Tuesday, January 12, 2010

revolutionarypoetry2: Savour Grief

revol



The Messenger

I passed by your window in the early Morn;
Your doors were shut and your curtains drawn;
Yet, though I knew you were wrapped in sleep
I thought the news to good to keep.

So, I tossed up a pebble to tinkle your pane;
I guess you thought it was merely rain.
And, I sang you an Obade, there in the dark;
Perhaps you thought it was just a lark.

Or was it He who sent the rain
You thought you heard upon your pane;
As wasn’t it He, passed ages dark,
Who gave the voice to the Lark?

But lest I disturb you with my song,
I’ll pick up my verse and just move along:
For the evening has passed and the night is gone,
And there on the mountain is the Trumpet of Dawn.



An Obade is song sung at dawn in honor of someone.utionarypoetry2: Savour Grief

3 comments:

poetryfortherevolution said...

The Calling of the Clan


Be they be, by bond or blood,

When Earth has swallowed up the flood;

And whether they be Knight or Knave,

All shall to His banner clave

To plight the Maximus of Man:

The final “Calling of His Clan.”

poetryfortherevolution said...

The Conqueror


Array him in brilliant white linen;

Pass the sceptre burnished with ire;

And harness the steed, of the Royal breed,

To his chariot of fire!

poetryfortherevolution said...

THE 23 QUALM
(With apologies to David)

The Lord is my caddy, I shall not slice!
He maketh me to lie well on the green.

He leadeth me beside the water hazards;
He restoreth my sole.

He leadeth me on all the fairways
of my life for the game’s stake.

Yea, though I drive through the valley,
In the shadow of Sudden death;
I will fear no handicap for thou art with me;
Thy clubs and Thy shafts they comfort me.

Thou preparest a tee before me in the presence of mine adversaries;
Thou anointest my heads with oil;
My cup roundeth over.

Surely birdies and eagles shall follow me
On all the fairways of my life,
And I shall dwell in the clubhouse of the Lord forever
~ FORE!