A love poem

Hey all,

I wrote this original poem last night (11-3) and edited it today. Thank you, as always, for reading my work. I hope you enjoy it!

I've loved you forever,
But forgot in a day,
 Silent light shaded
By your delicate lids
-It never ceased-
The low, determined thrumming,
Entrained beat against
My carceral heart,
Idyllic beauty entwined
In ivory-vine and august scent,
As if a living censor,
Though in the twilight fever,
While the spirits flutter
In delirium and dying haze
I see you again,
Pale, lithe aghast,
Propped-up
In funeral display,
Perfect and pallid in repose,
Smooth as the lacquered wood
Holding your bones-
Glazed lovingly by
Death’s steady hand.
There, I slumbered,
Resting my head
On your moribund mantel-piece
Rife with dreams of
Resurrected hope,
Twice crucified
On the cross of ambulant life.

Still, I sing our eldritch love,
Still, I water your roof-top lilies,
Bathe them in my tears,
And, await in trepidation,
For that horrid-hopeful day
 When lurking Madness
 Brings me back to you.

(An elegy) To those left behind

Hey folks,

New, original poem. I penned this on the 18th and edited it and typed it up today! I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for your support, as always!

(An elegy) To those left behind

Sharp, she focused

On the small movements

Swift, things creeping in the dark

Her listless dreams

Silent, sighs to their

Piercing screams

Soft, the movement

Of rudderless mouths,

As if to stay,

Sessile, to the harbors-

*Just*

Shadows, in garish day

Occupying naught but

Sepulcher spaces

Of light-forsaken solitude.

She could stare ‘till expiry

-Still, never-

Stop her mortal thirst,

-Saint-

Odd-prophet-wandering-a

Sadist, land

Choking sand and the memories

Of oasis dreams, long buried

Sometimes, she believes

In be-guiling streams,

Gaunt, greedily gulped

Salvation, so close to her

Golgotha touch,

Arms spread, 

Like the penitent thief

Salvaging, what ghosts

Remain,

Still, giving up

For whatever draughts
- Left-

In that weary cup

Strangled, by its bitter swell

Starving, for a single memory

*Saturnine*

Days arrested by death,

Slinking, creeping

In that sickly space

Between waking

And dreams. 

The hungry

Here's a new original poem. It is a poem that praises human potential and the power of us to overcome the shackles that bind us, of the superstitious nature or the every day chains of negative thinking/every day manacles that hold us down. I hope you enjoy & thanks for reading!


In the morning
The angel awoke
To thrust aloft
His mighty thurible
Wafting wisteria
To the hungry ephemera,
-They-
Roses, embittered by eternal winter,
Shook the slumbering dew
From their trembling lids
Like idyllic doe
-Entombed-
In a sepulcher world,
They tremble and gape
Grasping the fleshless void-
Facing the first sweats
Of fever,
A singular sickness
That creeps into timid hearts
At the expiry of day.
Feckless children awaiting
The terrible
Sojourn of night,
Eldritch stars frozen in moribund nude,
Lost to
The creeping fog.

Still, in the silence of the grave
-A Whisper-
"From the blood of stars,
Boundless bone of limestone,
Womb of
Blind fledgling life,
We rise to the trumpeted
Bellows of our own
Deific design,
From the doldrums of our
Dogged souls-
We sip your blessed poison
-And march on-
We sample your fallen apple
-And march on-
We face your thundering floods
-And march on-
We endure your sadist winters
-And march on-
We set our Martyrs alight
-And march on-
In the darkness you created
We strike a blinding torch
And immolate your gilded throne
-For-
As the flame melts the cast-iron
And sets the slaving free-
We march on."

New, original Swahili Poem

Hello friends, I wrote this original poem about Prometheus in Swahili. For those who speak the language, enjoy!!

