Prophecy (second attempt)

Not so far from phoenix cry,
A difficult, unlucky pry.
Magic born of open sky
Cage a story thrice defy:

A mortal end, immortal soul,
Duel plumes of dual goal.
Far from freedom, timeless foe
That one must cause the other woe.

With that shadow, left of age,
Hidden from untimely sage,
Hard it bodes, the war it wage
And one should die a timely mage.

Dream

Plummeting mischief,
Her wings spread wide, feathers dust
Sleep, a valley soft.

Watercolor Heart

My love so deep, a river sound
That catches all that brush my ground.
Strokes of fate, I call embrace,
And all the world with lovers' trace.

Leaves do plummet, red and gold
Which light upon a journey sold,
That eve of winter lease to fall,
To end her envy of us all.

But come, my love, to my banks
And wash away your journey woe,
That powdered flush upon your heart
To paint upon my months of floe.

Parallel Hearts

She drew her heart upon a sleeve
Which sits so high upon a sieve,
Sifting upon that love believe
Long, a frill should fall and grieve.

And yet, she turn a rounding gate,
Sweeping in a step of fate.
Men, alike, no challenge late
That leave her sitting dry, irate.

Such a man is hard to find,
Who turns his head without incline,
Yet lowered pause seeks half decline,
For both do draw a measured line.

A Poem...Blogs

Free verse, my sage,
My rebel child.
So far wandered,
My sweet Captive of a cloud.

No rhyme, no reason,
So they say,
Forever, at meters so forth
You distant sway.

Yet, beauty of you,
Dear unknown,
Sheds time and wings
That ask for themselves.
Perhaps, then,
I don't know all.

Hard Hearts Not Alike

A heart of gold too often finds
A catch in silver hearts inclined
Upon those threads of copper bold,
So still, the hearts around them mold.

What game is this, that riches play
Which falls upon a squandered day?

This jest of hammers, formless sheets
So precious ink, would never meet?

And yet, they sit in honest den
Where jewelers meddle, thieves again,
To forge for patrons, dull and brass,
So homely come, soft glowing pass.

Wandering Love

A promise fall in promised wake,
A lover's soul did leave and take.
Vain, a promise heart did make,
A lover scorned in lovers' wake.

Who was to know if they were true,
Vows so cast as lovers do?
Liars need those hearts so few
Which sow for truth as liars grew.

Perhaps, no truth, perhaps, no lie
Could pull the hook from anchored sky,
But eyes all virtue thrice defy
As glances send the heavens fly.

Post 100!!! I'm not sure if this is supposed to be an upcoming (now occuring, soon to be past) given for a devoted blogger, or simply a landmark that we all sleep by. Yet, still it must be a landmark. All numbers are one kind of landmark or another, whether a dagger in the eyes or a dagger to the eyes.

Half Blood Spoiler

Half of me is the fan, smiling the whole time.

Half of me is the spoiler, wishing all of this would just go and die.

I'll post more later about the specifics, but I felt the need to post my initial reaction.

Let's start with some marks, shall we?

Let's say that this is based on acting and other aspects of portraying a character's presence in a movie:

The Good Guys:

Dumbledore and Fawkes: Acceptable

Harry Potter: Exceeds Expectations

Hermione Granger: Exceeds Expectations

Ronald Weasley: Outstanding

Ginny: Acceptable

Fred and George: Outstanding

Molly and Arthur Weasley: Exceeds Expectations

Cormac McLaggen, Lavender Brown: Outstanding

Hagrid: Acceptable

Leann and Katie: Acceptable

Horace Slughorn and Professor McGonagall: Outstanding

Luna Lovegood- Outstanding


The Bad Guys:

Draco Malfoy: Outstanding

Narcissa Malfoy: Acceptable

Bellatrix Lestrange: Outstanding

Severus Snape: Exceeds Expectations

Fenrir Grayback: Acceptable

Tom Riddle: Outstanding

Blaise Zambini and Pansy Parkinson: Acceptable

Inferi: Dreadful

Twilight trailer shown before movie: TROLL



Other basic things:

Technical Aspects:

Dialogue- Poor

Score- Acceptable

Important scenes- Acceptable

Side plots/Less-important scenes- Outstanding

Death scenes- Acceptable

Transitions- Poor

Depth- Exceeds Expectations

Camera Angles- Exceeds Expectations

Graphics- Outstanding

Sketchpad Lullaby

The world is all of yours to draw,
A breadth beyond your veins.
Each breath you take, a step you make
To drive your treasures, reined:

Your logic and a dripping brush
Upon a mirror pool,
Dipping where those fall in place,
Your arcs and your slide rule.

