December 2009
16 posts
The Hunter and The Hound no. II
th’ first witch trembl’d, sudden stop her hum
th’ second witch eyes resembl’d mourn
thence, the others still sing in fears,
‘how, could, the 28th night, hath found ourselves
the brightest star of great ship,
our honour Canopus the captain
who hath sav’d Lady Helen from th’ might walls
and th’ rage of Trojan wars,
like Orion and Sirius art...
The Hunter and the Hound no. I
come, come, thick December night,
where e’ery witch wilst dance and sing
come, o, come, our lovely stars
of Orion, the mightiest hunter of all
with Sirius, his old friend, in his grace
come, come, thick night, blow away the smoke
nor clouds, nor rain, nor sadness
thence, the witches wilst sing,
‘heare come, our highness Orion, with Sirius
walk’d so gentle, through...
“if ‘belief’ is the strongest existence, there’s nothing in...”
– myself, December 22nd 2009.
Lupin Duncan's Poem (in stanza)
I.
heare, my love, dear love, thy slave
thy slave in sorrow, within withr’d strings
wherein thou slept in thy grace, me here shivering
o, how could I sleep, if thou, my rose of damask,
couldnst be here, right now, or fore’er?
o, how could I rest, if thou, my sun of Paris,
dwelt there in thy gentle love arms, alone?
alas! my silence art exceeding, I canst hear my voice
II.
...
Sonnet no. XV / A Perfect Circumsion
O, Lord, drape this woman
because her bones art made from fears
and her blood art made from anxious
and her skin art made from pains
and her flesh art made from grief
and her frown art made from woe
and her nerves art made of fright
and her eyes art made from dread
o, Lord, she must be made in heaven
heare, she, in her sleepless dream
repent for her ne’er-ending curse
o, Lord,...
Sonnet no. XIV / In Slave's Grave
Alack! praise thee more for thy sweet voice
whene’er it heard, ere days art lovely to see.
Alack! praise thee more for thy sweet voice
whene’er thou lie, all thy words look’d fairer
because my love was made by truth and grace
and, old, my love art old, dearie love
but ne’er be late to depict thy young beauteous
thou slightly smil’d, with thy sun there’s...
“WHY is my verse so barren of new pride
So far from variation or quick change? ...”
– Sonnet no. LXXVI, William Shakespeare
Sonnet no. XIII / Upon the Agincourt
methinks he must be my best friend
‘I long,’ he quoth, ‘for thy lips, thence I begone.’
chariot, armours, and iron, trembl’d in his praise
‘For London,’ he swear’d, ‘and what doth hath thriv’d between us’
and mov his bones, to slit the throats of France
and under the sky of Agincourt, he muses,
o, Milord! mend our fears, hold...
I just love this simple song from Copeland....
Sonnet no. XII / Another Blues Friday
night descends, surrounding Lycidas with its musick
my eyes see such errors in reality, thy beauty seem’d decay
in grief we sing, and move our strings to solemnity
that heav’nly night sky, descend to my loving woe
o, I wilst not gently armor’d with thy ere fairer eyes
my Summer hath gone, in my trail I feel thee
from deaf ears, blind eyes, paralyze, o, milord!
my tears...
“WHAT needs my Shakespear for his honour’d Bones,
The labour of an age...”
– On Shakespear. 1630 -John Milton
Sonnet no. XI / In Lucy's Lament
Highness! stab my lungs and forbid my breath tonight
let my mind gave up to sleep, for I am so sick
close my eyes for running from thy shadows
but death coming toward of the hole in my fright
thence, I move my strings, singing the saddest woe
o, Lord! how could this slave comprehend?
his odour sway’d gentle beauteous, but ‘tis nor me
‘tis not me who he hath seen!
thus, my...
Sonnet no. X / Aphroditeans
her eyes despising, my wrath might remov’d
donst break the night, if the moon is what she’s looking for
Alas! I want to be a wanderer in her lonely eyes
soak’d what was it in her fair eye
her beauteous ston’d my verse at once
what words could interpret her mighty silence?
grey, all her sky art grey, and red in her cheeks
she whelm’d in the night sky, o, she...
Sonnet no. IX / The Fall of Musick
o, Almighty, too many fears to prevent
I donst see thee these days, and it engraves more pain
thence, I hath found what I doth strive’d to
ache and pain, moves my bones under thine grace
what hath my eyes seen in th’ obscure?
we hath have no creativity and the age of musick hath left
o, Almighty, my branches are leaveless, nor forbears, nor heiress
my sight might see so unclear,...