Poetry Wednesday #55

I wrote this some 10-12 years ago.  It's a song, meant to be sung in a march.  It's infinitely unfinished.  I wrote it with the idea that I'd just keep adding names and stories to it.  You'll get the picture when you read it.  I hope. ~AJ 

Army of the Damned

There's a ghost.  There's a ghoul.

I'm a fighter.  I'm a fool.

In this army of the damned.

We will march.  We will fight.

We will bleed through the night.

O! This army of the damned.

Look there's Fred, lost his head

In a battle with the dead.

Now he's joined their ranks instead

Of still breathing.

Here is Jon, he marches on,

He swears he'll never see the dawn

Pretty soon he'll be long gone

From the living.

So we march.  So we fight.

I hope I live through the night

In this army of the damned.

We have men.  We have might,

But we don't know what is right,

We're the army of the damned.

Poetry Wednesday #54

Sea-change

I see Manannán's horses crash upon the shore

Transforming into foam

And slipping back to sea—

An abundance of colors chase them,

As the moon and the sun 

Chase each other.

Reflections of reflections

Turning into something new.

Poetry Wednesday #53

I got this from here.

Call to Manannán

Wave-riding magician,

Guardian of the Blessed Isles,

Mist-cloaked guide over open waters,

Keeper of the Crane Bag,

Wielder of the Answerer,

Lawgiver among the Tuatha Dé Danann,

Hail Manannán, son of the sea,

Lord of the Strand.

Hail Manannán,

Lord of the liminal realms,

I call to you.

Poetry Wednesday #52

Stormy Seas by Graham Richardson

Whispers of Manannán

The first time I saw the ocean
I was twenty-three
And already half in love with the idea
Of the vast and unreachable
Depths that it contained.
It was nothing like I expected–
It was more.
I didn't feel awe.
Not then.
What I felt that early-autumn day–
Standing on the southwestern coast
Of Alaska–
Was a deep and unrelenting
Calm.
A tranquility that I had never before
Encountered in my waking life.
In my dreams the sea was
Green or blue or tumbled-grey.
The color I remember most,
Looking back,
Is purple–
The dusky-violet of the sky at night–
And I understood what the
Greeks meant when they named it
"Wine-dark."
I heard you,
While I stood there,
Whispering to me.
I heard you,
Though I didn't yet know
Your name.

Poetry Wednesday #51

Evelyn Simak [CC BY-SA 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Three More Lunes

The myths of freedom

And romance

Forget poverty

Dreaming the wild,

The untamed, the constant movement–

Traveling the wind.

More is in this world

Than we know

We imagine dearth.

Poetry Wednesday #50

湖南张家界国家森林公园 By chensiyuan [GFDL or CC BY-SA 4.0-3.0-2.5-2.0-1.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Daydreaming

At the height of summer I wish for the cool of mountains,
The deep shade of forests, and the wind that whispers through.
I want a life among the fingers of the earth,
A cottage shadowed by woodland canopy,
And the quiet cacophony of nature at dawn.
I want to breathe the oxygen-rich air with you,
And lounge in bed 'til noon's well past.
We'd eat fruit and laughter with equal avidity,
And need only each other for companionship.

Poetry Wednesday #49

I found this photo on a Pinterest board.
The outfit is sold on Etsy.

Woman, 3 of many

She always wanted to travel against the status quo, and walk on paths less beaten,

But she was met with a resounding "No!" when she tried to dip her feet in.

In greater than ten thousand ways she was told she was worth zero—

For a girl is only good for lays and can never be a hero.

Her courage, once great and true and strong, could not stand against the constant pecking

And soon the disenchanted throng had her to do their becking.

By the time she'd grown she'd lost her joy, and her bravery, spirit, and brain.

All because she was not a boy, she lived her life in pain.