Everyone has to write something....

Paint it empty
        paint it grey
   This world seems such
 a crazy place
      We've only proved it true
   Our lives are empty
           Shadowed grey
Turning 'round a sacred void
       Not knowing that it's there

  We're old, we're empty
     We're faded grey
Watching ancient days again
        A memory that's died
   Though it is empty
      And sullen grey
We need to fill the sacred void
            For we don't understand

It isn't empty
        Just painted grey
    A waking dream, filled emptiness
A never-ending prayer
                We think we're empty 
        So wrapped in grey
Too caught up in the paint to see
                   The Presence that is there....
          NsB 09-11-02
                  "Painted grey"

Shandahr's name...

One of those unwritten stories in my head that I'm still trying to work out.

And bones of white forgotten lay
   With eagle's flights to bind them,
To caves of night they bring false day,
   And seeking shadows, find them.

Walk softly here among the bones
   That wait with shadows lining;
My Shandahr sweet now make thee known
   To loose the eagles' binding.

And who, my Shandahr, hast thee found
   In summer-silvered meadow
To tell the tale of night unbound
   The triumph of the Shadow?

Thy hands, my Shandahr, only thine
   May false obeisance shatter - 
And bring once more the dark divine,
   Thy night to settle matters.

Unbind the bones, my Shandahr cold,
   And burn the eagles' feathers;
Replace the paths that lay of old,
   Of bone and ash together.

This ancient peace is stale and strained
   Sweet Shandahr mine, thou know'st it.
Usurping crown - too long hast reigned - 
   Now thy sweet hands o'erthrow it.

Take up thy crown, thy rod of rule,
   O Shandahr, cruel thy making!
Rise up from bones thy armied ghouls
   And bid them share thy waking.

O, silvered locks and eyes of mist,
   O, child of smoke and sorrow:
Take up thy sceprre as they wished - 
   Those who foresaw this morrow

And Shandahr mine, bring forth thy night,
   All clad in royal raiment,
And cloaked in thy unholy light,
   And crowned with bone and radiance.

Thy armied ghouls about the shand,
   Now ready for the battle - 
'Tis thine, O Shandahr, all this land,
   Its peoples all - thy chattel.

Raise up the gleaming rod of rule
   And see the shadows greet thee - 
Stand proud, my Shandahr, cold and cruel,
   For none will now defeat thee.

And night will settle on the land
   O'er all but silvered meadow
A path of blood before thy hand
   A war of smoke and shadows

In fire and blood my Shandahr proud
   Thine upstart king destroying
And speak no word - condemn nor laud - 
   Send him to caverns cloying.

With rising sun thy armies fall
   No charge they need to break them
But Shandahr cold, thy hate is all
   The conquered lands to take them

Then rest, my Shandahr, on thy throne
   And with thy people quiver
Then slip away, just thee alone
   To cross the moon-dark river

Cast off thy crown, thy robe of night,
   Abandon rod and shadows
And Shandahr sweet, then take thy flight
   Back to thy silvered meadow

O Shandahr-love, until the call
   Of false obeisance summons
Come dance, come sing, forget thy fall
   In meadows sweet with summer

And arms await thee, Shandahr-mine,
   My love, my light, my only
We'll sup and drink and love like wine
   And never leave thee lonely.
                        NsB 21-08-02
                                "Shandahr my love"

A few poems (2) In the middle of the night.

This one only bears explaining for those who aren't familiar with my own imagery. Ask, if you really want to know.

And I - I am the raven
     That rare and radiant maiden
   Emboldened by the shadows
          Of the night's forgotten lore

Be silent, ancient craven!
        For thou with lies are laden
    I am not now thy maiden
             And will be nevermore

My soul is now forsaken
         to he who's tamed the raven
      And reaches 'cross the shadows
            To recall the long-lost lore

For I - I am the raven
          That midnight-tressed maiden
    Begone, ye ancient craven!
       Beset me nevermore!

No more send fair lords laden
        With gifts for maid and maiden
     She loves no more thy shadows
  Will hear not now thy lore

Her soul by one is taken
           The lay of night forsaken
     This rare and radiant maiden
               Is claimed forevermore.
        NsB 03-09-02
              "Edgar Allen"

A few poems....(1) From the refrigerator door.

It's busy. So very very busy...and I don't have time to write much. So I do it with that blasted magnetic poetry.

he summers here in
     whispered springtime worship
   behind a forest
          misted like the wind
 --asks: when will these
        delirious purple moments
recall the smooth and languid
       sleep of sin?

and singing sweet
       of luscious places shadowed,
    of dreaming under
           sordid bitter moons;
bare petall'd power 
  floods the diamond winter
       and death is yet a beauty--
     all too soon.
           NsB 02-09-02
                "dandelion"