Your needle and your nimble thread
That prick a harvest ripe.
Sow and sew of all you need,
And nothing more, that type.

Someday, like me, you'll turn your page
Upon this canvas world,
This world you shade in all its shades,
Says an oyster to its pearl.

Daydream

The heart does sing a prideful song
That waltzes on the tongue,
A pittance, that the sweetest air
Jumps down a healthy lung.

Such joyous things, it sweeps and sings
When parting with the mind,
Sipping from a sweetest dream,
A tired road behind.

And yet, it knows, as it grows and grows
That hopes have far to go.
It did get lost at journey's end,
Its story yet to flow.

Preserving the Past

Memory, jettisoned
Upon a threaded muse
To spin, weave
Tall tales of the day:

Gathered spools, it falls
A pearly pool, cotton cream
Burning at the night,

Wise ones hide
Among the fringe,
Tangling through, running
Until they hang like silk.

This will all fade,
Firm tapestry upon stone.
Still, the walls remain.

Mosaic Imagination

A hundred bits of heart and soul
That layer nature's pride,
The brightest shards of painted stain,
Kaleidoscopic slide.

My fading bits of longing prose,
Your palette bright with dawn,
A hundred blooms, a hundred wilts
Of memories' sweet spawn.

Why, all the treasures of the world
Drift here on lighted sea!
Where words do dock from sailing tales,
Find ground and company.

Implied Exchange

A picture buys a thousand words,
A purchase made with pride.
To find a struggle, left and right
For the image framed inside!

For words do run so far away
Once they leave the mind,
Gluing themselves to broken hearts
And promises to find.

At last, each word:
A collage,
And its own to rearrange.
Why buy words, a pictureful
When all the world exchange?

Harvest Cycles

Peace does sit on woven thrones,
Where peace does prosper,
Die in flame.

Peace does thrive on hope alone,
For death is but the heart to blame.

It scatters grain upon the sky,
Watch its promise, light and true.
A king may build a mighty throne;
To sit on it, would never do.

For words, like husks, will fall away,
Emptied of their growing seed.
In the wind, so fierce a fray
They hold but whispered, drifting deed.

In the end, the riches free
Are paid with those with alms to spare.
Riches sowed and feasted glee
Reborn, a hope with little care.

Great Spirit

Stride the world with humble tread
That shadows all your woe,
The moon does shine in deepest night
That arms a broken bow.

Your troubles are those far ahead,
So far, they fall behind.
Follow those that plead your path
Like bitter melon rind.

Touch, then, touch our lives,
Your pride upon the sash.
That window of the darkest soul,
That shard among the ash.

Prophecy

Tread on stars,
The sun's weeping trail
Against the thirsty sky.

A fixture
Upon this darkest night,
For peace never sleeps.

We're waiting,
All waiting
For when the fools do wake.

The Setting of the Sun

Shadow runners
Carpet polished sky,
Late sunset
Muffled,
Not blooming
In all the draping trees.

Still foliage flickers
Still trees,
Still hedges,
All brace against
The fall of the day.

Night is the real surprise,
Sweeping black satin
Trail of a dancing dress;
Restless, but sure of foot.

Sampler Memory

Shards of faded calico,
Prints alive
Upon a cotton square.

The blues,
Dyed by seeping spring;
An evening sky of indigo
The nightly rain did bring.

Reds, yellows
Upon a gambling eve!
Greens, preserve,
The fall in turn receive.

