Terrible T-Wednesdays #3

Dear Reader,

It seems I have been so slow at posting recently that I have even managed to post my Terrible Tuesdays one day late, for which I must beg your appology, I have now, at least, managed to move into my new flat in Aberystwyth and it is from there that I present another poor attempt at poetry, which I have written in the front of a sketchbook I brought down to start work on over this new term.

Please then, may I present an untitled work, of no real use nor skill.

On a misty Monday morn,
While wrapping lay uncouth and torn,
Here ‘twixt the finger and the thumb
(In thought of artwork yet to come)
This pen was used to scribe in black
Some words this paper used to lack;
They bore no art, weren’t grand or great,
And sought few morning pangs to sate,
For here within the fears of man
These dreams of better things began:
A seagul rose, and then some more,
The finest of that sea-strong score,
A stave of wood larks in the East,
Where rose the sun, that mighty beast,
And here and there between the haze
The distant shoreline chorus plays.
Perhaps upon these pages yet
Some finer fortune can be set
Than all of mankind’s scorn and mess
That stands ‘twixt earth and perfectness.
So here in pencil, pen, (or verse),
I pray you’ll find no fear nor curse,
Perhaps you’ll chance beyond this rhyme
Some relic of a better time;
Some art to wash away the lies
Of what you’ll find beneath these skies.
And should you find my thoughts here wrong;
Then please, I say, keep reading on,
For though so far quite damned we seem,
Mankind is still a rising dream:
And ev’ry soul who wants for good
And turns the earth the way it should,
Then, Oh! To you, dear honest friend,
I pray old fortune finds no end;
And so I do, with hopeful heart,
Present these crimes, which some call art.

Until next time, dear reader,

Farewell,

Mike

Terrible Tuesdays #2

Curious Reader,

I apologise for my lack of posts lately, I’ve been too busy enjoying time with my girlfriend for another week. (I had produced a lengthy reply while traveling to another blog I’d read concerning the exact use of poetry, but my phone ran out of charge and deleted it… Probably for the best.) I did however have time to put together this poem for today, and am glad to say I only finished it a few minutes before writing these words, and as the journey has been particularly annoying today I still not home, so I am producing this on my mobile, so please forgive any mistakes I have made.

So, as yet untitled and with a final verse I find absolutely awful (later revisions may appear), please allow me to present my latest work in poetry:

Oh England’s fields, no dismay
Within your fairy stalks doth lay,
The wheat and corn and grasses too
By oak and pine and ancient yew,
are all still calmed beneath the breeze
That e’re was lost amongst those trees.

And so old England, hear this ode;
Writ in thought ‘pon one long road,
For from those doves that lightly sing
I hear within them you do ring,
And praise to thee a higher call
Than you might think still lives at all.

‘pon yonder sky I see thee plain;
Left low where ransacked stones remain
And somewhere by, athwart those shards,
There steps the strongest of your bards;
A mystery, some fact unfound,
That long laid hid ‘Neath turf and ground.

And this unknown, this truth unseen,
Of what may once long passed have been,
Still draws to thee some ling’ring quest,
To find what time did over test,
And hope at length to understand
That long lost place forefathers planned.

Perhaps some dreamer shall erect;
Some castle grand that shall protect
The shades of past that linger on
That bear the bones of men long gone,
And raise to fame those times unseen
In memory of what has been.

And there within those halls of stone
Those days shall not long stay unknown;
Where some young swain shall wander by
And pass about a thoughtful eye
Of who and when and why and more,
Across the years and years in score.

So, past, to whom I write this ode,
Where life and love would once have flowed,
We Think of you, and do recall
Until, too soon, you see we all
Become one day, at long long last
As well a dream in days long past.

I pray you forgive its faults,
Farewell for now,
Mike