Monthly Archives: January 2014

Old Book

Old book, old book
someone deemed you
worthy to be kept.
Maybe someone
dreamt of you
while they slept.
What untold wisdom,
tales or knowledge
do you bear?
You’ve got a story,
a piece of history,
to tell.
Your fragrant pages,
cover and binding
are coated with
sweet smelling dust,
the token of maturity.
What truths do you contain?
Where are you from?
Why are you here?
Some might say,
you’re only an old book,
a relict of yore.
But you’re full of pulsing life,
waiting to be discovered,
like unchartered waters,
a continent unexplored,
like newly found planets,
a pirate’s secret hoard.
Waiting for a friend
who’ll love and cherish
and keep you forever.

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The biting wind has made my ears go numb.
No sound escapes from Winter’s freezing spell
which makes the country silent, grey and dumb.
Behind the weathered, leafless oaks a dell
I’m heading for to ‘scape the silent cold.
The dale dips down below the fields now bare,
where beech trees stand around since days of old.
They’re gnarled and bent as if in silent prayer,
reminding me to ask not hills for help,
but cry out desperately to God
to rescue me from Winter’s aches and chills,
his healing hands to hold this heart down trod’.
And when I looked again, Winter’d withdrawn,
God’s joyful Spring arrived with blessèd dawn.

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Epigram No. 2

unwed to Charity
begets Hypocrisy

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Filed under Epigrams, Medieval


“ventis glacies adstricta pependit” – Ovid, Metamorphoses
As Winter broods on snowy peaks
strong waterfalls begin to freeze
a deer his fodder vainly seeks
and northern winds whip up the seas
The longest night beckons clear stars
that pierce the darkness glowing cold
beneath the muffling carpet, grass
has stopped growing all but old
A splintering icicle rends the quiet
the startled hind retreats in silvam
where dryads, hid from wind tossed riot,
of heroes sing and lyre strings strum
Arising, Luna shines her light
though wat’ry, weak and oft enshroud
tis comfort during callous nights
when Winter’s silence rages loud
ventis glacies adstricta pependit: The ice hangs, bound up by the wind
in silvam: into the forest

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Filed under Classical, Night, Winter