POETRY PAGE TWO

"Labyrinth"

Life is a labyrinth in which the convoluted

pathways insist to deepen still.

The intricate confines are beckoning,

and no exit will emerge . . .

The numerous passages ever continue,

and we live out all of our days

foraging, harvesting, seeking -

and we are at one with this extravagant maze....

"Ondine"

Long ago when the sea was young,

Enchanting melodies were seductively sung.

And I was beckoned from my ancient room,

Was spirited away and bestowed my boon . . .

Upon the shore of an unknown land,

Poseidon gently took my hand. . .

"Lovely creature so beguiling and fair,

I shall take you to your ancestral lair;

Your place is there beneath the sea,

Give your perfumed hand to me."

Down to the watery depths we went,

To answer the calling I had been sent.

I was given a splendid mirror of gold,

And treasures so rare, oh the gifts did unfold!

Sunken ships loomed everywhere,

And Zeus fixed me with an impossible stare.

I looked beyond and there was Circe,

A seducing goddess with her gift of mercy.

And most contrary to popular lore:

The Argo never made it to shore.

The Sirenís were certainly frightful & vicious

For amongst the coral, I spied Odysseus.

I was willingly lead to the curious mountains,

Was bathed & groomed by the nymphs of the fountains.

Then I was given an ivory key

Which lead to a door fashioned for me . . .

Within the confines of my distinguished place

Stood a rugged Pirate with a much handsome face.

Need I explain what we engaged then?

Yea, earthly brutes might think it a sin . . .

Sprite that I am, I was tempting & teasing

And the handsome Pirate was more than pleasing.

I fell in love with the watery sphere,

And yearned to dwell with my Buccaneer . . .

But, the Sirenís seemed so envious of me,

And at this time I attempted to flee.

I was in fear of the Sirenís sweet song ---

I sought Poseidon, & he said, "You are wrong,

There is nothing for you to fear;

You are the omnipotent here . . .

Oh royalty of the waters, you are the Queen,

Dominance is yours, my beautiful Ondine . . . ."

[For Dale, a gentleman sailor, or a Pirate perhaps]

"Mrs. Jones"

She is the harlot of Mr. Jones

He laughs as he causes her sobs and moans.

She is his whore; she submits to him . . .

But he has no love. . . his mind is grim.

His pleasure is making her suffer and cry,

He gives her medicine to make her die.

An unlikely couple they seem to be,

Mr. Jones, and beautiful she.

He penetrates her as she lay asleep. . .

No escaping him in her night so deep.

Because of him - she will prostitute . . .

Better that - than an institute.

Trying desperately to make him flee . . .

Wanting solitude and to be set free;

She seized an ax - and with a swift throw

Took off his head - but he wouldnít let go;

' Have mercy on me, I do hate him so! '

He is a viper she cannot kill . . .

And yet continues to do his will.

For richer or poorer - better or worse,

She will forever be under his curse.

He wickedly laughs as he rapes her bones,

She is the submissive wife of Mr. Jones. . .

"Lancer & Lace"


A beautiful yoke of love and hate
Destruction of Camelot has fixed our fate.
Lancer was charming, beside him was Lace
And both were wearing a Utopian face.
The king of the decade, and queen of the age
With innocent Lee on a misguided page.
Good-bye to the faith of the sixties,
Now salute the epoch of hell,
Farewell to the hope of the loving---
ĎTis such a grim story to tell!
These words can only bring questions---
They are hidden within the pride,
As I check the hand of fortune Iím dealt,
Iíll let my aces ride.
The time is so confusing, and yet itís not at all
Back in nineteen sixty three the bricks began to fall.
When will there come a hero with an ending to this tale?
This Babylon we are drowning in, doesnít fare too well.
A delicate web of love and hate
Has perpetrated and sealed our fate.
The game has been unnerving, and though against my will,
I shall retreat most humbly, and lay away my quill.

"The Ultimate Fan"


Music is the very epitome of you and me, and all-
It is the nature of emotion for the weak and for the tall.
Symphony and magic dwell within this soul of mine,
Lovely rhythms keep my spirit tuned and right in time.
Poetry tenants this body which I merely call my own;
I will offer it up to litany, and shape it as my home.
If it werenít for songís creation, I would have long been dead,
Let exquisite music feed my hungry head.
Thereís not enough perception - even in my brain,
To hear all the music done - in only one quatrain . . .
Is there a reasonable clue to this deep conception?
I am truly the ultimate fan, without a sole exception.
Rhapsodies sang by angels on a dark & fateful night,
Praising, while in sorrow, as The Word made all things right
Jesus Christ was everything -- and even as he died,
The Good, the bad, the ugly; He was music personified!
Thereís not enough paper here to purge my manic brain,
Nor is there time for words, to imagine as I explain.
Not time to hear it all, and though this does seem dire -
'In the radiant bosom of music is where I will expire.'

"Happy Daze"

I never wish to see you hurt, and pray not see you cry

But if your ear is deafened, please listen with your eye

I have a pain that you might see --- if the sight is clear

And I can feel your inner pain, and behold it with my ear

Remember, as you do unto me, I will do unto you

Something rare is not extinct, and certainly never through

There need be no explaining of things we say and do

The only hope is here and now, but it is tried and true

Together we have shared the roots, and tasted of forbidden fruits . . .

 

Hold the brilliance and essence fast

Beautiful memories are meant to last

You can make the bad times flee

Ponder fondly thoughts of we

Reserve a place within your mind

A part of me is what youíll find

When I am desolate & darkly blue

I meditate entirely on you

Forever seek and understand

No limit is known in a infinite land

If you feel you need an ear,

Simply whisper, I am near

Again Iíll share with you the roots, weíll sing and dance to golden flutes

And as we swirl in a gossamer haze

The moon will beam in this Happy Daze . . . .

© 2001 by Cathlyn Cross- Leming (All rights reserved)

All material written here is my sole original work