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Author Topic: Some of my junk...  (Read 1758 times)

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Some of my junk...
« on: Apr 13, 04, 11:54:40 pm CDT »

Here are some of my feeble attempts at poetry, Not my best, probabally not my worst.

Mist Rising over the mountains
As the wind slips her cool fingers across my face
Pale morning parts slowly over the peaks
And the skies siren song calls seductively

I rise from my heathery hilltop
Spreading my wings and meeting the cool rush of the day
I fly over hallowed woodland and synthetic sanctuaries of riveted steel
The salt air whips around my body, a streamlined tribute to mother natures might

My muscles smoulder like slow burning timbers
Every Ligament and tendon pumping in perfect harmony
Aching as they sound the glorious Aria that is freedom
A rich and natural melody of limitless possibility

Feathers reflecting the shimmering moonlight
As I glide like a shadow to my pine laden palace
To dream the night away in silence
Till the mist rises once again

  ~Viggo Romanova

A tree planted for a goddess:

My love is a tree
Its roots run deep and its branches reach ever higher
You planted this tree and helped it to grow
Nurtured it
And only you can bring it down

With your slings and arrows, you stone sharpened axes
Which you wield with such precision
And the bark of the tree weathers and cracks
Only to be born anew like a tender sapling when the sun of your eyes hits its branches
And the rain of your touch soaks deeply into its roots

A tribute to your perfection, your glory, it buds and blossoms
Ancient limbs waiting to be given new life
Strong and solid and splendid
Yet delicate, swaying gently with the breeze, as it reaches out for you
It triumphs over all tests presented by time

The tree grows around obstacles becoming ever stronger
Ever more solid till the rolling wind breaks against its surface
Always it shifts and forms, branches rot and fall, to be replaced
By newer more stunning foliage, an arboreal tapestry for your delight

Though vines pull at its trunk
Vines of sorrow, of anger, and of splintering pain
It does not wither, does not die, for you strengthen it
With your love, your spirit, like the earth itself keeps it alive

The tree is living, it feels, it pains,
It needs, needs to be nourished
To grow, as the tree changes and morphs, it needs change in return
To define it, to validate it, to know it grows, lives, for a purpose

The tree is wild
The storms and floods of emotion help it to grow strong
To learn to deal with natures hardships
Yet the woodcutters axe that seeks to carve and sculpt it scars its deepest heartwood
And the ravaging fires of neglect, apathy and ingratitude for natures beauty reduce it to Ash

The tree is strong and glorious and alive
If the sun reaches its leaves, unblocked by clouds
And the soil reaches its roots, unblocked by stone
It will grow ever greater, till the day you can lay in its shade
And be utterly content, truly happy, then, I can meet you there
Surrounded by the cool whisper of mother nature, and hold you once again
       ~Viggo Romanova

The pale full moon hangs low in the sky

The night is warm and the ground is silken soft

I sit and run my hands across the smooth, wet surface of the well

My fingers glide through the gently curved cobblestone crevasses

The stars shine above me, drops of everwhite diamond in the sky

I peer into the well and gaze upon the reflections of my soul, heart,
and the faces of my children.

I lower my face between the smoothed sides of the well as it welcomes
me warmly.

The life giving liquid laps gently around my lips, its fluid form
caressing me.

As I sample the sweet nectar of eternity.
       ~Viggo Romanova

I weather the storm here in my fortress
from the highlands calls a new life
dodging and weaving spritely through the trees
laughing all the while
a sound like a brook over ancient stone
what charming fools these mortals be !
The chime sweet voice of yesteryear
leads me to a hollow
ancient orchards filled richly with the the scent of loam
through hills inhabited by naught but stone
fairy fellows and nature folk who play their songs to lead me into the setting sun
The stars now light my path to a palace I’ve seen often in my dreams
I hear the chiming bells that call the full moon down to play
blood flows like a spring from the throats of our sacrifice to our mother
and wine flows like blood into our cups in honor of her
the moon waxes and wanes and we gather here together
in the company of things of dreams that are more real than ourselves in the end
Life goes on and ends and is reborn
like the moon that waxes and wanes or the seasons that change
maiden mother and crone
the gods and goddesses of sweet regret and second chances
and still we stay till the end of the final ending
to feast and sing till the sun comes up
I kiss my lady merry part till soon again we meet and I wave to my fellows fair
and I head through the hills and the groves so sweet and I soon will be home again.
   ~Viggo Romanova

Yeah so, that is the first and probabally last set of poems I will ever post here. After all I do wish you all to retain a scrap of respect for me :D . Sorry for the length....
I wont beg for bread
even though I'm hungry
just give the Rom
a little respect.
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