 

"Prometheus na Moto daima"

 

 

Kianzilishi (Prologue)

Nilimuona yeye wakati moja

-Miake iliopita-

Nilimsikia yeye

Alikuwa akilia

Alikuwa… akipiga unyende

Mwili wake

Ulifungwa kwa jiwe mbovu

Jiwe la damu, jiwe la uovu

-Tusiweze kusahau-

Alikuwa akilia kwa maana

Alikuwa akiota

Kuhusu jamii, alituota sisi,

Alidhani kuhusu alivyotupenda sisi,

Kwa hivyo, baba wetu

Mtukufu, mwenye hodari

 Aliiumwa ndege mkali

Moyo wake ulikulwa

Ngozi yake ilikatwa-

Ndege huo, huo ndege mwovu

Ulimuuma Prometheus

Kukata, kupasua

Damu yake ilimwagwa

-Alitufikiria sisi tu-

Damu yake ilipotea

-Alitufikiria sisi tu-

Prometheus Alitupa sisi kila kitu

Kwa hivyo, nitawaambia hadithi hii

Hadithi hii ni kweli,

Nitakavyowaambia hadithi

Ni ilivyotukiwa.

Hadithi hii: Prometheus na moto wa daima.

 

Kianza cha kwanza

 

Kabla ya wakati ulipozaliwa

Kabla ya kitu cha kwanza,

Kuna Miungu wa ugiriki,

Kabla ya kitu cha kwanza

-Kilidhani-

Kwamba kitaweza kuzaliwa

Hapo Zamani, wakati vitu havikutamani

Kwa urafiki na mapendo

Miungu hao ni viongozi wa

Dunia na Mbinguni

-Hapo zamani-

Kabla ya kitu cho chote kilipiga kelele,

Na Wakati huo huo,

Viongozi hao

Husherehekea, hukunywa mvinyo ya damu

Hucheza walipo mwili wa nyota

Lakini Zeus, baba wa miungu

Alihisi wasiwasi,

Alihisi peke yake,

Ijapokuwa alikuwa na miungu wengi,

Alihisi peke bado.

Zeus alidhani kwamba atazae maisha

Maisha makudumu

Maisha wataweza waisho,

Vitu kama taa ya daima

Taa ambazo zitamsaidia Zeus

Kulala tena.

 

Kwa hivyo, Zeus alizaa maisha mbalimbali

Wanyama wa wawitu,

Miti ya ajabu,

Maua mipendeza

-Nyota ya dunia-

Muhimu zaidi:

Watu wa jamii

Mawe ambao wataishi,

Ambao wataimba

Ambao watakucha Miungu hao

Watu walikuwa wakiishi kwa wakati ufupi

Kuishi, kufa tu,

Sayari, zilianguka.

Kwa hivyo, jamii walizaliwa

Siku ya muhimu hiyo.

 

Miaka mingi iliopita

Na Miungu wabovu husherehekea bado

Bustani salama kwa mbinguni

Ilikuwa ikihumea kuelekea

Mwezi, angani ya mwanga

Zeus alifurahia na mvinyo,

Alikunywa zabibu za damu

Alihisi daima, ajuba

…Hadi Siku moja…

Zeus aliwatazama watu wote –Na-

Aligundua kwamba,

-kama maua katika bustani ya kwanza –

Jamii walikuwa na heri

Maisha wafupi—walikuwa na heri

Waliishi wazima, lakini

Zeus ana mpango huu

Kwa hivyo aliondoka nyumbani yake

 (Katika mbinguni)

Alifika yupo dunia kama paka mkali,

Halafu akakimbea kuelekea vijiji vya jamii

Alipofika watu nyumbani zao, akawachukua moto wao

Aliwaiba watu roho kwa mapafu na moyo wao

Halafu akarudi mbinguni kucheza, kulala salama

Lakini kabla ya atalala, alitia moto wao

Katika mfukoni (Gordian)

Kazi yake ni mwisho.

 

Prometheus alizaliwa Majitu (Titan),

Lakini aliishi kama Mungu

Badaa ya Prometheus alienda vitani

Kusaidia Miungu hao

-Vita hivyo vyenye damu-

Vilimtengeneza miungu shujaa

Prometheus alimuona Zeus aliwaua watu

-Yeye alimona Zeus aliwachakua moto wao-

Prometheus alihisi huzuni katika roho yake

Aliwaota kwamba watu wana maisha bora,

Alitaka kwamba watu wana maisha yo yote.

Kwa hivyo Prometheus alipata moto wa jamii

Basi aliondoka nyumba yake

Halafu nikafika dunia kama Miungu Majitu.

