Poetry and Prose for any season

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Imagination Castle


Sailing within the realm of imagination rewards
all the soul, spirit and love that lives within
Flying among the clouds of fantasy,life and poetry
gently inspires and kisses the hearts of women and men

Standing firm among the angels that wrap our glittering souls
destiny changes at our mere whim and flight-filled fancy
Running alongside our beloved sends whimsical sparks to stir
all treasure that romantic love and beautiful sex ever holds!

Resting upon journeys travelled deeply into huge, magical realms
stamps our spirit with a solace and calm forever sought by man
Racing into love filled fantasies so deep angels must help us out
sail, fly, stand, run, rest or race imagination creates any place!

Be rich in your great fancies and solid in your brilliant dreams
love conquers all and all can be far more than it first seems!

Tyr-- 05-13-2014

[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

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

From Kipling


The Ballad of Boh Da Thone
This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone,
Erst a Pretender to Theebaw's throne,
Who harried the district of Alalone:
How he met with his fate and the V.P.P.*
At the hand of Harendra Mukerji,
Senior Gomashta, G.B.T.


Boh Da Thone was a warrior bold:
His sword and his rifle were bossed with gold,

And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore
Was stiff with bullion, but stiffer with gore.

He shot at the strong and he slashed at the weak
From the Salween scrub to the Chindwin teak:

He crucified noble, he sacrificed mean,
He filled old ladies with kerosene:

While over the water the papers cried,
"The patriot fights for his countryside!"

But little they cared for the Native Press,
The worn white soldiers in Khaki dress,

Who tramped through the jungle and camped in the byre,
Who died in the swamp and were tombed in the mire,

Who gave up their lives, at the Queen's Command,
For the Pride of their Race and the Peace of the Land.

Now, first of the foemen of Boh Da Thone
Was Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone,

And his was a Company, seventy strong,
Who hustled that dissolute Chief along.

There were lads from Galway and Louth and Meath
Who went to their death with a joke in their teeth,

And worshipped with fluency, fervour, and zeal
The mud on the boot-heels of "Crook" O'Neil.

But ever a blight on their labours lay,
And ever their quarry would vanish away,

Till the sun-dried boys of the Black Tyrone
Took a brotherly interest in Boh Da Thone:

And, sooth, if pursuit in possession ends,
The Boh and his trackers were best of friends.

The word of a scout -- a march by night --
A rush through the mist -- a scattering fight --

A volley from cover -- a corpse in the clearing --
The glimpse of a loin-cloth and heavy jade earring --

The flare of a village -- the tally of slain --
And. . .the Boh was abroad on the raid again!

They cursed their luck, as the Irish will,
They gave him credit for cunning and skill,

They buried their dead, they bolted their beef,
And started anew on the track of the thief

Till, in place of the "Kalends of Greece", men said,
"When Crook and his darlings come back with the head."

They had hunted the Boh from the hills to the plain --
He doubled and broke for the hills again:

They had crippled his power for rapine and raid,
They had routed him out of his pet stockade,

And at last, they came, when the Daystar tired,
To a camp deserted -- a village fired.

A black cross blistered the morning-gold,
And the body upon it was stark and cold.

The wind of the dawn went merrily past,
The high grass bowed her plumes to the blast.

And out of the grass, on a sudden, broke
A spirtle of fire, a whorl of smoke --

And Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone
Was blessed with a slug in the ulnar-bone --
The gift of his enemy Boh Da Thone.

(Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph-wire
Is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire.)

. . . . .

The shot-wound festered -- as shot-wounds may
In a steaming barrack at Mandalay.

The left arm throbbed, and the Captain swore,
"I'd like to be after the Boh once more!"

The fever held him -- the Captain said,
"I'd give a hundred to look at his head!"

The Hospital punkahs creaked and whirred,
But Babu Harendra (Gomashta) heard.

He thought of the cane-brake, green and dank,
That girdled his home by the Dacca tank.

He thought of his wife and his High School son,
He thought -- but abandoned the thought -- of a gun.

His sleep was broken by visions dread
Of a shining Boh with a silver head.

He kept his counsel and went his way,
And swindled the cartmen of half their pay.

. . . . .

And the months went on, as the worst must do,
And the Boh returned to the raid anew.

