering to rest and dine.
Only nature could have crafted such budding plots;
allowing us to be their plowing handmaidens;
and benefactors of their yielding—healing crops.
Blessed are we to have these earthly spring havens.
Yet Walk Thee, Into Dawn's Sweet Renewing Rays
Once lost, what hell else better have you got?
Two broken feet, treading on molded rot
Nay! Cry thee not for some whimsical muse
More the worst for darker world to abuse!
Set thee, hardest task of destroying thrones
Slicing thy bread, rest not thy weary bones
Take rare days, to thy colder heart amuse
Let not Fate's handmaidens force thee to choose!
Once lost, what hell else better have you got?
Than skin and teeth, sad memories to trot
Best thee, look for better weapons to use
When life seeks only early death to use!
Yet walk thee, into dawn's sweet renewing rays
Faith in saving face of Hope, always pays!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-13-2017
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Words: 112
Note: Struggled today to not write, but my muse cut for blood, until the pain demanded an answer.
Tis not as bad as it may sound, as healing forces me to walk away from the new darkness that my weaker soul seeks to accustom itself...
Thus the birth of this dark and somber sonnet....
I see her often
solaced with beauty
the rich sweet softness
of her eyes
which all my senses
now
apprehend
Elixir of all vertues
handmaidens
Pandars of the
bodies pleasure
that virginity
a virtue
kept by modest chastity
‘til willing
and desirous to yield.
A METAPHYSICAL MUSE
What thou lovest in her face
is colour,if her face be painted
on a board or wall, thou wilt
love it.She speaks,smiles and
kisses much. Because it is
painted do you not behold with
pleasure her painted face? Love
her who shows her love to thee,
in this smile , lovely to thee,all
her love forever be,if her face
forever, rests upon thee.
I see her often,solaced with beauty,
the rich sweet softness of her
eyes,that all my senses now
apprehend. Elixir of all vertues,
handmaidens,Pandars of the
bodies pleasure.That Virginity
a virtue,kept by modest chastity
‘til willing and desirous to yield.
When the name Virgin shall be
exchanged ,for the more
honourable name, of Wife .
From John Donne’s prose Juvenilia 2,11,12
*A Phrasis is a structured verse where the poet uses selected prose phrases of another writer’s(not a poet) to compile unique poetry therefrom as a tribute thereto,the word phrasis is Greek for phrase.
Listen to me read this phrasis of mine on youtube under the name
The song they sing
Will bewitch you
Promising you everything
Warming your bed to loving you
Heartbreakers for sure
Full of wickedness and sin
They are so evil
Promising love but taking a life
They were handmaidens to the
Goddess Persephone
When Haides abducted her
Given bodies of birds
Sent to search for her
got tired and made
Anthemoessa Island their home
There they sang their song
Luring sailors to their death
Orpheus helped the Argonauts sail past
By drowning out their music
with his song.
Odysseus also sailed by
Bound tightly to the mast
His men blocked their ears
Using wax, so no song was heard
For this to happen
Distressed the Seirenes so much
They threw themselves
Into the sea and drowned.
Penned 6/6/2013
Moral must be – beware of sirens with blonde curly hair that have sexy voices. lol
The handmaidens
Of autumn
Allowing the
Aspen trees to
Shed their souls
Just
listen to
the
sweet sound of
the
autumn leaves of gold
in the realms of marine stardust
there still flicker deviant desires,
fanned flames that nothing can prevent,
lustrous ignitions devoid of hesitations;
bartering for the souls and shoes
of footloose heroines,
laddered of stocking and careless
of moral fibre;
ah, they were and shall always remain
teenage handmaidens who never addressed
nor paid faintest attention to
my secret sexual schemata.
Mermaids on salt streaked rocks,
seaweed strewn sands,
beached with slapping tails
and ringlet-framed smiles;
sipping cherry coke on the psychic coastlines
of my derelict and vandalised
sea front promenades.