Wraith I
A call of the gust speaks a thousand words
passing amid the weeping cries of Cedars,
bears up souls in woods, lost nightly hordes,
amounting solitude, of Pine needle guitars;
Denoting calls in the breeze, a Black Alder,
designing spirals of airy spells, around Fir,
a Wraith whirls in twilit dance; sky's border,
were we subdued in lightless and void glare?
A Wraith whirls in twilit grayness, to faraway,
beckons above Oaks Shingle, her dusky wing,
our souls in woods, ghosts of a dour Sunday,
dwell in Cedars; call of a cold gust and sting.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Wraith II
A call of the gust speaks thousand words
passing amid the weeping cries of Cedars,
bears up souls in woods, lost nightly hordes,
amounting solitude, of Pine needle guitars;
Wind is blowing mournful amid the foliage,
while rain's droplets whisper caressing,
leaves that rest on the ground to assuage,
the wraith's solitude, of self addressing.
Denoting calls in the breeze, a black Alder,
designing spirals of airy spells, around Fir,
a wraith whirls in twilit dance; sky's border,
were we subdued in lightless and void glare?
Rain is falling, souls turned up to bedizen,
skies are blessing the form that sky-rises,
benignant smiles spirits bestow to glazen,
as lonely Dryads spell whispering advises.
The wraith whirls in twilit play; to faraway,
beckons above Oaks shingle, her dusky wing,
our souls in woods, ghosts of a dour Sunday,
dwell in Cedars; call of cold gust and sting.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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She called me in the wind
She called me holy inside the wind, her wraith;
Befallen souls of angels live and nest,
Twas in my heart, a matter of false faith;
Mistral of dawn, glare to invite, and saith,
'Of sea ghost nymphs, doe flye in foam's blue vest'
She called me holy inside the wind, her wraith;
Pearl skies, sea birds to fly on May the eighth,
On faraway was she but not to best,
Twas in my heart, a matter of false faith;
Enchanting wraith she was, conceived, on staith;
Prevailed thence time reversed, but to divest,
She called me holy inside the wind, her wraith;
On sole appeal, invokes on dawn war graith,
Adventures on sea trips, I conquest,
Twas in my heart, a matter of false faith;
To aggrandize my cause, in pride to bathe,
Egressed my soul to seas and time's request,
She called me holy inside the wind, her wraith;
Twas in my heart, a matter of false faith;
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Rained September
Rained September
Wraith she was in roads foremost
ancient dance in modes to totter;
with words floating on sea water,
My calls in dreams invoked, lost.
Kind expression was, in night air,
to undergo in my darknened light,
she came to me, enchanting sight,
it was her aptitude fine 'n' fair.
Aspect of solitude she traced nigh,
a brass confront she cared softly,
to touch my lips with fingers hostly,
to hash her love notes in tide high.
Memory she was or a destined coil,
contemplative strophe, poems' soul,
words that rhymed a face to extol,
a silent bog with wet grassed soil.
And then she left, disruption stray,
wraith she was and fled, a ringlet,
there she became a singing kinglet,
with our poems, sepia tones in clay.
She stayed in, with my ode to float,
amid a start of a rained September,
her silent call of gray to remember,
a reflective board, smiles to denote.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Ghosts
The ghosts of not repentant souls
Wander in the quiet woods night.
Only chilling cries of the owls
Cause the lightest fright.
Flying Dutchman frightens seamen,
Its sight is a portent of doom.
It was told by John Leyden
Sinful souls went to gloom.
Ghosts dwell in the hills.
Climbers know a ghost can kill.
To some they help to cross the river,
But seeing them you would shiver.
Haunting cities, haunting countries…
Are they humans eye illusion?
Are they really verities?
It looks they come to make pollution.
Ghosts are here, ghosts are there!
It seems they are everywhere.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 8th of August,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Benedictus qui venit
Benigno numine adaequatio intellectus et rei,
Mistral anodynes my tears, sorrow distracts,
omnes enim peccaverunt et egent gloriam Dei.
Domine, age quod agis, il tuo sentiero perdei,
appetence of solitude, his apparition enacts,
Benigno numine adaequatio intellectus et rei.
Aeternum vale, benedictus qui venit, splendei;
Disruptive gust exceeds, breath he detracts,
omnes enim peccaverunt et egent gloriam Dei.
Effectual came, exorbitant slope to convey,
where my hope elevated so lonely and intact,
Benigno numine adaequatio intellectus et rei
A wraith was, so gust beseeched to display,
my lost aptitude and soul upwards extracts,
omnes enim peccaverunt et egent gloriam Dei.
The wraith lifts to cumulus, to meet halfway,
the spirit of mountain, his values retracts,
Benigno numine adaequatio intellectus et rei,
omnes enim peccaverunt et egent gloriam Dei.
__________________________________
The poem is a villanelle written in Latin and English.
__________________________________
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Void Start
It was the Spring time of a void year,
you approached me, a pleasant light,
opalescent in any nonadjacent tear,
and annulled dreams of a bluish flight.
Amid night hours a chastened clock,
counted our words in sort out play,
and there were lingering eyes to lock,
your stare tearful of my soul to slay..
