Today's - Poem Of The Day

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

TEARS
------ BY Lizette Woodworth Reese

When I consider Life and its few years --
A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun;
A call to battle, and the battle done
Ere the last echo dies within our ears;
A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears;
The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat;
The burst of music down an unlistening street, --
I wonder at the idleness of tears.
Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight,
Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep,
By every cup of sorrow that you had,
Loose me from tears, and make me see aright
How each hath back what once he stayed to weep:
Homer his sight, David his little lad!


Lizette Woodworth Reese

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

POTD as chosen by me, choosing from sources of the very famous poets as well as sources listing poems by amateur poets.


Today- another poem from a poet not famous(at least not yet!)----TYR

Let Love Come Shining Through

Everything is beautiful
When you’ve found that peace within
If you’ve heard that whispered call
Symphony will then begin

When you’ve gazed within your self
And you know just who you are
Life will be so filled with wealth
You will feel just like a star

When you’ve gazed into the light
Joy will live in you always
Then that beam will shine so bright
Everything will you amaze

All you ever need to do
Let that love come shining through

12 January 2016

Each Stanza seven Syllables

Copyright © Lazy dog Smith | Year Posted 2017

----------------------------------------------------------

Lazy dog Smith,
IS THE NEW NAME NOW BEING USED BY MY GOOD FRIEND, THE AMAZING SINGER,SONGWRITER AND AUSTRALIAN POET, PETER DUGGAN....
HE NOW HAS HIS POEMS PUBLISHED IN AT LEAST 7 BOOKS AND I BELIEVE YEARS FROM NOW HE AND HIS POETRY WILL BECOME FAMOUS.

I love the new name he chose as it truly represents his laid back. peaceful personality and great sense of humor!-Tyr
In this new poem he experiments using 7 syllable verses.

----------------------------------------------------------

Edit- Found this magnificent poem , written by another fine poet at my home poetry site.
Had to post it here right now, least I forget..-Tyr

Form: Iambic Pentameter |

The Ancient Bitch Of Days, for Chad Bittner Hurt

It stood a while, alone, the perfect phrase
Entire and beautiful upon the stage
As lovely as two words could ever be
‘Till came the muse, the ancient bitch of days
Demanding blood and ink upon the page
Insisting passion and complexity
And sacrifice, and violent hymns of praise
Her hunger and her ardour to assuage
In wild defiance of simplicity

The poet quaked in terror, and betrayed
His words to slake her raw and awesome rage
In her cold hands they cried for company

© Gail Foster 13th December 2016

Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016

^^^^ This poetess, has written a truly magnificent poem IMHO.
Thus you get a double POTD, today my friends!
Both are top class poets! --Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Another Winter Star

***This poem is a metaphysical response to my
poem 'Winter Star' which attempts on some level
to make a connection to us and creation, and follows
the adage that your outlook on life is a direct
reflection of how much you like yourself ( attitudal
metaphysics) which in turn is a reflection of how
you look at others --- that we are all Stars, burning
bright; and though it may not be reality to some,
at least the practice is healthy****


Another Winter Storm


I awoke to find the tall splendor of the world,
in those cosmic canyons,
shearing darkness ----
in the pallet of some ethereal night;
ancient with desire.....
to Illume the thick shadow of hades itself

Not death nor mortal doubt
couldst thou flee from me,
mighty as Aphrodite ----
Shooting thy silver smile
beautiful as heaven's promise!

In your shimmering I see hope,
for the heart which beholds thy majesty
the world could fade,
yet you remain.....
a friendly face if none should be found,
but you.....
that thou Creator dost reveal;
my soul,
ageless as thee
(am spun from the same loom)

Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Ruby Spires
-------- by Greg Barden

There, among the Ruby Spires,
I stood a-gazing toward the mist,
The Red Wind cut skin, heaven-kissed,
Far too cold for Hades' fires.