Alienda kwa mlango mmoja kuenda mlango ijayo

Alikuwa akiwaleta watu moto wo wote wao

Aliwaleta maisha wao tena

Watu hao husherehekea kila siku na

Kuliimba Prometheus jina yake,

Prometheus mwenye hodari,

Prometheus mapepo uzuri.

 

Hermes Alimuambia Zeus kuhusu moto maisha na

 Zeus alikuwa na hasira

 Zeus na familia yake walimchukua

Prometheus na alifunga mwili wake mgumu

 Kwa jiwe ya damu.

Jiwe ya uovu

Halafu,

Ndege kubwa akambiwa

Kwamba atamwume Prometheus,

 Kuchukua na kukula moyo hodari yake.

-Prometheus, baba wetu, baba wa asubuhi

Juu wetu, nyota wetu-

Prometheus hawezi kufa,

Kwa hivyo umia yake

Huendelea daima

Majeraha wake yalikuwa huponya.

 

Miezi zilipita hadi mnawake mmoja

Alimsikia Prometheus alia.

Prometheus alipiga kelele

Kwa umia yake.

 Siku moja, siku ya ajabu

Mnawake mwenye, mpendeza

Nywele yake kama mchana ya jua

Moyo wa hodari, moyo wa akili

Malaika wetu wa asubuhi

 Alikimbia kuelekea Prometheus

Wakati alimsikia Prometheus akihapa,

-Alia kwa Mbinguni za tupu-

Mnawake mpendeza, malaika wa asubuhi

Alimona ndege wa ouvu

Mdomo yake walikuwa wakitona na damu

Damu wa Prometheus mwenye hodari,

Malaika alishikilia panga warefu

Panga lenye simu,

(Halafu) Akamkata Ndege kichwa yake

Kichwa kikubwa kilianguka pole

-Kama wimbo ya mahaba-

Mnawake wa malaika alimchukua kichwa cha ndege

(Halafu) akamtupa kichwa hicho

Katika bahari ya hasira

Mnawake akampa Prometheus uhuru yake.

 

Prometheus na mnawake wa malaika

Walienda kuelekea vijiji wa jamii

Walipofika dunia, Prometheus aliwaambia watu wote

“Watu wazuri, kupigane na Miungu wa shetani na mimi!!

Wamemwaga damu yetu, sasa tutawamwaga Miungu damu yao!”

Watu wa jamii walipiga kelele na walisema

“Panga warefu wetu, damu nyekundu wetu

Ni yako sasa, Katika vita, katika kufa, tutapigana!”

 

Prometheus aliwaeleza mpango huu-

Kuwadanganya Kuwaua Miungu wa shetani

Kwa hivyo, Watu Wote walipiga kelele

Na Walisema, “Miungu wa shetani, kuje hapa sasa

Walipigane na Sisi!!”

Miungu walikuwa na hasira na akafika dunia

Na Panga wao warefu wa simu,

Miungu hao, wakali, Miungu wa vita

Walikuwa njaa kwa damu

Wakati huo huo

Prometheus alienda kama nyoka upesi

Kwa Moirai (The Fates) nyumbani wao

-Binti za usiku-

Nyumbani ya chafu

Ilijengwa ya buibui

Akachakua Miungu nyuzi za maisha

Na akaiba Atropos’ mkasi yake

-Wazazi wa wafu-

Na, akakata nyuzi hizo

Kwa hivyo, Miungu hao walianguka kama

Mvua la zito,

Katika kaburi ya dunia

Na Prometheus alichoma mbingu yote,

Mioto hiyo huchoma na ilikula

Hekalu za ajuba, ilikula

Nyumba nzuri za Miungu zao.

Watu wa jamii walikuwa viongozi vya mpya

Maisha mafupi na moto wa daima

Roho wa watu hawawezi kufa.

 

 

 

***Copyright 2014. Richard C. Morgan. All rights reserved. ***

 

Bridget Cleary

Hey folks, this is a new, original poem that I just wrote. This about a very strange, but true, tale of a man named Michael Cleary, who believed that his wife was taken by fairies. He immolated the changeling impostor who looked and acted like his wife, with the help of some town-folk. The brutal murder of Bridget Cleary has become folk-lore because of this odd circumstance. I hope you enjoy this and thanks for reading!!