And then, a rendering of air in foliage,
spirits of forest to descend on earth,
and hymn in wind a forgotten adage,
my poem for you and our loves worth..
..................................
..................................
Evanescent was that light and empty,
my soul followed in sheer darkness;
't was a ghostwrite, and a notion hefty,
't was a shadow upon my emptiness.
Night birds were calling, dark and yon,
with their monotonous, deathly call,
an airy vision, was upright to abscond
as my soul ascended in silvery stroll.
Kindly she bestowed, all I have loved,
an offer to assuage my aphotic depart,
brunette gleam was a darkness above,
amid stars wraith was she, a void start.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Les-Durham smoke
Twas like a transferred odd bargain;
the harbor waited - wraith's silence,
Hope lived in souls - utopian thence,
a notion spelled thrice - and again.
Had sent the mail - my filed advice,
upon moors stood, mist-blurred double-dyed,
the ghosts of sodding souls who died,
dark traveler asked for bride price.
In air he thumped, rhythmic like waves;
and cruel did ask for his death toll;
in town the women wore black stoles,
the 'lost in sea' dwell in void graves;
As Charon hummed, our ship entered,
in this harbor where life's borders,
in verse 'bout cold of rhymed folders;
wake-waters trail was off-centered.
He stood upon the moors - I knew
the wind whipped ropes upon head-mast,
- we drew the guns; he lifted fast;
my shots echoed, debt-law to ensue.
I felt the slug, he moved across,
alread'-a-ghost, on moors he stood;
Tasted the blood - lifted, I should,
red drops dropping on grass and moss.
I lit a rolled Les-Durham smoke,
children were watching me round-eyed;
twas May, perhaps another died,
I heard bells ring and three craws croak.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Fixed Is The Doom
FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years
Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child,
Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds
His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars.
We also, love, forever dwell apart;
With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph,
The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air
Above a mountain, and with screams confer,
Far heard athwart the cedars.
Yet the years
Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day
Endearing, week by week, till death at last
Dissolve that long divorce. By faith we love,
Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed,
Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart.
We but excuse
Those things we merely are; and to our souls
A brave deception cherish.
So from unhappy war a man returns
Unfearing, or the seaman from the deep;
So from cool night and woodlands to a feast
May someone enter, and still breathe of dews,
And in her eyes still wear the dusky night.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Sunday Mornings
There is a silence heard only on Sunday Morn
As raindrops tease suns shine
At the first call of Dawn
As the favoured
Woodpigeon
Parades in sunday best
A reverends collar above a
Blushing pink chest
He calls with such eloquence through wood
And ticking time
As coo's dance with rainclouds
As eye's dance with sleep
As children swoon with sugar candy
As couples eye's
Dance with each....
Other
Worldly steeples
Arch above life's head
As widows and insomniacs dream
Of the one's
They loved best
Theres such solitude and compassion
Pon a family
Sunday Morn
Within the silence and
Damp steeples
In the first call of dawn......
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Faeries Dance
Under the black night sky
The souls of the world wake
The spirits of the woods never die
Enchanting flame and the faeries dance
Feel the Earth beneath us begin to move
The souls sing their song to the world
Evil held back by this night of romance
Watch the faeries dance, mezmerizing
Feel the spirits surround us
Hear the souls song, hypnotizing
Enchanting flame and we join the faeries dance
Our hearts together move the stones
Together at last the dawn arises
The souls of world finish their song
The spirits keep us safe from harm
As the faeries dance around the sun
poem by Electric Tripp
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Time Began
I hear the northern winds
up on that slope we ran;
remember? Time began,
'n' now again, time ends;
My Holly, Treasured lady,
as time puzzles me again,
it stupefies me to feign;
in our deep woods shady;
'n' deep inside the forest,
embraced, I shed no tear;
amid shadows that appear,
with their touches coldest.
Invariably there I invite,
your wraith to bestow nice,
caress and love me thrice,
and me to be out of sight!
Our flight is upwards high
caressed sorrows to stare,
now my life goes nowhere.
embraced solitude of nigh;
Is it true, our dance ends?
embraced Holly of my soul,
in rainy months of our Fall,
now I can, my life expends..
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Black Crow
He sees the stormy anger of the world
And wants no part of it at all
And as the weeping leaves of autumn curl
He feels the savage winter call
See far below the dust of conflict settles on the hill
Where there was no escape before
And as he spreads his wings and soars up to another level
He brings the icy prophecies of war
Black crow, black crow, tell me where you really go
When you fly into the sunset, high in evening sky,
Black crow, black crow, tell me what you really know
Will we flourish in this hurricane, or will we fall and die?
While children lose their souls and so much more
To ragged armies of the field
A vicious fanfare cries appeasing hungry savages
To trigger that their fate is surely sealed
I wonder where that black crow sleeps as day beckons the night
Or if he even sleeps at all
I wonder what he thinks of all the human traffic far below
Thats struggled on the road so, so long
Tell me black crow, black crow (solely? ) you pass above
Understanding everything but you know nothing at all
Black crow black crow, tell me what you really know
Do you understand the pain that we feel down here at all
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sacred Band II
Valor hails proud souls,
begotten from blue sky,
spirits amidst eagles fly,
advancing blade's calls.