Ages and eons behind me, then,
The joys of youth were swallowed, thus,
By wormholes, ranged and turned to dust,
All for the sake of gloried men.

Such an odyssey, we crossed
Three galaxies and matter, dark,
To find this rare and conscious spark
Of Life, (tho' life is what it cost).

Though I, their peerless proxy, was,
I felt no debt to human kind,
And through that struggle there, did bind,
A union true, of alien cause.

My own, a naught-but-violent race,
Had found these creatures far from home,
And sought to then rewrite their tome,
With our corrupt and vain disgrace.

Yet before we could our ruin, spread,
This planet's unseen chaperones,
Wreaked mortal plague on us alone,
'Til naught but I was cold and dead.

Then, those sentient souls and I,
Did journey up from mountain's base,
Until we met that jagged face,
With ruby columns to the sky.

To every side but one, we saw,
For endless breadth, the crimson sphere,
The vermilion glow, both far and near,
That wondrous planet's crystal maw.

The sparkling slopes of gemstone red,
That slanted down and out of sight,
Were being swallowed by the night,
And yet, no trail had shown ahead.

Far too late to turn around,
We gave our final fate its due,
That breathtaking red, exquisite view,
That few blessed eyes had ever found.

Such astounding visions we beheld,
That far exceeded all we knew,
That held us, transfixed, to that view,
With yearning that could not be quelled.

Colors that challenged conscious thought,
With light at angles inconceived,
Iridescence otherwise not believed,
Were we not breathless, on that spot.

The misty opalescent glow,
Refracting hues beyond compare,
Prismatic sparkles here-and-there,
That danced with flakes of scarlet snow.

Rainbow shafts of glistening light,
Swirling phosphorescent sprays,
Shimmering hues in broad displays,
That flashed and faded out of sight.

Palettes and shades we'd never seen,
Reflected beams from crystal shards,
The wondrous muse of godly bards,
Presented there for us alone.

Such vistas, no words can e'er construe,
A beauty that language does not appease,
That brought us, weeping, to our knees,
And left us shaken, through-and-through.

The consuming joy that view inspired,
Was known to only us who'd trade
Our lives for the sight, that covenant made,
There among the Ruby Spires.

** For the "Fable" Poetry Contest - Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor **

Copyright © Greg Barden | Year Posted 2017

This poet, my friend is truly awesome!!!!! -Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Cathedral Of Trees

By, Michael P Clarke..

I am the wolf who guards your dreams,
someone in life you once did know.
When your time to sleep is come,
i shall meet you in the cathedral of trees.
Run with me through the lonesome pines,
your cries of joy fill nights lonely vault.
As you run to me to where we wish to be,
to the Cathedral Of Trees our love’s Boudioir.
The Cathedral Of Trees where we once lay,
where nights of passion did sing to the stars.
My beloved “Star Maiden” our nights so divine,
our love offered up in the Cathedral Of Trees.
Before our Cathedral we now do stand,
i, “Running Wolf”, for you, become a man.
Hand in hand we enter our world of love,
the dream of our desires, the Cathedral Of Trees.
Now lay us down and join in our night,
our time when dream’s desires do flow.
And passion’s memories in glory turn,
within our own Cathedral Of Trees.
Within the tribe an ancient memory stirs,
the guardians of dream come to protect.
The warrior changelings returned from final sleep,
once more returned to the Cathedral Of trees.
Let us join in primal passion once more “Star Maiden,”
our love in memories chasms ever shining.
In passion’s thrall i show adoration at your temple,
As our night spent together in the Cathedral Of Trees.

Copyright © Vladislav Raven | Year Posted 2017

From the golden pen of my very good friend and most talented poet, Michael P Clarke aka Vladislav Raven.....==Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Austerity Of Poetry
- Poem by Matthew Arnold

That son of Italy who tried to blow,
Ere Dante came, the trump of sacred song,
In his light youth amid a festal throng
Sate with his bride to see a public show.

