The Euphemist

From a misheard song lyric:

He softly spreads the niceties
The quiet lies that try to be
Inarticulate and meaning free
Lest someone somehow truth might see

But spurting blood and flames
The burning of innocent names
The bastards called heroes who came
To blot out all mem'ry of blame

The sun never sets on evil
So name it whatever you will
While with sultry voice she instills
A longing for something harmless to fill

The euphemist may call it love
The harlot may say it is just
But innocence ne'er once killed a dove
Though murderers justify their bloodlust

The Storyteller's Daughter

On a starry night he sat
Back against a fallen log
His hat pushed back, his pipe aglow
He spun the tales of old
A voice of gravel told the stories
Of stampedes, blizzards, gully-washers
Rock-slides, dust-storms,  russlers
 And open plains and mountaintops
While around the fire we smoked
And listened to the yarns
But I had my eyes on someone else
As she her father watched
Her warm gray eyes and nut-brown hair
Flickered in the firelight
And I, unnoticed, sat and pined for her to plight
Her troth to me and walk with me
Then ride into the distance
Tomorrow I'd ask, I'd take a chance
Her first, if she'd have me, and then her father
For the hand of the storyteller's daughter

Shot in the Dark, and You're Insane

I broke a pair of rules this weekend, and while I didn't gain anything tangible by doing so, I'm still glad I did. Speaking of poems being set to music, this one actually has a refrain!

A clumsy dancer she was, but pretty
In an unassuming way,
For unlike all the others
She was not here for show,
But to show us ourselves at play.

The documentary maker
Could have been a photography major,
But the picture behind the camera
Was finer than what the lens saw.

A clumsy asker he was, uncertain,
But resolved to take a shot.
Simply asked and simply answered
They had no game to play
Though the answer he wanted was not what he got.

The documentary maker
Could have been a photography major,
But the picture behind the camera
Was finer than what the lens saw

A pleasant evening it was, and merry,
Had the answer been different
He'd smile a little more
But for that dance with a pretty girl
He'd no regrets for an evening well spent.

Word and Question 8

 Hosted again by the lovely Enbrethiliel over at Shredded Cheddar. Go read the rest of the entries here. She wondered if I could write something that wasn't musical. Since I never thought what I wrote was musical in the first place, I don't know if it's even possible for me to oblige. It must be something about the way language works in my ear.

I can say, though, that this post is at least musically inspired. There were a couple of directions I could have gone with my prompts. I've been a little sober in my poetry, lately, and that is the easiest path to take. There was also the possibility of some political allegory, but I spout my opinions enough in other venues. Poetry should be about beauty, not politics.

At the risk of prejudicing your reading, I'll post the two songs that I've got in mind as I write this







And now, enough putzing about.

Word: heavy
Question: What are we having for dinner?

Homemaker
Heavy knocking on the doors
One final glance all round the house
Chairs in order, lamps all lit
Stew singing songs to the goose on the spit
And her husband has thrown out the mouse

Brush the skirt, fix the hair
Glance at the man in the old rocking chair
Beaming with pride, flushed with delight
Blush at his smile as he lights up his pipe
And open the door to the guests in the night

Snow

It should really be the title of a story, that, but since I'm too lazy and distracted to tell proper stories anymore, I'll tell 'em in verse instead. These prompts struck me odd, so you get two stories - the same question, with two different answers.

Funny thing about the word. It was going to be the word I submitted for this round of Word & Question, but I was afraid someone might find it too cheap, so I gave instead a word that Dylan handled wonderfully. In return, I got the word I actually wanted, and was immediately excited about the possibilities.

The answers, though, were harder to find than I at first thought. Still, I found them. And here are the stories, in the order I'd like you to remember them.

Word: Snow
Question: Is this not something more than fantasy?

The First Story
Crunch, crunch, crunch
Virgin snow defiled
Purest white destroyed
Innocence beguiled

Darkness falls
Barren, dirty lands
All around is death
Bleak, the fate of man

Blackness burns
Fantasies to ash
Lost beneath the weight
Beauty turned to trash

Spring arrives
Snow dissolves away
Has no memory
Life fades into day

Hope, hope, hope
To find redemption
In love's glowing embers
I, I remember

The Second Story
Alone he sits and waits
Thinks of her, and oceans
Lying past the gates
Somewhere in between them
Waves that stir like words unspoken
Words yet understood
That rise, fall, dip and swell
A gently rolling token
Of the dreams they've yet to dream
Of stories yet to tell
And softly blowing fairytales
That swirl and whisper in his ear
The warmth of fires hid in winter
Hidden from the driving snow
Hidden, burning ever quicker
Leaping flames that long to go
Across the air, across the sea
To find the arms of which he dreams
At last to rest, at last to be
Alone at home, and love to know
As something more than fantasy

W & Q Teaser

Quite by accident, this old poem of mine happens to do a decent job of using my word and answering my question (of course, it only answers the question if you know the poems history... and the question). I will, of course, post an actual Word & Question original poem some time in the next week (I'm hoping for inspiration on my caving trip this weekend). Until then, enjoy this little throwback to my college days of versified romance. Cheers.