But the Captain had quitted the long-drawn strife,
And in far Simoorie had taken a wife;

And she was a damsel of delicate mould,
With hair like the sunshine and heart of gold,

And little she knew the arms that embraced
Had cloven a man from the brow to the waist:

And little she knew that the loving lips
Had ordered a quivering life's eclipse,

Or the eye that lit at her lightest breath
Had glared unawed in the Gates of Death.

(For these be matters a man would hide,
As a general rule, from an innocent Bride.)

And little the Captain thought of the past,
And, of all men, Babu Harendra last.

. . . . .

But slow, in the sludge of the Kathun road,
The Government Bullock Train toted its load.

Speckless and spotless and shining with ghi,
In the rearmost cart sat the Babu-jee.

And ever a phantom before him fled
Of a scowling Boh with a silver head.

Then the lead-cart stuck, though the coolies slaved,
And the cartmen flogged and the escort raved;

And out of the jungle, with yells and squeals,
Pranced Boh Da Thone, and his gang at his heels!

Then belching blunderbuss answered back
The Snider's snarl and the carbine's crack,

And the blithe revolver began to sing
To the blade that twanged on the locking-ring,

And the brown flesh blued where the bay'net kissed,
As the steel shot back with a wrench and a twist,

And the great white oxen with onyx eyes
Watched the souls of the dead arise,

And over the smoke of the fusillade
The Peacock Banner staggered and swayed.

Oh, gayest of scrimmages man may see
Is a well-worked rush on the G.B.T.!

The Babu shook at the horrible sight,
And girded his ponderous loins for flight,

But Fate had ordained that the Boh should start
On a lone-hand raid of the rearmost cart,

And out of that cart, with a bellow of woe,
The Babu fell -- flat on the top of the Boh!

For years had Harendra served the State,
To the growth of his purse and the girth of his p]^et.

There were twenty stone, as the tally-man knows,
On the broad of the chest of this best of Bohs.

And twenty stone from a height discharged
Are bad for a Boh with a spleen enlarged.

Oh, short was the struggle -- severe was the shock --
He dropped like a bullock -- he lay like a block;

And the Babu above him, convulsed with fear,
Heard the labouring life-breath hissed out in his ear.

And thus in a fashion undignified
The princely pest of the Chindwin died.

. . . . .

Turn now to Simoorie where, lapped in his ease,
The Captain is petting the Bride on his knees,

Where the whit of the bullet, the wounded man's scream
Are mixed as the mist of some devilish dream --

Forgotten, forgotten the sweat of the shambles
Where the hill-daisy blooms and the gray monkey gambols,

From the sword-belt set free and released from the steel,
The Peace of the Lord is on Captain O'Neil.

. . . . .

Up the hill to Simoorie -- most patient of drudges --
The bags on his shoulder, the mail-runner trudges.

"For Captain O'Neil, Sahib. One hundred and ten
Rupees to collect on delivery."
Then

(Their breakfast was stopped while the screw-jack and hammer
Tore waxcloth, split teak-wood, and chipped out the dammer

Open-eyed, open-mouthed, on the napery's snow,
With a crash and a thud, rolled -- the Head of the Boh!

And gummed to the scalp was a letter which ran: --
"IN FIELDING FORCE SERVICE.
Encampment,
10th Jan.

"Dear Sir, -- I have honour to send, as you said,
For final approval (see under) Boh's Head;

"Was took by myself in most bloody affair.
By High Education brought pressure to bear.

"Now violate Liberty, time being bad,
To mail V.P.P. (rupees hundred) Please add

"Whatever Your Honour can pass. Price of Blood
Much cheap at one hundred, and children want food;

"So trusting Your Honour will somewhat retain
True love and affection for Govt. Bullock Train,

"And show awful kindness to satisfy me,
I am,
Graceful Master,
Your
H. MUKERJI."

. . . . .

As the rabbit is drawn to the rattlesnake's power,
As the smoker's eye fills at the opium hour,

As a horse reaches up to the manger above,
As the waiting ear yearns for the whisper of love,

From the arms of the Bride, iron-visaged and slow,
The Captain bent down to the Head of the Boh.