Fair was the bride, and on her front did glow
Youth like a star; and what to youth belong--
Gay raiment, sparkling gauds, elation strong.
A prop gave way! crash fell a platform! lo,

'Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death, she lay!
Shuddering, they drew her garments off--and found
A robe of sackcloth next the smooth, white skin.

Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse! young, gay,
Radiant, adorn'd outside; a hidden ground
Of thought and of austerity within.
Matthew Arnold

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

TIME:

Be the sands of time flow within thy mind,
Every second of the day drifts away,
More elusive than the last I do find,
It's the nights I cry, I wish they would stay.

For it is in the night, that time does cease,
Moments before awakening, we're there,
Trapped between two worlds, one soon to unleash,
Leaving one behind, the one kind and fair.

It fascinates me so, how time doth grow,
Like a tree in the spring, when evergreen,
Can be seen as a river, endless flow,
Science can't tell you, that it can be seen.

One thing is certain, it has its own law,
I just know one thing, I wish I had more.

Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2017
-----------------------------------------------------

Great poem by my friend....--Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

the nervous violinist

soon the performance starts.
After so many years
stage fright still takes its toll.
I'm nervous. Listen:
People talk, subdued,
chairs moved gratingly,
someone coughs raucously.
Humid air and bad smells
already permeate the hall.
Will they distract me,
flaw my performance?
Have i practiced enough?
I look at my delicate hands.
Will they obey my mind's commands?
I think of you, sitting
placidly, expectantly, assured
on a front seat and i'll know,
i'll hardly dare look at you.
The stiff tuxedo chokes me to death,
but i must control myself.
I must be calm.

I move out, center stage,
take up my violin.
Then as always i forget
i'm in an imperfect world,
for what i play is sheer delight
pure masterpiece of harmony.
All else has no relevance
all evaporate into oblivion.
I am now in ecstasy, i drown
in the rhythm of perfection.

(fiction)

copyright © victor buhagiar | year posted 2017

exceptional poet and friend.
This is great free verse but i think he writes even betttttttttttttttter in rhyme.. -tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Night is Darkening Around Me
---------------by Emily Bronte

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow ;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.


The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow ;
The storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.


Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below ;
But nothing drear can move me :
I will not, cannot go.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

How happy is the little Stone
--------- by Emily Dickinson
How happy is the little Stone
That rambles in the Road alone,
And doesn't care about Careers
And Exigencies never fears --
Whose Coat of elemental Brown
A passing Universe put on,
And independent as the Sun
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual simplicity --


*********************************

I like to see it lap the Miles --
----- by Emily Dickinson
I like to see it lap the Miles --
And lick the Valleys up --
And stop to feed itself at Tanks --
And then -- prodigious step

Around a Pile of Mountains --
And supercilious peer
In Shanties -- by the sides of Roads --
And then a Quarry pare

To fit its Ribs
And crawl between
Complaining all the while
In horrid -- hooting stanza --
Then chase itself down Hill --

And neigh like Boanerges --
Then -- punctual as a Star
Stop -- docile and omnipotent
At its own stable door --

**************************

Presented two poems today just because this is the greatest female poet that ever put pen and ink to paper!-TYR

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Love, the Destroyer
-by Anne Reeve Aldrich

Love is a Fire;
Nor Shame, nor Pride can well withstand Desire.
"For what are they," we cry, "that they should dare
To keep, O Love, the haughty look they wear?
Nay, burn the victims, O thou sacred Fire,
That with their death thou mayst but flame the higher.
Let them feel once the fierceness of thy breath,
And make thee still more beauteous with their death."

Love is a Fire;
But ah, how short-lived is the flame Desire!
Love, having burnt whatever once we cherished,
And blackened all things else, itself hath perished.
And now alone in gathering night we stand,
Ashes and ruin stretch on either hand.
Yet while we mourn, our sad hearts whisper low:
"We served the mightiest God that man can know."