She wasn't the same,
My love,
After they took her,
Her skin, once ashen-pale,
Radiated strangely
With an eldritch glow
Her, eyes, dew-drop and doe
Agape to the promise of spring-
Narrowed-as if shielding from a foreign-sun
Too bright for shade-sheltered eyes.
How she would sing
Late-afternoon in the early-harvest
As if joined in duet,
Her words, rhythmic, spoke-low-in-strange-tones
Not my garish love, boisterous in barley pubs,
Pints by the fingers, bellowing ballads
Tales of bare-backed knuckles and revolution,
She drank from a different cup,
After, after everything changed,
We all bore witness, we knew well,
Within that flesh, bluebell-stitched,
Dwelt a spirit fey
With roots beyond the vale,
Wearing the bones of my Bridget Cleary.

We had to do it, the fire, the flame,
She wasn't my love, she wasn't the same,
The Reverend took her wispy frame,
Doused the beast to tame-
It, it would burn, to bring her back to me,
My love, my Bridget Cleary.

I dabbed the kerosene
Up-on her gentle nape,
-A holy perfume-
Wept when she screamed,
"I'm not a changeling"
But, alas, it wasn't -her-
And, as *she* screamed, piercing the heavens
I prayed for-forgiveness
Not to God,
Whom bestowed his blessing,
But to my lithe, to my weary,
To my lost love,
Bridget Cleary.





***Copyright 2014. Richard C. Morgan***

Losing eyes: The deaf and the dead

Sonnets were spoken-
Still, in the early hours
Silence reigned,
We broke bread
Over tepid fire
And terse conversation-
Glutton clouds
Gripped every drop,
Sodden ground soaked
With long-dead tears-
Forevers shattered
On the cross of today.

Still, star-crossed sinners
Wondered if we could love
Our parched hands, our palsy eyes
Quivering in anticipation-
Seizing the slippery moment
Like an upstream savior.
Too much, the deciduous leaves
Dying too soon-
Sacrificed in spring,
Solemn, the flora that should be rejoicing
Quiet, the quaking dead;
-She-
Feigned flight and fell
Before the sunrise
So,
She
Sojourned south
And
So, I am left
Weeping my grief
To the deaf
And the dead.

Raw

Hey everyone, I just wrote this original poem (6-12-14 at 4:26 PM) and have no idea why a poem about battle came to me, but hey, it did! I hope you enjoy!



It slit me to the core,

Having to mend the tendons,

Bone-stitching to save us-

Corpse-bridge swinging in carrion night,

Chagrined to see another collapse

Under the yolk of falling stars,

Puppet-masters penning their terribly play

Sketching the sickening sway,

Fish-hook mouths manic in violent hymn;

But we were no lambs,
Daggers under sinless wool
Wo! When the pendulum swung
To zenith heights,
Carving lustfully through the heavens
-White-eyes pregnant with death-
We arose in startled cry
Blood-brought blind
In fever and fury,
Rest did the weary blade-
Bludgeoning none save godless air,
Yet astride the iron-lit glare
Cold daggers of song and sin
Met like lovers-
In the flesh of our enemies.






***Copyright 2014. Richard Cameron Morgan***

It has already been written

It has already been written,
This tired verse,
Pretentiously penned in that
Sullen small-town cafe,
A song that speaks in somber beats
And shakes the heart of no-one,
Yet these words breathe into the ether,
This verse screams for the solace
Squeezed from draughts,
The smoking glass,
A shaky hand and a tired quill,
Palsy and poetry.
Yes, it is violent, the urges, the longing,
For, longing, for the never-ending
Hand-wrung hope that somewhere,
In-between the soft cycles
Of siren sleep,
 I could sink to the culling deep
And rest in peace.

Kick the chair

In the silent moments before the sun-set,
I begin to ponder as a moment passes
Sending shivers up my spine
And down this florescent hill-side,
It makes me cry,
The fading light 'gainst
The turbulent sky,
Restless, like my Icarus heart
Rattling the stoic trees,
Quaking no longer,
Stronger as nascent night advances
Shuffling with the jovial breeze,
Feels as if the world is dancing-
Just for a moment,
Garrotes crumbling to tinder-
Faith and fire for a new fellowship-
Mirth, for an endless night,
The massed song of joy un-bound,
Of verse unbridled,
Love, simply love in the experience,
In the feel of splintered rope
About my tender neck,
Of just the feel,
Bound to the final chair
Yet so aware,
Alive in death's tender grip,
Yet I disembark,
Yet, I struggle,
And still, I thrive.

