Is it his words or vaulting ambition
That wrings such tears out from my sober eyes?
To read can raise me up from perdition?
Or must I speak the speech and dramatise?
These words of pure sweet honey have been penned
By author sharp as spur with sharper quill.
A dulcet written verse is a godsend.
Their taste when read aloud is sweeter still.
I lift my heart to heaven from the stage
To play the roles and speak the poetry.
These characters germane in every age.
Like saying prayers on the rosary.
But if I have no stage and cannot play,
The words I’ll read for ever and a day.
Do not wait for me while you run this race.
And don’t look back til you have crossed the line.
By climbing hills at ever quickening pace
You’re leading now, but I’m not far behind.
I watch you race and try to cheer from aft,
Though live I with monstrous green eyed fiend.
For difficult is happiness to craft
While straggling, wishing I were with you freed.
I’m limping now. I’m worn down to the bone.
I feel the distance growing ever more.
The finish waits for me and me alone.
Horizon takes my focus, and I soar.
My truest friends will wait while still I lag
And cheer me when I pass the checkered flag.
30 June 18
I’m stealing time from Fate for to create:
But how I shall I fear I’ll never know.
I’m kneeling before Muses near prostrate.
O why morale like rotten fruit hangs low?
I long to let the art within my soul
Control a future of its own design
A song that’s locked away without parole
Cajoles the silent singer to repine.
I wonder how that song I’d ever sing
When Inspiration neither hums nor speaks.
I ponder: can I make a worthless thing?
Damnation! Is all that Euterpe shrieks.
Herein I hope to find where calm notes dwell
Within the deepest darkness of my cell.
Saki Marie, May 2018
Remember we the death of young Socus:
We weep for courage often brings us tears.
And Socus, he had more than most of us.
Yet still he ran to doom chased by his fears.
So Socus then could not escape his fate.
Desire and speed could not preserve his soul.
To die the endless pattern did dictate.
And die he did, for he had no control.
The death of Socus might reflect our arts,
Synthetic mindful crafts to be defined.
But speech of spirit dwelling in our hearts
Must flow like rivers rushing, unconfined.
So let your heart and mind alone to drift,
And they will lead you to an artful gift.
Saki Marie (May 2018)
Of oft a dream’s a dream one must wake from
I Oxford, waking is just like the dream.
Surreal we have strolled the streets o’ercome
While lines of Chekhov in our heads beteem.
Midsummer and Macbeth we all have read
And sonnets manifold did we all learn.
We danced the farandole, needles and thread.
Our voices used for woe and laughs in turn.
We friends and family new have come to love.
Although the course is done, awaken not.
Maintain this dreamlike state you’re thinking of.
Make art forever using what we were taught.
This stressful dream has shown us many things
And with it we will rise up as with wings.
Upon occasion, dreams become concerns
Of topics wrong and rotten and obscene.
Our world will turn and churn until it burns
Like potion in a cauldron boiling green.
And curséd witches slowly change the air
To gaseous smoky poison, thick and grey.
As leaders prey, eyes closed, heads bowed in prayer,
The young devolve becoming bleeding clay.
Cold mountains crumble, dead from man’s disease,
And oceans rise with tears of salt and blood.
Endangered fish are climbing up the trees
To try to meet with birds and fly the flood.
The nightmare breaks our hearts, our bodies ache,
But still we write and fight til we awake.
Saki Marie 20 Feb 2018
Tis sure, it will get better if we try
to breathe and to remember to maintain
an attitude of goodly quality.
Keep calm and smile and sing to art’s refrain.
Or will things stay the same just as they are?
No matter how much time and effort spent
Our dreams will shift like an unfixéd star.
It disappears. We wonder where it went.
With telescopes, we see our future’s fire.
But gravity will keep us on the ground
and far from all the art that we desire.
We stare at stars and dream of the profound .
So from the ground we watch the Pleiades
and feel the land we stand on start to freeze.
So young and full of promise they all were.
It’s they who ought to be here. Unjust.
They walked this troubled earth, a whirlwind blur.
And times were changed with just one powerful gust.
Some clashed with guns, still others razed with words.
Inspired by their gods to fight their wars,
They followed leaders like migrating birds
To their deaths. Now ghosts alive as vapours
Dance within the memories of their mothers.
Their bodies dwell as dust under the dirt,
Dark and loamy soil ever smothers.
And whitest lilies lie atop, inert.
And Brothers will enshrine the young with love
Until Below becomes the world above.
Cacophony of sound is in my bones
Spent days with just myself with which to talk.
And feeling lonely makes one feel alone.
So down the road I go for a long walk.
In search of quiet time and beer to drink,
For muses in this silence speak to me.
Within a pub, I sit myself to think
Beside these folk alive I seem to be.
They drink, are merry, and so full of joy,
They shout their silence, and they make me whole.
The muse within me loneliness destroys,
No longer do I feel that I am sole.
When in a group the solus settles in,
Go find a pub, for muses live within.