Snow

Falling snow, fall softly down

And sparkle in her raven hair

Winter wind, slip carefully

Across her face so fair

And bring a rosy glow

Into those cheeks as white as snow

Stars above, look tenderly

Upon this pretty lass of mine

White moonlight, glisten now

Shine in her kind green eyes

Oh show me nothing lovelier

Than this soft and glowing sight

Falling snow, fall softly down

And warm this chilly, winter night.

Word and Question 6

Okay, I just had a perfect, happy little line spring into my head not too long ago, but I'm gonna develop the idea that occurred to me on the drive home, and see where it leads. As usual, I'm shooting offhand...

Word: Apologia
Question (answered obliquely): On what altar do you place your hopes and dreams?


The Altar of the Traveler
"Ramp" the sign says
Nothing more
He takes it
He has to go somewhere

Innocent, she was
Then a whore
Now she runs
To someone, anywhere

Broken, shattered glass
On the floor
Art is there
Mosaics made aware

Cross of splinters
Shards of wood
Dig at skin
Another cross to bear

Altar standing
Marble door
Come from far
Find shelter on its stair

Apologia
For a life
Never made
Laid upon the altar

Of the traveler

I like this one, in a strange way. It is my first attempt at keeping some sort of form (though a syllable got misplaced  here and there, and a rhyme scheme dropped along the way). I still prefer free verse, if only because I find it easier to play with words in ways that amuse me when I'm not trying to fit them in a puzzle. Still, I hope you like it.

Blues from San Jose

I'm late, I'm tired, no clever header. This is word and question.

I really, really hate the word plenitude. It's one of my reactionary habits.

My question is probably obvious.

On my way from San Jose
My mind on blues and sin
I met an ass with much to say
Of what he'd done and where he'd been
He sought "a plenitude of drink and lights
And debauchery in San Jose"
And asked me, whether left or right
To send him on his merry way
I thought it odd, this prating ass
And the city of lights, or death
Was, I suppose, his way to pass
For something human, something with breath
Though from his tales he seemed
A dark and wicked, violent thing
With little air of kindness, and in his eye a gleam
I thought he'd gladly tear me, and all the while sing
Of thirty-twos and twenties,
And break my back in two.
But he'd not seen the dark behind me
And in a fit of orn'ry, loathing blues
I spit upon the ass's face
And prayed to San Jose
A good death to die, in grace
For I'd not show the way.

Word and Question 4

&

Welcome to Word and Question, and to Crosses and Cradles, if this is your first time here. Please, look around, I haven't written as much as I'd like, especially lately, but perhaps you'll run across something you like. For more information see one of my previous W&Q entries, or go to Shredded Cheddar. If you're playing, post a link or a poem in the comments. If you aren't, please go read the poems that others have written as well. They're always fun.

As usual, I'll be awarding phantom points if you can guess the question (the word would be nearly impossible with this one). I'll reveal it in the comments later. I think it's more fun that way. Here goes:

The Litany of Apathy
Upon the fields of war it stands
Walks beside a lover, hand in hand.
It kneels on cold, cathedral floors
And dances on the open moor.
Beside a stream, it sleeps
In peace lies down, in sorrow, weeps
But the lonely ones, the tired
Sit upon a stone. The souls no longer fired
With intensity or love of beauty
In despair, or apathy await
The fealty they've sworn to fate
They find no joy, no sense of duty
Nothing but the patter of the rain upon the rock
Soaked and broken, no heroes, they
Solitary souls they sit, and say
The litany of apathy, "No good has come to me
No good of me shall come, but waiting
I shall stay, upon the rock, beneath the rain
And let the souls more brave than mine
Carry on their show, for they but feign
To smile on those stone cold floors
And dance upon the barren moors
And hand in hand they're all cut down
In fire they burn, in blood they drown
And whence their joy, their hope?"
So, bent and alone, without a care
No gentle touch this soul can stir
For he alone may foreswear
A foolish oath, and stand a man
To be, and hold, and dance, and kneel
The truth to seek, the sun to feel
And love to know at last, and understand

Word and Question 2

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&
SELECT Wish FROM tblWishes
WHERE Depth='Deepest'

Time for the second round of Word & Question via Shredded Cheddar. This time I will tell you the word and the question... well, I sort of already did. But read the poem first, then you can get your geek on.

The Caverns of the Soul
Many deeply planted longings
Overshadowed day to day
Struggle oft to reach the surface
Struggle 'neath a pressing weight
Of cynical routine
And apathetic waste
The complex that bear not speaking
The simple found in but one word
I've known them all and plummed their depths
Some have sprouted seedling hopes
Others laid to rest
But down within the recesses
Beyond the simple and complex
Beyond the arm around a waist
The breath of sea and whispering leaves
The sunset burning hills that grieve
For the souls that fall from grace
Deep within the caverns
Lies a seed of hope
To see and feel and know and be
Beyond the hills, beyond the sea
Drowned in love and ecstasy
To embrace, and be embraced