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Venus of the Louvre
BY EMMA LAZARUS

Down the long hall she glistens like a star,
The foam-born mother of Love, transfixed to stone,
Yet none the less immortal, breathing on.
Time's brutal hand hath maimed but could not mar.
When first the enthralled enchantress from afar
Dazzled mine eyes, I saw not her alone,
Serenely poised on her world-worshipped throne,
As when she guided once her dove-drawn car,—
But at her feet a pale, death-stricken Jew,
Her life adorer, sobbed farewell to love.
Here Heine wept! Here still he weeps anew,
Nor ever shall his shadow lift or move,
While mourns one ardent heart, one poet-brain,
For vanished Hellas and Hebraic pain.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Sea of Death
--- BY THOMAS HOOD
A FRAGMENT

—Methought I saw
Life swiftly treading over endless space;
And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace,
The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave,
Swallow’d her steps like a pursuing grave.
Sad were my thoughts that anchor’d silently
On the dead waters of that passionless sea,
Unstirr’d by any touch of living breath:
Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death,
Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings
On crowded carcases—sad passive things
That wore the thin grey surface, like a veil
Over the calmness of their features pale.

And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep
Like water-lilies on that motionless deep,
How beautiful! with bright unruffled hair
On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were
Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse!
And smile-bedimpled cheeks, and pleasant lips,
Meekly apart, as if the soul intense
Spake out in dreams of its own innocence:
And so they lay in loveliness, and kept
The birth-night of their peace, that Life e’en wept
With very envy of their happy fronts;
For there were neighbour brows scarr’d by the brunts
Of strife and sorrowing—where Care had set
His crooked autograph, and marr’d the jet
Of glossy locks with hollow eyes forlorn,
And lips that curl’d in bitterness and scorn—
Wretched,—as they had breathed of this world’s pain,
And so bequeath’d it to the world again
Through the beholder’s heart in heavy sighs.

So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night,
Like solemn apparitions lull’d sublime
To everlasting rest,—and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.

Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950)

************************

Silence
-- BY THOMAS HOOD
There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave—under the deep deep sea,
Or in the wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;
No voice is hush’d—no life treads silently,
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,
That never spoke, over the idle ground:
But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox, or wild hyena, calls,
And owls, that flit continually between,
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan,
There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.



Source: Poets of the English Language
(Viking Press, 1950)

**************************

I Remember, I Remember
-- BY THOMAS HOOD
I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The vi'lets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.


Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950)

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Summer

There seemed no end to the lightness of days,
darkness could not settle, and stars would hide,
to give way to brightness of life in rays,
of lasting sunshine for life to preside.
The light of life to let nature’s gifts grow,
emerge in lushness of flora’s array,
the blue reflection of the sky aglow
the calm waters, worldly beauty's display.
Throughout the cycle of life there is light,
to guide along the journey of vision,
but not for the blinded minds to see as might,
the one that understands life’s true passion.

The learned will follow the way of life,
the laws of nature, to enjoy love’s rife.



T.J Grén

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015

From my very good friend Teppo.
This poet does any poetry form with deep thinking, superb verses and clear message.

Myself, I think his sonnets are better than mine..-Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The wondrous moment of our meeting
---------------- by Alexander Pushkin
The wondrous moment of our meeting...
Still I remember you appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In hopeless ennui surrounding
The worldly bustle, to my ear
For long your tender voice kept sounding,
For long in dreams came features dear.

Time passed. Unruly storms confounded
Old dreams, and I from year to year
Forgot how tender you had sounded,
Your heavenly features once so dear.

My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet --
Dull fence around, dark vault above --
Devoid of God and uninspired,
Devoid of tears, of fire, of love.

Sleep from my soul began retreating,
And here you once again appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In ecstasy my heart is beating,
Old joys for it anew revive;
Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting
The fire, and tears, and love alive.