Poems, 1916-1918

Poems, 1916-1918

Francis Brett Young

TO

EDYTH GOODALL

Remember thus our sweet conspiracy:

That I, having dreamed a lovely thing, with dull

Words marred it--and you gave it back to me

A thousand, thousand times more beautiful.

CONTENTS:

Prothalamion

Prothalamion

Prothalamion
Francis Brett Young

When the evening came my love said to me:
     Let us go into the garden now that the sky is cool,
The garden of black hellebore and rosemary,
     Where wild woodruff spills in a milky pool.

Low we passed in the twilight, for the wavering heat
     Of day had waned, and round that shaded plot
Of secret beauty the thickets clustered sweet:
     Here is heaven, our hearts whispered, but our lips spake not.

Between that old garden and seas of lazy foam
     Gloomy and beautiful alleys of trees arise
With spire of cypress and dreamy beechen dome,
     So dark that our enchanted sight knew nothing but the skies

Veiled with soft air, drench'd in the roses' musk
     Or the dusky, dark carnation's breath of clove;
No stars burned in their deeps, but through the dusk
     I saw my love's eyes, and they were brimmed with love.

No star their secret ravished, no wasting moon
     Mocked the sad transience of those eternal hours:
Only the soft, unseeing heaven of June,
     The ghosts of great trees, and the sleeping flowers.

For doves that crooned in the leafy noonday now
     Were silent; the night-jar sought his secret covers,
Nor even a mild sea-whisper moved a creaking bough--
     Was ever a silence deeper made for lovers?

Poems, 1916-1918

Kindle

Poem-Almost-A-Day: Little Chao

In the forest they sleep,
So peaceful and calm,
And innocent,
Like children
But controlling great power
There’s Chaos within
Their tiny hearts filled
To the brim
Cute, and friendly
You cradle them,
Coddle them,
Bring them food,
Bring them friends,
Bring them flowers,
And what do they bring?
Misery, failure, and deceit!
Not to mention
Chaos
And all its destruction
Or the hours and hours
Of the time wasted,
Wasted
Trying to raise these terrible,
Awful, greedy, selfish, slow,
Dimwitted, doe eyed, crawling,
Cute, affectionate, loveable,
Little
Chao





Guess what I've been playing...



Y'know

I missed a few days
Sorry
Can you forgive me?
Surely you can
You must!
I have a reason, y’know
A really good one
…
…
My cat was pregnant!
Yeah!
Twelve kittens!
I had to, y’know
Deliver kittens
For two consecutive days!
Can you imagine doing that?
I didn’t think so.
They just kept coming out one after the other!
It’s a miracle they didn’t, y’know
Yeah, y’know
Good thing I was there!
So that’s my reason…
I swear…
I’m not just a lazy blogger!
It’s the truth, y’know!

This Night Alone

I sleep with myself

Only the blankets near me

The night is lonely

No one loves anymore

Everyone is filled with lust

Romance is hook-ups

Flings and lap dances

These are the ways of the world

Ass and tits are “love”

Empathy is lost

Romance is a dead language

So I am alone

Yuck. Next time I do a haiku, remind me to do it differently. I am now infnitely more appreciative of the form.

Poem-a-Day July: Triangles and Octagons

Have you ever noticed how love always happens in triangles?
There never seems to just be a line.
I mean, maybe even a square, or an octagon, why is it always a triangle?
Is it just those three people and nobody else exists in the world?
That just doesn’t seem possible to me
There’s always somebody else
Some unheard Hinata sulking in the bushes
Hoping that someday there will be a direct line, or at least a square
Something that gives her a reason to feel love
Something that justifies her emotions
But there’s not just one Hinata
There’s a myriad of them
Sometimes eight or more
A love octagon?
Oh no, not an octagon.
You see, these hollow shapes assume that humans are not shallow
But of course Sheena is stuck choosing between Lloyd and Zelos
And Zelos, man, he just goes everywhere
So now lines are crisscrossing every which way
Heads are popping up and down, hearts are throbbing in their eyes
And someone decided to color outside the lines
Love is not any single shape
And it’s always a messy thing
But it’s oh so beautiful

Guys, you seriously need to give me some prompts to work with 3:

Poem-a-Day July: Every Day

I'm actually going through with my poem-a-day idea, even if I have to pull each and every concept and line out of my rather rotund buttocks. Thirty-One poems will be written, with or without your help!

Oh, maybe you don't know what I'm talking about. I seem to recall having at some point previous to this mentioning that I would be doing my own little Poem-a-Day for the month of July and requesting that anybody who reads that post to please leave a comment suggesting a prompt for me to write. None of you did it. Not a single one of you, and I know that you exist out there. I can see when you look at this blog. How could you, my friends? How could you?

Well, I've written a very special poem for you. It goes a little something like this:

Roses are red,

And violets are blue.

I asked for some prompts,

You didn’t pull through.

See how disheartened I was? It was so upsetting that I used your lack of interest as a prompt for a poem that doesn't really count, so I wrote a second one.