And e'en as he looked on the Thing where It lay
'Twixt the winking new spoons and the napkins' array,

The freed mind fled back to the long-ago days --
The hand-to-hand scuffle -- the smoke and the blaze --

The forced march at night and the quick rush at dawn --
The banjo at twilight, the burial ere morn --

The stench of the marshes -- the raw, piercing smell
When the overhand stabbing-cut silenced the yell --

The oaths of his Irish that surged when they stood
Where the black crosses hung o'er the Kuttamow flood.

As a derelict ship drifts away with the tide
The Captain went out on the Past from his Bride,

Back, back, through the springs to the chill of the year,
When he hunted the Boh from Maloon to Tsaleer.

As the shape of a corpse dimmers up through deep water,
In his eye lit the passionless passion of slaughter,

And men who had fought with O'Neil for the life
Had gazed on his face with less dread than his wife.

For she who had held him so long could not hold him --
Though a four-month Eternity should have controlled him --

But watched the twin Terror -- the head turned to head --
The scowling, scarred Black, and the flushed savage Red --

The spirit that changed from her knowing and flew to
Some grim hidden Past she had never a clue to.

But It knew as It grinned, for he touched it unfearing,
And muttered aloud, "So you kept that jade earring!"

Then nodded, and kindly, as friend nods to friend,
"Old man, you fought well, but you lost in the end."

. . . . .

The visions departed, and Shame followed Passion: --
"He took what I said in this horrible fashion,

"I'll write to Harendra!" With language unsainted
The Captain came back to the Bride. . .who had fainted.

. . . . .

And this is a fiction? No. Go to Simoorie
And look at their baby, a twelve-month old Houri,

A pert little, Irish-eyed Kathleen Mavournin --
She's always about on the Mall of a mornin' --

And you'll see, if her right shoulder-strap is displaced,
This: Gules upon argent, a Boh's Head, erased!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Standing In Bitter Rain


Standing in this deep, lonesome rain
confusion is my only friend
Agony of great death and pain
as loss cries the weakness of mortal men!

Are we mortals destined for greater
as we wander here ever so lost
Our end so often sooner than later
is love only ever worth the high cost!

In this cold wetness the hurt only grows
as seconds turn to dark blue hours
The loss of my sweetheart only grows
bitter is the death of my loving flower!

Standing in this cold, hard wet chill
love again only can ever save me
That thought tasting as a very bitter pill
do I dare ever let go of my loving Amy!

Tyr-- 05-17-2014

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

My newest write birthed today to enter into a contest using --imagination-- as the primary key..



The Monster, the Saving Deed

A clawed hook through the locked door she did ease
unlocking the door so silently and quick
breathtakingly sweet was the smell of freedom now
no more sadistic monster to obey and please!

A ghastly tribulation began many decades ago
captured and imprisoned in dark cell below
beaten into submission to a dark , jealous beast
locked in glass cage naked , alone and for show

Iron will and steel mind this maiden did keep
with desperate hope to one day be free
from this prison so deep and wretchedly dark
consoled by bravery and heart refusing to weep

Years dragged by as her tormentor often did please
to inflict pain and degradation upon her soul
each visit bringing more misery and pain than last
clinging to future that held hope of freedom to seize

Waking to find herself no longer a young maid waiting
the mirror revealed her beauty and youth now lost
anger drove her soul, heart and mind to ever endure
her iron resolve gifted never to let hope start fading

Memories of deep lashes from stinging rawhide whips
blood soaked floor and waking to agonizing pain
maiden prepared for her hopeful chance every day
dreams of boarding any of the imaginary rescue ships

Now time too had ravaged her body and iron will
a struggle to hold the will for a future freedom try
cold , dark , lonely nights too many to ever forget
miseries faced with pain and coldly desperate chill

She had counted each visit to be once every week
the monster sought it's love of inflicting great hurt
silently screaming each chance so cruelly dashed
as freedom became less like a ship to hopefully seek

Yet she had nothing else to grip or dare hold dear
intense pain and deep blues became her prison mates
memories of lost love ones steeled her deep resolve
as a clever and daring plan became so very crystal clear

Dare she attempt to slay the hideous and massive beast
as it lay resting by her tortured and beaten body
seize it's weapon so loosely held upon it's left side
stab, stab, and stab until it's evil life was released

Fateful day arrived as she felt no longer dared to wait
beast entered to beat her down as never had before
the monster then laid resting quietly by her aching side
soaking in her brutal savage pain as fruits gladly ate

Quietly she turned to reach for that golden short sword
the beast resting saw nor heard her carefully planned moves
cutting loose the ropes binding her bruised and battered arms
stab, stab and stab deeply her evil, tormenting beastly Lord

Franticly she searched everywhere for the freedom giving key
finding none she begged and cried for precious help please
she saw the shape of it's hideously clawed left hook
a short sword stroke and soon she would be finally free

A clawed hook through the locked door she did ease
unlocking the door so silently and quick
breathtakingly sweet was the smell of freedom now
with no more sadistic monster to obey and please!