But the sun, seamstress
Scorns the novice sky.
All threadbare lessons
Until the spring comes by.

The Man of the Moon

Her face is not a palest moon,
For shadows wait a velvet sky,
Painting, painting their mistress
In lonely months gone by.

Yet, a man does sit in longing eye,
Unaware of the world
When she sits high,
Carved of the same fancy:
A man, but a man, she sigh...

So be not the shadows,
Always standing by;
And the lover, be not the moon
In our own, changing sky.

Waning Moon

Pale dancers scatter
Against polished floor,
Puffs of tulle gathering
Where the fairest maid waits
To mourn a measured dream:

Her waltz across a private sky,
Pairs and pairs of slippers fly
On crystal stair, that ocean by,
So close to where sailed heartstrings dry!

Then a tango in the vineyard lanes,
Where desire grows,
Those ripest grains;
That eat at princes', paupers' stains
Until a seeded want remains.

She had wanted to touch the ground,
Then and there,
Be fooled, to truly have tangled
In that fragrance fair.

But last, a city
Chased
Light at heart,
Jaded suns
Where darkness start.

And so she knew,
Remembered again,
A shadow cross
Her brightest face,
That Earth, so treaded bright,
Was not her place.

Delayed Advance

A strange maneuver,
Dangling the sun
So high, a pendulum
Upon the marble stair:

Cloud, no longer heavy;
No laughter raining down,
Then booming reprimand.

Thin relief nets now,
Draw sweeping arcs,
Supple foliage
Still fat with dew.

Yet, all the world surrenders,
Arms open
As chains of hazy cloud
Bow away.

Love In Color

His eyes did pierce the birthing sac
Of all the colors, miracles
That trickled from the sky.

So sad were they, in their untrained day,
That they'd turned a world a murky gray.

For now, dawn fell like pleats of gray,
Ironed out by the heating sun.
Noon did fall like painters' gray,
Finishing what the dawn had done.

And so the day went,
And so the day came.
And all the days
Were just the same.

All the gray smiles with gray parted lips,
For people still gray laughed their fill.
All the gray jobs and silent quips,
For people still gray firmed their will.

All the doves that plagued gray skies,
For peace, still gray, did push and shove.
All the gray people who couldn't tell lies,
For people still gray knew to love.

So, then, someone loved him.
Blind to gray, and all was gray.
More blind than he,
Who turned color away.

She gave him song,
She gave him grief.
She gave him all
Eyes couldn't bequeath.

He gave her joy,
And all he made.
He gave her tales
Where color stayed.

One night, when
Rainbows swirled in her mind,
And his mouth was full
Of gray pleas to find,
He drew her tears,
Which she couldn't see,
And wove a thread of ecstasy.

And so the night went,
And so the night came.
And never his night
Was quite the same.

For now, dawn fell like lover's sigh,
With all the flushes
Where they belonged, on high.
For now, noon swept like phoenix wing,
Rising, falling in royal swing.

And night, oh night in all its joy,
His eyes, so piercing,
A star's envoy.

Understated Sunset

Summer cocks its sepia head,
The colors of the day
Seeping to a last-minute question.

What if?

Should the dry woven plot,
That lattice after days,
Have once been reeds
Bent,
Rooted against
The current of the sky.

Late Blooming Irony

Late spring peppered on a bough,
Whispered words, ghosts
Upon a woven pool;
Hung in the silent leaves,
Eavesdropping
For a story all its own:

A glorious rose of the moment,
Extended for a wiry time.
No expected blush
Nor freshest pride.

But a last fray, alone,
For curious blythe sweeping
In a gown too plain.

It never quite caught summer's eye,
Racing through, beckoning,
Thornless,
From a sheer shadow.

Ephemeral Wonder

To rescue a pinch of sunset
From the ending of its days,
Not knowing where it came from,
Or why so highly praise.

There it was, on a shadow,
Waiting to rest, be strange once more.
That's all a sunset knows,
For nothing came before.

So difficult, to start an end;
Package it, wait out its death.
How to wrap this memory
When the box is all that's left?

