Wednesday, October 28, 2020

Some Poem Drafts and a Poem Re-Draft

Stuck Inside a Little Room

Stuck inside a little room,
outside only rainy gloom,
we sit and wait;
leaving half to worry, half to fate,
we sit and wonder
of things too early, things too late,
as the rain begins to thunder.
And who can know what futures loom?
The world is vast,
thick with future, thick with past;
only within is hope against gloom
when stuck inside a little room.


Huldra

I met a maiden in the skog;
so sweet she was, and fair as snow,
and friendly were her blue eyes pale.
But I saw, as she turned down a trail,
hollow back above a tail.

She seemed an angel, kind as sky,
with eyes of mirth in heaven's shade;
almost from love my senses failed,
but I saw, as she turned down a trail,
hollow back above a tail.

Like holy Mary 'midst the pines
her liquid laughter froze the time;
she seemed a maid, I felt a male,
but I saw, as she turned down a trail,
hollow back above a tail.

Unchristian things in darkest wood
are lurking, waiting, for the good,
to tempt the soul to death or hell--
so pray you see upon the trail
that hollow back above that tail.


Like a Bomb

Like a bomb, an expanding ring of flame,
like an echo on the hill
that is calling out my name,
like a horseshoe ringing round
and finally touching down,
you and I are not quite right,
but still, I think, are worth the fight,
because we're close -- so very close.

Like a guess that has no peer,
like reflection of the moon
still light enough to steer,
like a look of near-surprise
that lightens lovely eyes,
you and I are not quite right
but still we are a splendid sight,
because we're close -- so very close.


In the Darkness

I knew you in the darkness;
I did not walk away;
our hearts were joined together
where the shadows play.
I suppose I should have known --
it seemed too good to be.
But what can't hope uncover
in things we cannot see?
I will still remember.
I will remember everything,
the silence in the darkness,
the shadows, the whispers, in the darkness.

The days are falling
like the leaves from autumn trees;
the hours are flowing
like the tides on restless seas.
I will still remember.
I will remember everything,
the silence in the darkness,
the shadows, the whispers, in the darkness.

I suppose it's pointless,
but it's somehow deep inside
and will remain within me
until the darkness dies.


Lady of Sorrows

Sword-pierced Mary, ponder well,
beneath the wide and wailing wall
of all this world, the prophet-word.

Death stalks the home and human life
is shattered short; no living laugh
leaps up, no joyful word.

God destroys, no pity gives;
the dead all mutter in their graves,
gnawed by winding worm.

No respite raised and no repose,
amid the pain no balmy peace
leaves vestige in this world.

Molten heart like wax moves down;
Shame and guilt, what have we done
against the good to war!

Shall human hearts, though vulgar, crass,
die blood-and-water on this cross
and, buried, feed the worms?

Pietà with pity's grief
processes to the silent grave,
itself without a word.

The stone is rolled and in this shade
it covers all; the tomb it shuts
and leaves us here without the Word.

But this was known. This evil way
will stay as evil as it was
but never have the final word.

For good may overcome and good
of newer kind is formed by God
to overtop and crown the world.

Comfort here? None shall you find
but comfort is not always friend
when darker things still wage their war.

Who sleeps in calm no vigil keeps
against the shadow-shade that creeps
across a heedless world.

For comfort there will come a time;
for now make passions gentle-tame
while waiting for new word.

Sword-pierced Mary, ponder well,
beneath the wide and wailing wall
of all this world, the prophet-word.

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