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Rex
Member

since 2000-06-29

Posts 482
Houston, Texas

0 posted 2001-01-20 01:10 PM

The Spell of Moy Mell

In endless miles of treeless waste,
Where myriad sands in flurry raced
Before the wind's relentless power,
Water sprang...and grew a flower.
Then timidly the grey of oak
Stirred the earth, and leaves awoke;
And nestling came and then was heard
The plaintive call of mating bird.
And soon men saw the green of brush
Bending and swaying in the rush
Of winds that blew across the sea,
And visioned here a home to be.
With patience, and with dreams as urge
They built it safe where ocean surge
Of hungry waters fain could reach
Beyond the stretch of golden beach.
And in this quietude they dreamed
Of what life was...or what it seemed;
And in the dreaming, fraught with pain,
Vague hopes were made to live again.
High above the shell-decked shore
Spreading wings of seagulls soar
Across the turbid waves, and cast
Dark shadows where their flight has passed;
The smoke of blowing sands suggest
That embers of a deep unrest
Smolder hot within the earth,
And struggle new for some rebirth
Into a land where years have spread
Their sands of time o'er fires dead;
As hope and passion sleeping lie
Within the heart, but never die.
Amid the sound, the reign supreme
Of silence; as when in dream
A song is felt but never heard,
Yet still sings on, as hope deferred.
No murmuring of surf or sea
Breaks the stillness of the free
And shifting sands that gleaming lie
Till distance blends them with the sky.
Cloud shadows, on their way, beguile
Thought fancies, that...for just a while
Some tired weaver, spent with care,
Had dropped a pile of velvet there!
And in the hollows left a trace
Of airy mist, like lengths of lace
that fairy fingers spun of spray
Caught from spindrift in the bay.
And, as a slender thread of blue,
A dragonfly goes floating through
On bronze gauze wings, with careless air
To leave a mem'ry hanging there.
These wisps of nature, phantom torn
From patterns of more perfect form,
As tho they were, themselves, but shade
Of finer forms more nobly made.
Mere mortal in this lonely span
Learns the weaknesses of man,
Flings futile hands in gesture vain,
Accepting silence...tasting pain!
So little knows he of the Plans...
Little knows, less understands,
Yet strive with puny strength to see
The meaning of his destiny!
Unlike the skull, that hollow-eyed,
Rests on his shelf in conscious pride...
So knowing in his toothless way
That man retreats in odd dismay,
To leave him in his knowledge there,
Of unknown things he cannot share
Or know, until himself shall be
Some hollow-eyed nonentity!
Alone he stands, by dust caressed,
All his knowledge unexpressed,
Yet gleaming in his sightless eyes
The wisdom of the ages lies.
His, the night-wind's minor cry
That brings the thought of men that die,
And in their phantom forms retrace
Familiar haunts of time and place.
From the hearth the flames at night
Flay the shadows into flight,
And herd them back as alien hosts
Into the arms of kindred ghosts.
While soul of driftwood from the sea
(Grown and felled in mystery)
Ends in ashes, smoke and blaze
The glory of far fairer days!
Then fance speaks from out the fire,
And likens smoke to life entire;
Impalpable...illusive...grey,
That vanishes in mist away.
A wraith to close the hand upon,
And open, but to find it gone...
With no trace left, save odor fair,
To show it once had lingered there.
And, with the whisper of a sigh,
In one last flare the fires die,
Unloosing shades of dark unrest...
Ominous thoughts in purple dressed;
Evil thoughts, grotesque and twisted,
By imagination misted
Till, distorted, beauties fade
Into terrors, silence made.
Fantastic shadow silhouettes
Dance like monstrous marionettes
Across the night and join with glee
A secret band of revelry!
And so until the birth of dawn,
With darkness vanquished, spent and gone,
Comes morning...and another day
To speed in silence on its way.
Reluctantly to watch retreat
On airy, gold-shod, slippered feet,
A sparkling day in hurried flight
To keep a tryst with mystic night!
And I alone, in silence ponder
On God's way, and deeply wonder
Why He means that I should be
A part of this vast mystery!

Victoria

Member Ascendant

since 2000-08-12

Posts 5869

1 posted 2001-01-20 02:06 PM

i loved this Rex..you are a wonderful writer..

Glad to see you are still posting..i havent looked in for a while..enjoyed your poem very much

~V~

A poem is never finished, only abandoned.
- Paul Valery (1871-1945)

bluebrdy65
Member

since 2000-05-16

Posts 276
Gladys,

2 posted 2001-01-20 08:53 PM

This was AWESOME
I can not begin to tell you how much I enjoyed reading this.
It is wonderful
Great job Rex

Swamp¤Faeryie
Member

since 2000-12-04

Posts 393
fairyland....of course;)

3 posted 2001-01-21 05:28 PM

that was so wonderful,your rhythm is perfect ALL the way through,absolutely beautiful,wow.

swamp

Do i contradict myself?Very well i contradict myself.I contain multitudes.~walt whitman

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