Every Day

You sit there constantly,
     Each day, each night
Waiting feverishly, yet dutifully
     Counting as the minutes go by
Loving your job, the one that only you can do
     Nobody else wants to do it
With that rude kind of overbearing presence
     Seriously, go take a nap or something
Drawing attention when we least want it
     Come on, man, just let me be for five minutesNever accepting that your task was fulfilled
     Finished, done, take a snooze
When you were blaring that damned radio.
     I hate clocks.



Seriously, it's Summer. Those damn things need to shut up.

It's not too late to leave a comment with a prompt. Really, please do this for me. I will gladly accept any prompt you post in the comments box. Please give me something to work with, please. I don't care if it's headlights, prostates, or green beans, haikus, sonnets, or free verse. Give me a prompt.



When There Is No Solstice

The ground is smothered beneath the wrinkled remains of the Spring’s harlequin leaves
Grim clouds cast the first of the season’s chilling, white warriors upon the forest
They gather on the trees, their magic spells making them sparkle with new life
Birds with cotton puff feathers coo to their mates as the first icy wind chills their hollow bones
Lerimoth steps forth from her carved oak cave, lightly padding over the crisp leaves
They hardly crinkle beneath her feet
She sniffs the frosty air and grimaces as the clouds begin to thicken
The silver sheen in her thin, silky hair disappears beneath the looming shadows
Something does not smell like her Winter spirits
Somewhere in her forest, the season refuses to change
She follows the scent of pollen and nectar, and listens as the forest around her hums with the labor of bees
Then she stops
Her cane falls to the ground
Winter retreats
The clouds clear
The Snow melts
Lakes begin to thaw
Flowers begin to bloom
Wars begin to wage
Dictators and Kings seek the bringer of Spring
With its power, there will be no end to the harvest
They will live in prosperity, and their men will be fed and fit
Their soldiers march forth, battling over the right to excavate the forest
Metal calls out across the Earth as sword meets shield, and arrow meets mail
A church burns to the East, ravaged by the Nundlok cavalry
War rings its own bells
Kalferd is the first to step ironclad boot beneath the dense, green trees
He is a mere slave troll forced to bear the arms of the Maliard infantry
Born into the service of the Malian army, Kalferd knows a life only of violence
As a youth he participated in the Games, a barbaric contest among slaves
The bones in his legs were shattered for over a year
He shakes away the memories as the forest grows thick around him
Allowing his mind to wonder will be the fastest way to welcome Death
Though he’s heard no other soldiers yet
Disturbingly, he’s heard nothing
Squirrels have not scampered, birds have not hummed
Leaves do not rustle in the wind
There is no wind
The forest is filled with a disquieting vacancy
At last there is a clearing of short grass and small petals
Kalferd spots the object of war
The Sun’s Tear, a large amber stone hotter than fire
Maliard’s King Artel has promised freedom to any slave who can retrieve it
Freedom at his fingertips, Kalferd ignores the burning of his palms as he grabs the Sun’s Tear
Suddenly the wind appears, bringing with it a pleading, vapid whisper
Kalferd pauses, considering the wind’s words
He looks at the Sun’s Tear
He looks at freedom
And thrusts it full to the ground
The Sun’s Tear shatters into a thousand sparkling pieces
Then burns away, leaving nothing but charred dirt and a thin scent of smoke
All at once the Winter takes hold
Stripping the trees bare, burying the gopher burrows, and freezing the soldiers in the distant fields
Lerimoth rises from the falling snow, using her cane to hoist herself out of darkness
She looks at Kalferd with shrewd eyes
Then nods
Kalferd is free of Maliard
He is free, but has no home
He is cold
He is hungry
But he is free

Don't Be Mad

I hope you don't get mad
         but I don't like it when you're sad
Your glass should be full
not empty or between
but spilling over the edge
creating a stream
         if you need some water
         you can borrow mine
                   I'm not thirsty anyway
Your swagger should not sway
Your frown should go away
Smile, if you find a way
And do your best to make it stay
         (I'm trying my best here)
                   (Please don't tear my rhyme scheme apart >.>;)
Running out of lines
But still so much to say
Though words are cold
So have a friendly-poem-hug
I hope you feel okay :3
         (actually, I'd prefer if you felt great)
                   (I'm trying not to push it)
                             (how far am I pushing it?)
                   (Should I take it back?)
                             (Smile, just a little, before bed, okay?)
                                       (Sorry I haven't quite mastered "the art" yet)
                             (Dream Well)