Tyr- 05-18-2014

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Changed my entry into the imagination contest, sat here and created a much shorter
write to enter.. Here it is...

Imagination Soars, Reality Fades



Imagination engulfs my tortured and half-hearted soul
flying with eagles, slaying dragons and away I go
No restraints to destroy my spirited and fantasy mind
talking with spirits and they replying back in kind!

Stepping lightly into magical and dangerous dark realms
loving in public , sailing ships with myself at the helm
Fighting mighty beasts that bite, slash and eat brave men
winning out against all odds , pride and glory at the end!

Piloting great , powerful starships deep into outer space
always a hero regardless of courage, size, power or race
Remaking stories as quick as my mind can think of more
counting treasure, saving lives and always keeping score!

Imagination saves my uneventful and lonesome boring life
saving the world, bringing peace, destroying every strife
Sing me a song and I can dream it's vibrant color and tale
needing no Aladdin's lamp or well used wishing well !

Tyr-- 05-18-2014

[gabosaurus]

You got gold in your mouth
We ain't see no gold since the priests left
You got silver on your wrists
We ain't seen no silver since the airplane crash last year

You got blue shining skies we got the sun in our eyes
And we're going blind
We don't want your money we want mine

You got shoes on your feet
We ain't seen no shoes since the soldiers came
You got food in your mouth
And that ain't even funny

You got blue shining skies we got the sun in our eyes
And we're going blind
We don't want your money we want mine

If we should threaten you we're wasting our time
If we appeal to you we're wasting our time
But if we ask you very nicely please be kind
We don't want your money we want mine

"We Want Mine" by John Palumbo

[gabosaurus]

If anyone wonders, the above is among my all-time favorite song lyrics.

<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/mAAtlSM-yNw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

If anyone wonders, the above is among my all-time favorite song lyrics.

<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/mAAtlSM-yNw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

That's pretty damn good! Never heard of that band, will check out their other songs now..
I saw the lyrics in the other post and asked you if it was poetry or song.
I thought most likely song because it just had that feel to it.
Whomever wrote the lyrics has a poet's heart , that's for sure! -Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Written this morn for another contest...

Silver Chalice of Hope


Once chased that Silver Chalice with abandon and glee
life as yet unlived and fate yet to test,
the bounty , purity and sweetness from my living tree
days turned to years as Chalice was laid to rest

Joys, births , deaths and sorrows all cut deeply into me
Silver Chalice desperately sought yet never found,
journeying ever forward with this trust my sacred key
Silver Chalice or not , this soul is still Heaven bound!

Tyr-- 05-20-2014

[gabosaurus]

IMHO, John Palumbo is one of the most talented song writers ever. His lyrics are very sharp and acerbic.

Another remarkable song by Crack The Sky, about nuclear apathy.

<iframe src="//www.youtube.com/embed/jPXdaffq5bw" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="420"></iframe>


Standing room only at L.A.X.
I trade my ticket for some cigarettes
I won't believe it till they disappear


President's hiding on a submarine
See how he runs away from history
I won't believe it till they disappear
I won't believe it till I disappear


After all we've been through
Doesn't it seem a little bit funny to you
We should all shine from the violet blue
And now we're calling you from the greenhouse


All of the warriors have gone away
I sit and watch the sky, waiting for the rain
I won't believe it till I disappear
I won't believe it till I disappear
I won't believe you till I disappear


After all we've been through
Doesn't it seem a little bit funny to you
We should all shine from the violet blue
And now we're calling you from the greenhouse

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

What the Angels Whisper
by---- Keith O.J. Hunt





What the Angels Whisper


How hope still clings in the maze of youth,

though a vessel so tender,

not yet cured, apt to blow in the wind

as a ripened daisy,

a fledgling ----

too much a babe for a serpent's wile;