To be human

Hey folks, this is a new original poem that I just wrote. I hope to type up and write the other poems that I've written lately, ASAP! This has been a pretty prodigious period for writing, so I'd love to share them with you all. Thanks for reading!

To fell

All that is human,

To live divine.

I began this journey

With sharp-tongued sonnets-sheathed,

Broad-sword bound to the ideal

That everything is sacred,

The ebb and flow,

Like a sun-dial,

Constant, Continuous,

Immutable;

Alas, the winds changed,

Bone-cold-zephyr breeze

Buried the laconic Lily,

Lush spring withered

Before Autumn’s rise,

A twilight of spoken words

I can hardly remember.

We lit those chrysanthemums

Like candles, defying death,

Sang hymns to the dying embers;

Sinewy smoke

Dripping from pine bones—

Culling our chants,

Love-lipped verses

Sacrificed by scented flame—

En-route to the empty heavens.

Still, we are east-born to the ether,

Airy vapors like marionette lovers

Entrained to the funeral beat,

In silent pantomime;

Perhaps, even now

Amidst perpetual winter,

As fog rises o’er

This fallow land,

—Perhaps—

Somewhere, still,

They love. 

***Copyright 2014. R. Cameron Morgan***

Sea-bourne

I often stared through that grated-

Wooden gate,

At a half that should've been whole,

Like two hands cleaved by an

Eddying mass.

A pier leading to nowhere

Birthed from an open wound-

It screams for connection,

But is severed by unknown hands.

I yearn for its weathered palms,

Gaze in envy at its steadfast resolve,

Intractably doting,

Like Thermopylae,

It gives no ground to the treachery

Of that light-strangled sea.

Indelibly graceful in aesthetic loneliness

Alone, alone...but, wait-another

Dismayed at the thought of company,

I'm in no mood for the cacophony

Of conversation,

But, eve' in the sfumato of the ever-

Churning bay,

I notice her siren-strange-beauty;

Tempests rip at the bones 

Of the planks that support me;

I've never been more still

Entranced, by, I can't quite see,

En-rapt by, her serenity

Aura, an eldritch glow

Teeming in the phosphorescent dark.

Never have I needed, like I

Needed her, bone-longing

My oft-beating heart turned

Salt and swell dividing-

I could take no more,

A-top the groaning post

I looked back, but once

To a defrocked world,

Heard the lyre of desperate angels

And wondered,

Whether gentle love was

Worth living as Werther-

Jumped before sluggard thought

Panted and proclaimed itself,

Head-first into the swarthy sea

Rip-tides tearing, gasping for air

But only singing her name,

Blinded by tide and terrified 

By her beauty.

So close, so close to freedom

So near, so near happiness. 

So close.

-Written by Cameron Morgan on 4-11-14.

 

Culling and the catharsis

I left the station today
Bone-soaked, mothy-haired
Shedding like a withered lizard
I wished for the comfort of her portico
 Found iron-bound gates
And an elegy euphemized as
Haiku
Rested my head on a granite
Slab
Even the dead are nameless here
Found no rest
Like the scarecrow of Golgotha
Sang to plaintive birds
Silence
No music in the still symphony
Weary soles stabbing
The static earth
I am old now
Wandering one
Whispering to the willows
Always her grace
Always her name
Always her wonder
Always her terror
Change inexorable
Change indelible
Change inexhaustible
Wakeful death.

Thus she spoke

In the waking moments of slumbering nights,
I hear her whisper-
The sounds of silhouettes,
Like puppets at the gallows.
 I can't help but listen-
Violins screaming against strained strings;
 I walk the fallow fields of the streets she
Created, sketched in recycled books,
Newspaper and receipts of faded memory-
At the expiry of an inebriated evening.
I toast an empty glass to
 The dead stars and their forgetful light
And begin to dream again.






***original poem, created by Cameron Morgan. Copyright 2014. ***