T'Was the Night Before Presents

I lay in bed
In the dead of night
Waiting for sleep
Waiting for him
Waiting for tomorrow
When there will be gifts
Games and toys and pie
Oh boy
I love tomorrow
I love it so
Suddenly a thump
A clatter and a crack
The tinkle of bells
Powdered snow falls from the roof
And sprinkles the yard
Like a sugar donut
It’s him!
He’s here!
Can I see him?
Can I say “hi?”
There’s a noise downstairs
The creeping of feet
The rustle of a bag
The guzzling of milk
I slip out of bed
Shiver in the cold
My breath slips away in whispered puffs
But I can’t be deterred
I must be tough!
Into the hall, I tip on my toes
Down the stairs
Through the kitchen
And then at last, he’s come to sight
The coat, big, red and bold
Is unmistakable
The sack at his feet is filled with toys
And games and cakes and other joys
His stomach bubbles and wobbles
Like a bowl full of jelly
His beard is long
And smooth
And silver
Like the bells on his boots
And the trim of his coat
He looks at me
Eyes wide with delight
A smile splits his humble, pink face
And I see now that the prints on the floor are not snow but
Blood
And the toys in the sack are not plastic or tin
But tooth, and bone, and torn bits of skin
The gifts by the tree
Are packaged like meat
I take a step back
He takes one forward
Eyes glinting blue and green
Like the lights wrapped about the tree
He holds out his hand
All sticky and wet
Chuckles real softly and says
“Merry Christmas to you,
My dear little boy.
Come look in this bag,
I’ve got you a toy.”

Wonderland

It's cold
Today is really cold
Way too cold cold
Polar bears would be shivering cold
Icicles are growing out of my nose cold
It is so cold
That the wind has to keep blowing just to stay warm
That wooly mammoths are stampeding through my yard
That the trees have begun to regrow their leaves
Because they need a blanket not to freeze
It is so cold
That birds have to glide like kites
Because they can't flap their wings
It is so cold
That fires have become spiky shards of ice beneath the chimney
It is so cold
That I'm going to pull my blanket tight
Watch the sun come up
Watch the bus drive by
And whisper to the frozen world
"Good night."

An Understanding

I've come to an understanding
         Oh?
         About what?
    Well, you see
    The whole time I sat there
    I couldn't figure it out
    This tight
    Painful
    Pinching feeling
    In my bladder
    And only now that I'm standing
    Do I realize
    I have to pee

Life Flows Downstream

Flowing
Like a river
Trickling
To the floor
Shimmering
As though crying
Deepening
From red to black
Leaving
Me to die

I'm Sorry

"I'm sorry…"
     No, it's okay
          It's not okay
"It's just that…"
     No, it's fine
          It's totally not fine
"Do you understand?"
     Yeah, of course
          No, not at all
"Are you okay?"
     Yes
          No
"Good"
     Heh
          Why?
"See you around."
     Later.
          Good bye…

Smile

Happiness
Head held high
Humming hubristic hymns
Hopeful
Humorous
Hinting
That something is wrong
That something is very, very wrong
That something is going to break
That something is going to give
That something is losing hold
That I'm going to
Let go

Confession of a Lost Boat

I must confess that it was me
I'm the one you want
The one who sent you those letters.
You know the ones?
They were stuffed with chocolates?
And covered in flowers?
Do you remember them now?
Those were from me,
I'm the culprit.
Not Tim, not Tom, not Jim nor Jack
It was me.
So now you know,
Now that I've confessed,
Found guilty by the jury,
Oh! What a beautiful mess!
Take me to a cell,
Lock me in the dungeon,
Through me in the gallows.
I don't care, but there's one thing that I must hear.
Could you take a moment, take a step back.
Before you make your final judgment, please allow me to defend my actions.
You see, I could help it no more.
To see you cry the way you did.
It was all good, all set and well that I could sit by
While you smiled.
But then you cried.
Why did you cry? Weren't things going so well?
But you cried, you cried forever.
And now you're drowning.
And well, I've always wanted to be the one with the boat,
The one to pull you out of the lake.
So please, take my hand.
Take this hand that has written letters,
That has picked the roses, that has mixed your chocolate with it's caramel gut.
Take this hand, that does not sting from pushing you away,
But instead bleeds for holding too tight.
Take this hand, and I promise to you,
I promise to you that it will not let go.
It will not leave you flailing,
Leave you sinking.
Leave you reaching
As it pulls away
No
Because it's reaching for you
But your hand, your grasp
They reach for the boat that has sailed
The one that is leaving the harbor
The one that will not turn
That will not look back.
Please turn around,
Please look here.
Please grab my hand,
Don't disappear.

Moo Says the Cow

"Hoo," says the owl
"Moo," says the cow
"Quack," says the duck
"Squeak," says the mouse
"Meow," says the cat
"Woof," says the dog
"Ssss," says the snake
"Chirp," says the bird
"Bzzz," says the bee
"Fuck!" Screams the angry little poet who just stubbed his toe

Paint the Walls Red

The walls are white,
Simple and pure.
They speak of peace
Of pleasure

But they lie.

There is no peace
Purity is dead
Let's pick up our wrists
And paint the walls red.

Still Friends

I woke up this morning,
Looked at the sky,
Saw the sun rise,
Wanted to fly.

Fly amongst the clouds,
Fly right to your side,
But then I remembered,
And my ambitions died.

Never will we touch again,
No more will I see your eyes.
Your cute little ears will never again
Hear my desperate cries.

I'll bleed quietly,
By the scars near my hand,
And fly elsewhere,
To a different land.

Saddened this has come to pass,
Dying at its end,
Because I know you didn't mean it when
You said we'd still be friends.