A helping hand awaits in the arms of time,

where moments pass to eternity,

the winds are hushed with reprieve,

always,

there is a friend staring to dawn


From love roars the mightiest wind,

of a warmth most enduring,

The rose sifts most sweet

in youthful shallows,

not deep of a withered old;

ere anger is bred and seasoned,

tamed to mother's ease,

The old man forgets, the harridan scoffs

while the child rides the winds

of rosy-dawns and soft remembrance,

somehow, the ancient are redeemed


Let love speak her tender tongue,

atop mountains too aloft for wicked ears,

Soothe she the weeping wayward,

the broken bone, fevers ungodly;

though she is mysterious to the ignorant,

confounds the tyrant in his self-genius ----

only God could know her name,

whispered infinite

(she is love)



** Excerpt from my epic ' The Blood of the Prophets'
(unfinished as of yet)**

A fantastic write by one of my friends .. --Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

No Longer Mourn for Me When I Am Dead



If Death should call, let me go free;
It's only Heaven beckons me.
If I should step beyond the veil
Of sight and sound and voice, 't is well;
I shall be glad to place my head
Beneath the sod with other dead.
My spirit will not linger there
But float on myriad colored air
And dip its wings o'er twinkling stars
And ride the moon's bright, silver car.
At last my yearning soul will know,
Forever ceased its worldly woe.
If Death comes, do not robe in black
As if you want my spirit back;
I would not want your soul to grieve
Nor stand here desolate, bereaved.
I shall be glad at last to go;
Rejoice with me who wished it so.
It's not a morbid, ghastly thought
But one in Grace and Glory wrought.
For just beyond life's ebbing sea,
Beyond earth's pain and agony,
I dimly see the other shore
Where I shall live forevermore.
Death shall but serve to chauffer me
From galaxy to Galaxy.
His fingers do not clutch and tear
The soul from one who does not fear;
That soul is borne up in his arms
In ecstasy, without alarms.
Death will not be my dreaded fate:
He is but Heaven's op'ning gate.

by Faye Gibson

Another fine write by another friend of mine.. -Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Ode To , We Dead



Ode To , We Dead

We dead, dine it darkened solitudes,
man void of loves, hates and attitudes

We dead, chase no longer mortal dream,
no longer lie, steal, cheat or scheme

We dead, favor no great lusting beauty,
having no appetite for sex or duty

We dead, grant no great requested favor,
gift the rose or smell the flavor

We dead, will not speak words of praise,
never unless our souls are blessed to raise

We dead, spirit silenced in passing time,
cast down with no living tree to climb

We dead, sleep ever in coldly silent repose,
crushed the life of beauty and fair rose

We dead , hear no sweet words of mortal loves
no music , no cooing of loving turtle doves

We dead, find no pleasure in our dark rest,
no life, love or joy in giving our very best

We dead, shout no songs of beautiful glory,
long past lived , awaiting another story

We dead, laid in for sleep and resting days,
no longer actors in everyday mortal plays...

We dead, send no warm comfort to our friends,
cold is this dark, damp ground we reside in

We dead, no longer birth life loving dreams,
drink from cold, running mountain streams

We dead , no longer sing of praise and glory,
resting here awaiting another spiritual story

We dead, can not act to erase our many mistakes,
cold regret deepens pain in these darkened lakes

Tyr- 05-23-2014

Written a few moments ago for another poetry contest.. --Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

I hope you may enjoy this write. I finished it moments ago , having wrote it for a
special themed competition.
Had in mind twice as many lines but a limit was placed upon the length. I dearly
hate such limits(when imposed) because they restrain the author's creativity..-Tyr

Flowers of the Curious Mind



Sent were flowers of the curious mind
following echoes of Cantu's muse
No curses , words grossly unkind
insults hidden deeply in clever ruse

Dare not stab sweet music of mortal man
with deeds sordidly played tho' sweet
Transgress not Nature's surviving plan
with arrogant contempt born of defeat

Embrace life's melody as a lost friend
dancing within it's tune so fine
Live, live gloriously until life's end
drink, drink richly of it's finest wine!

05-24-2014

Having had so many that placed recently and some taking first place I
decided to compose one for this special contest although its not my usual
practice to be so rigidly limited.. --Tyr