War sanctuary receives,
Four Eons of sacrifice,
Styx throttles an excise,
steel Byzantine greaves.
Their wary eyes aggress,
odd souls to harbor life,
youth's conceived strife,
to glorious fight egress.
Hands tight on sword grip,
when valor starts to slay,
blood drops mix in clay,
as wrath of gods to drip.
Twilit earth last mound,
a Delphic omen, sullen,
avid fighters 've fallen,
killed on foreign ground.
Black dressed up maids,
for centuries don't cry,
in a quarry of labors try,
their agon never fades.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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O Thou Breeze of Spring!
O thou breeze of spring!
Gladdening sea and shore,
Wake the woods to sing,
Streams have felt the sighing
Of thy scented wing,
Let each found replying,
Hail thee, breeze of spring,
Once more!
O'er long-buried flowers
Passing, not in vain,
Odours in soft showers
Thou hast brought again,
Let the primrose greet thee,
Incense forth to meet thee -
Wake my heart no more!
No more!
From a funeral urn
Bower'd in leafy gloom,
Ev'n
thy
soft return
Calls not song or bloom.
Leave my spirit sleeping
Like that silent thing;
Stir the founts of weeping
There
, O breeze of spring,
No more!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Homage To A Friend
Twilight beckons for the dawn as
I rise betrothed to ghosts
So cold am I.
Invisible and forlorn
I walk along your well worn trail
Beneath a veil of mist
In grevious solitude
In hopes my hand is kissed
I long to feel your phantom touch
To call you in my prayers
To clutch you close against my knees
To melt away my cares
No passing friend were you
No grievance ever caused;
Kind and faithful to the end
My soul belongs with yours
poem by Chris Hudson
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Holy River
Washed in the Holy River, purified by faith,
Darkness calls but is seen dead like a wraith,
Your spirit, enlivened by the Holy Dove,
Desert wastelands beckon, calling to your love,
Fountains of JOY bubbling beneath the surface,
You remain FREE from the devils furnace,
Your life a prayer mastered,
Your fathers call is answered!
In your eyes I see my souls reflection,
Breathe the spirit of souls redemption.
Your heart and mind are at one,
It seems your work is never done.
Forgiveness feeds your soul,
Your Love and peace make us whole,
Spirit cleansed to perfection,
We dream of your selection,
Fountains of JOY bubbling beneath the surface,
You remain FREE from the devils furnace,
Your life a prayer mastered,
Your fathers call is answered!
When the waters lie still at night,
Under a sliver of moon we see your light,
Giving us hope to rise up, never give in,
We defend our right to end all sin.
April 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Annabel
Elusive wraith haunted me,
ideally I felt to approach her,
maybe she lived in a pine tree,
intangible, splendid and fair..
Nightly moon, our emotions,
euphoriant we danced in air,
abstinent needs and notions,
star visions in a sky to stare.
Our tree pines foliage dither,
winds whisper amid needles,
Annabel of March will shiver
a cold lone snowflake fiddles.
Annabel in cold March of 89,
waits to embrace winds again,
it is that same Spring of mine,
that forth will mizzle our rain.
Rain dances when cumulus fly
drops dropp on celestial aisle
utopia fields wait for my reply
Annabel stares soft to smile.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Visionary
Silent is the house: all are laid asleep:
One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.
Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:
I trim it well, to be the wanderer’s guiding-star.
Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!
Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:
But neither sire nor dame nor prying serf shall know,
What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.
What I love shall come like visitant of air,
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
What loves me, no word of mine shall e’er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.
Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear—
Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
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Daze Of The Moiré Waves
Wave after wave, gust after gust
The phantoms that lurks and haunts
In this sea of treacherous hands
Waving for a slow dance, for riddance
Had their clandestine machinations
That endlessly rubbed sand into sand
Until they are finer than their whistling
And whiter than their demented dreams,
And surged tides after hungry tides
Devouring the clambering suppurations
That rivaled the pitch fathoms to rise
Only to dissipate in the endless toppling
And become tiny bubbles of forgetting
The phosphorescent shore and its descant
That fringes the lonely sea and her haze
Calls gust after gust, wave after wave
And with this drought I held in my heart
Abandoned by the arsenal of flames
The daze of the perfidious sea calls upon
My misbegotten misery, and in her ruse
That will devour my restricted bawl,
My anguished wails, and my groveling hopes
I stared endlessly resisting submission
But in this breadth of irrational obduracy
I have already drowned and the chance
Remained lurking upon the stark shore
Without leaving footprints to show
That the daze of the moiré waves
Had succumbed my stipulations.
poem by Norman Santos
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Cuckoo!
In woods so long time bare
Cuckoo!
Up and in the wood, I know not where
Two notes fall.
Yet I do not envy him at all
His phantasy.
Cuckoo!
I too,
Somewhere,
I have sung as merrily as he
Who can dare,
Small and careless love, so to laugh at care,
And who
Can call
Cuckoo!
In woods of winter weary,
In scented woods, of winter weary, call
Cuckoo!
In woods so long time bare.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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