Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Land of Mere and others - poems by me for April

Since April just happens to be the National month of poetry, I thought I would share some of mine.  Bare with me, it may be painful, but I'm hoping not.  :)
I've been writing poetry for a very long time, and I think, (according to mother) that it might be good, considering I'm a teen.
For those who are itching for poetry, read this, and go out to write your own!
Just as a note, I'm not going to worry about punctuation after each line... nope, not even commas and periods.

The Land of Mere, by Valary-Mac  (An Unfinished Epic for my dear sister, by her request, and started 2 years ago :)

In the lightest shade
Of dark that was made
Where rays seldom shine
And man never stayed

Those leaves may wave
As have been for days
On the queerest of trees
The Maker has made

And beasts that are there
Might make an eye stare
If only one knew
And if only they dare

There cities are natural
If natural can be
In a place so eerie
And green as the sea

A lake has a share
Of the country-side there
If you think of it right
Could be thought of as air

The currant astir
Where parties occur
The dwellings eccentric
In the Land of Mere

In the lightest shade
Of dark that was made
The name of this tribe
Is called the Mermaid

Born for the ocean
And by every motion
To the sea they are tied
This land; their devotion

The upper is skin
And often quite trim
The lower a tail
And the bottom a fin

And the way of their hair
Be it dark or fair
Is strewn with the stars
That grow down there

One of a kind
With intelligent minds
Their clothes are not cotton
But whatever they find

I mentioned their towns
If ever one found
The same as the scene
As rocks on the ground

Houses aren't homes
Forever they roam
But never do stray
Way up to the foam

You ask how they seek
Through places so bleak
Their eyes are like jades
That pierce like a shriek

But enough is displayed
Of looks and ways
I'll get to the facts
Of which stories are made

A question I'll master
And give you an answer
I'll tell you a story
Though not any faster

There once was a maid
Toosay was her name
In the land of Mere
Of the township of Kway

Her faithful pet
Christened Obette
With spiny sides
And loose corset

Toosay's kin was naught
Or so she was taught
An orphan by name
But princess in thought

At work she would dream
And one not so mean
Would drive her hard
In pay for one fweem

But never the less
She'd do her best
Andy by her smile
The place was blessed

Though never elated
In land populated
Toosay'd swim to heights
The townspeople hated

This done in secret
While eating her sea-grit
Up she would go
Conversing a bit

"There must be more
Than water galore"
She said, not knowing
The incredulous score

"Nay" puffed Obette
Who never was beaten
"Better ignorant living
Than wise after eaten"

"But remember the time
When exploring did find
The presents of light
And the pattern of time?

Was such in vain?
Will you answer the same?
If eaten," she joked
"I'll take the blame"

With a wheeze and a sigh
And a look of the eye
Obette was convinced
To do or to die

In the darkest shade
Of light that was made
The quick preparation
For travel was made

... to be continued, I know not when


Pebbles, by Valary-Mac   (A poem of nature)

Pebbles in palest arrangements before
The sweetest cool breezes and billows
Reflections and ripples be studded with stones
Most purple and shadow-lit off of the shore

The sea, 'tis low, and the slopings are high
But in the mores and such things between
Definition of sacred-held fairy-camps there
Stoop hither: for the echo the pebbles will cry

Few crannies are comely and blithe as is there
Moist mosses and fern post as their herald
The faintest of breath may carry a message
But, be magic, that delivers the fare

Boulders resign in weathering age
Wind's playful fingers caress out of habit
Nay, this centurion, stoop and bear fruit?
This repetition the pebbles have made

Now mint foam on frothy oceans made
Deftly spew forth of their random-held stores
Mosaics in sand as encountered in dreams
Rapturous may be, yet cannot be stayed

This watery sage whom delights in his art
Beguiling and calm, makest wild designs
In gathering dusk, shade your eyes with their light
Adulate adoration from comets stalwart

Pebbles in palest arrangements before
The sweetest cool breezes and billows
Reflections of ripples be studded in stones
Most purple and shadow-lit off of the shore

-The End-

Have written many more poems than this, and probably to your relief, not all are so solemn and serious; majestic and earthy... or something.
Some of my "funny" poems (Including one already here on this blog) are entitled "Little Dick Dee", "My brain", and "By the Nile".

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