Fallen Stars

Once in a forgotten lullaby,
A powder brush slips
Against a seamless sky.

Unpainted stars
Fall upon the formless night,
So many lights
Gathered, crumpled,
Chipped mistake of dawn;
But shadows of the day.

Still, the lonely moon sulks,
Turns a heavy cloak
Past a stencil print:
An exquisite corpse.

Celestial Want

Lady Heaven bade the bumbling Night,
That drunken poet's pride,
To blind an eye on a fullest moon,
All shadows cast aside.

Then she went to court the quarry,
That pebble in the Sea,
That Night had thrown a skipping stone,
Lonely, an isle could be.

A man, however, had reached that orb
That trailed the careless Dark.
He'd sowed his wildest hopes and fears,
His roots in white so stark.

But Heaven, oh help her, set her mind
To carve a mask of moon.
Bright and shining, all shadows shed
So even Night would swoon.

Only she would dare- cross he, sowed there,
Despite the night half blind.
The man, indeed, had been hard with greed,
For dreams could not rewind.

Lucky for her, he fell in love
With her shining silver tress.
Lucky for him, she flirted away
While fishing for redress.

And in the end, neither could leave
The other's want behind.
The mask of moon, hung in the sky,
Is Heaven's courting find.

Magnolia Tree (II)

A missed summer falls
Upon a wilted spring,
Clinging, fading
Shards of old silk;
An embroidered tempest
Of glimmering script.

Props of an old stage
Peek from old frames.
Imagination cascades-
Curtains, not curtain calls
Rest first impressions.
Unending wonder.

Hedges

Fixtures of summer;
Blocks of sullen, shadowed bloom
Mild the summer glow.

A Moving Performance

We are not her audience,
Those for whom she sings
A beating pulse
Long wrapped, sewn
Around her humming heart.

A true wildness lies there,
Where wind blows in all the ways
It knows, needs not know:
So much, that strange silk hooked
Like meadows to brush.

A stage frames this souvenir,
Cries of every rain she came upon-
Open sorrow and open life
As they left dying blessings,
Peaceful as they come.

We are creatures of habit, indeed,
Collecting memories for display
To know someone else;
Gifts, so many gifts
To remember those of Luck.

Summer Patchwork

A refuge, equal need and deed
Unsure of how to sleep,
Its patchwork quilt of memory
Too many seasons keep.

Just half a canvas short, perhaps,
Of pressed pastoral dreams,:
A summer harvest bloom and ripe-
But deserts at its seams!

A country autumn, postmarked, then,
That splatters humble groves,
The waiting smiles of cinnamon
That crackle at late stoves.

But shores that whisper close to home,
And not two months away,
Can bake a winter heart in sand
Too slow for longest day.

Eternal Spring

Intricate fountains trickle the sun,
Each summer petal
Still wrought with fits of May-
Its rusting light
Yet glowing from soft rains.

An exquisite, empty welcome;
Slow dreams
Drape easy and blooming-
The only color to perfect itself
After spilled canvas debut.

Each daylight chandelier
With its fine pale joints
Serves its own revelry,
As a rooted heart, not yet worn,
Sleeps on.

Temporary Domain

Cascade of greenery,
A crown of lush shadow
Where the heart lies,
Unafraid of the world.

Fluttering wings windfall,
Their glossy tips still wet;
Dew hidden, free
From the tangled strands of sun-
The eaves, falling falling
To a deep sitting ground.

All the while,
A resting dawn lays down
In the billowing shadows.

Library

Columns of brick like columns of stone:
Young, like the people.
Books always new, old friends
Who never needed remembering.

Adobe tiles, crevices
Hide a fortress of time, the wars
Always wage themselves,
But the bulwark never walked away.

So much sunshine upon old walls, thread
New silence that is found within:
That true enlightenment
Shining through balmy shadows.

Rain will curtain in and out,
Skeletons of storm, untouched
Specters against the windows,
Where spiders narrow rule.

In the end, we are like them all:
Lines like the pale folds of webs,
The volumes, cradled stories
Building, rebuilding the shelves.