Poetry and Prose for any season

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Lost Love's Dream Shadow



Deep within a sunlit drop of refreshing rain
I saw a glimpse of her beautiful face again
Dreams flow past as swift mountain streams
she haunts me lovingly in midnight dreams

Outside my window the great moon dares to sink
more time, more time is all I can think
She appears all the more real in her golden gown
as the great moon glides slowly slipping down

I feel earth trembling deeply into night
nothing feels better, nothing feels so right
Her voice whispers from shadows all around
smiles so deep that it echoes in loving sound

As dawn flees upward to meet the newborn day
I hear her parting voice softly, caressingly say
Dreams can not stay , they must go past
our loves are forever and forever they last......Tyr--04--03--2014

Tis not so strange for me to read great poetry then compose from inspiration. I hope such words of hope and joy helps others in times of hardship and sorrow. 16 lines that helped my soul. I think this one is a keeper and will surely go in my journal tonight. --Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Deceivers Reward

Your lying words can be made mute
by blasting truth to those you deceive
As you strive to keep your stolen loot
you and all may be cast into the sea


Fear now these words that you see given
every branch succors from root of its tree
As you deceive to garner a kingly liven'
justice hears your many victims united plea


This fate you may think only wishing dreaming
as you birth new and greater evil schemes
Tears will down your face soon be streaming
when justice is delivered as the good Lord deems


Remember the cries for help and mercy loudly laughed at
when any help or kindness you arrogantly chose to refuse
A judgment righteously delivered from where TRUTH sat
as you cry for God's mercy to be a gift now rewarded you......Tyr 04-13-2014

Justice may not come in our lives but rest assured it will come some future day. These scum that laugh now will cry then and likely moan as they pay their dues..-Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

“Only Death,” Pablo Neruda

There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.

And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.

Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.

Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.

I’m not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.

But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.

Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Graveyard Rabbit


In the white moonlight, where the willow waves,
He halfway gallops among the graves—
A tiny ghost in the gloom and gleam,
Content to dwell where the dead men dream,

But wary still!
For they plot him ill;
For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm
(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.

Over the shimmering slabs he goes—
Every grave in the dark he knows;
But his nest is hidden from human eye
Where headstones broken on old graves lie.

Wary still!
For they plot him ill;
For the graveyard rabbit, though sceptics scoff,
Charmeth the witch and the wizard off!

The black man creeps, when the night is dim,
Fearful, still, on the track of him;
Or fleetly follows the way he runs,
For he heals the hurts of the conjured ones.

Wary still!
For they plot him ill;
The soul’s bewitched that would find release,—
To the graveyard rabbit go for peace!

He holds their secret—he brings a boon
Where winds moan wild in the dark o’ the moon;
And gold shall glitter and love smile sweet
To whoever shall sever his furry feet!

Wary still!
For they plot him ill;
For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm
(May God defend us!) to shield from harm. Frank L. Stanton

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

A Storm's Wrath


thunder from dark, dark skies once were they brilliant blue
swirling are the leaves that mighty wind has now thrown
buckets of cold hard rain the starved earth does quench
as gliding winged eagles do fly among the darkened clouds
strong waves of storm's might pushing them soaring all about
as lightning strikes objects resting tall upon sodden ground
life marvels at Nature's massive stormy blasts and loud show
hiding now are the creatures that earlier were out to play
spiteful wind rips the trees that stand defiantly in it's way
floods fill the deep burrows where so many wild critters hide
with no fear of Nature's wrath and it's dark, stormy wet ride
time stops Nature's wrath slowly gliding along it's endless path...

Tyr- 05-13-2014