Thursday, December 01, 2005

POETRY

ON SAMHAIN
(in haiku)

Thinner grows the Veil
‘Twixt the worlds of Life and Death,
Born and Gone we hail!

The Conch shells call us;
Widdershins the Children run,
Samhain upon us.

Weaver, Weaver spin,
Old and New, as Threads converge,
With our Web begin!

Roots in Earth we plant,
Energy begins to flow -
To the Stars, we chant.

Our Mother the Earth,
Fire, Air, and the Waters too;
Lead us to Rebirth.

Our Ancestors Bones
Form a Ladder to our Hopes.
Come, climb to your Home.

Laughing and Prancing,
Eye to Eye and Heart to Heart,
In Spirals Dancing!

The Directions closed,
Sleep the Dead, Save the Living.
Yes! The Goddess knows.

The Veil grows Unclear
‘Twixt the worlds of Life and Death,
Joyous Renew Year!
© Stephen Schwichow

On Brigit’s Day

Deep in winter’s tomb
The seed of life is planted
flames stir in the womb

Spa stirs in the fire
Mother’s strength prepares the way
Imbolic inspires

On this Oimelc morn
Gaia’s ilk informs us all
Let the lamb be born!

Brigit, Sisters Three
Candles burn from dusk to dawn
thus to honor thee.

Queen of Kildare’s fame.
Ye midwives, smiths and poets,
Bless her healing name!

Foolish priests of night,
Fearfully you hid her soul
We reclaim her light!

Always abiding.
Brigit’s child steps out again,
No more in hiding.

© Stephen Schwichow

The Abyss

Silent stars above
contemplate the mystery,
I'm falling in love.

No pain is more sweet,
any joy harder to bear,
duality meets.

I love you, I cry.
I long for the little death,
my heart yearns to die.

© Stephen Schwichow

Love

With his life like wine,
I will dare to touch his cheek
And change fore'er mine.

Hold my heart's power
In the secret of his soul's
unfolding flower.

First light of the morn'
his smile, a sun arisen,
Makes my soul new born.

© Stephen Schwichow

Phantom

Never seen straight on.
Always just a tiny glimpse;
A quick look, then gone.

Like a marshmallow
Crisping over the camp fire
Hard hearted, hollow.

To be the boss-man
Don’t sell off the other self
Don’t lose the love, man.

Always the man child
Wanting love and approval;
Finding you’re reviled.

Be true to ideals
Even when there’s no glory
True joy then reveals.
© Stephen Schwichow

Who is he/me?

I once saw a man,
I do not know his name,
He asked me to dance.
He asked me was I lame?

I didn’t say a thing to him,
I didn’t give my name.....
I didn’t limp, I didn’t pimp...
I didn’t feel my shame.

How should I dance?
How should I sing?
How should I find my fame?

I cannot dance,
I cannot sing....
I cannot give my name.

FOR SHAME!


© Stephen Schwichow
MY FRIEND - H A I K U

"FRIEND," - IMANI SANG,
"YOU GOT TO HOLD ON, BE STRONG,
AND GET WITH THE PLAN."

IF ONLY I KNEW
FIVE SHORT YEARS WOULD BE SO FEW
TO LET HER LIGHT IN

"I'M THE KING OF CUPS."
"NO, NO, YOU'RE THE KING OF SWORDS,
WIELDING THE LOTUS."

FROM THE TIMELESS PAST,
TILL INFINITY AGAIN-
I'LL CALL YOU, MY FRIEND.

WITH LOVE

© Stephen Schwichow

To Hershey With Love

This Kiss for my Friend
Is a circle unbroken,
A hug without end.

© Stephen Schwichow
ON POETRY

I’ve tried my best to work a rhyme
as you can see, it’s eluding me.
And thus doth fugit tempus mine,
Perhaps I’ll verse in pantomime.

I thought I’d found some words that would
if given time, create that rhyme.
Let all those rules about what should
be put in verse be understood.

Was it four times six or six times four?
My memory, it flees from me.
As lines per verse it’s either/or
but rhymes per line it’s neither/nor.

A poem’s form can be predicted
by poetic license, which oft suffices.
Yet my mind is feeling quite interdicted
as if blood to my brain is being restricted.

I guess I really just can’t write.
My mind seems clear, the right word so near.
What I mean to say is there’s no requite
since my muse has left, she’s taken flight.

I throw in the towel on this poetry.
I’m starting to think, “God, my meter doth stink.”
Thus I must beg for your sympathy
since “Stephen the Poet” I’ll never be.
© Stephen Schwichow
Emotion
My circuitous perambulations of the cyberverse brought me bit by bit – (dare I say byte by byte?) - to my Cyber-(Nir)vana – CircuitCity! There, surrendering to its ethereal siren call, I succumbed to the allure of the eMachine; thus changing my emotive modus within the omnidirectional digi-verse and concurrently enervating my caper-bilities. Carefully carefree, I elutriate, in the informational flow, any hint of mail emasculation emanating from my eMachine. Now moving through the relatively multi-dimensional spaces in time, my missives gyrate from portal to post, node to nexus; ever moving in a dance that can only be called e-motion.

© Stephen Schwichow


DECADENCE IN HAIKU

Decadence for me
If taken to an extreme
Is debauchery.

Coffee topped with cream,
Whipped into a high frenzy -
Gustatory dream!

Like Gulap Jamin,
Tender balls in honey soaked -
A taste treat comin’.

In a cherry grove
While Blossoms burst in splendor -
The eye’s treasure trove.

My heart just quivers
Waking up to Benedict
My love delivers.

Fromage, vin, frottage,
And a sensuous massage
A dream Bon Voyage.

This poet repents
As the reader groans from pain -
Not from decadence.

Debauchery seems
Not of my realty -
Just stuff of my dreams
© Stephen Schwichow

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