Tag: Prompted Posts

Tertullian Would Have Loved It Here:

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original PoemsLeave a comment

Just not the famous one.
The one who would have liked it
Would have tastes second to none.

He’d love the river and the mills,
The green and woody rolling hills;
He would like, I guess, the rain
Which is, these days, my morning pain.

And if Tertullian was mayor
I think he’d see, from over there
In Carthage, where he used to fare
That our roads are in disrepair.

Perhaps to fix them he’d would be
Wrapped up in obscure heresy
Of the old Montanist kind
But, oops, I think that I’ve been blind
Cause I forgot
That he was not
That Tertullian at all
Some other one I don’t recall

Since I don’t live in Carthage, I
Will end this post
And say goodbye

…

(..)

if i could bring the moments back

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems2 Comments

if I could bring the moments back,
the pictures frozen there in time,
we would be laughing in the snow
that now falls only in my mind.

for you were lovelier than all
this cold and wintered heart has known;
and i can see, unfaltering,
the love and grace that lately shone

from out of your once smiling face.
enthusiasm pure and clear
in moments that i treasure now
that you have gone
and i’m still here

This is a prompted post.

Ziena’s Paradox

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems1 Comment
The Xyst at the Stoa of Attalos.
The Xyst at the Stoa of Attalos.

Ziena had quit,
So tired, pained —
Days were endless,
Nights just lonely

Under a cloud
For years it rained —
Beguiling kisses
Making only

Xysts &

Vague gists

= = = = =

(via The Daily Prompt)

A Sonnet on Wealth

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems9 Comments

In truth, this kind of prompt’s wasted on me
For I have all I want, substantially
I can go where I will most of my days
But get quite little from prideful displays

Of pomp or wealth. These things bring comforts, true:
But also bear a price as all things do,
The cost of living shackled to one’s gold
To rise and fall as it does, and grow old

In knowing every place you go’s for show.
The vanity of life that all can know
If ever money takes at last its pawn
A soul that’s wasted, then forever gone

And so if all resource to use was mine
I hope that I’d leave most of it behind

= = = =

(Note – I realize this is cheating and doesn’t answer the prompt. I also realize it makes me sound nobler than I really am. Take my word for it — I’m not.)

Inhumation

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems4 Comments

The sun is setting, I must wait
For somebody to rescue me;
My memories, both slight and great
Won’t do, in any small degree

The service of empowering me.
The courage that I sorely need
Is distant as the Summer sea;
And I’m unsure how to proceed —

But yet: entombed and vacillant
It is, at last, the common fate:
We live as in an avalanche
We wait alone
Alone
We
Wait

(..)

These Secret Dreams

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems4 Comments

For years these secret dreams my very waking soul would haunt:
To make me into someone, and to give me all I want

But in my dreams, as I’d approach my conquering of all,
I’d walk out for my great debut into an empty hall

The life I wanted then: of glory, riches, fame and lust —
Would prove to be mere vanity; just empty air and dust

I wanted then whatever things to me life could commend:
Not knowing without purpose, I’d get nothing in the end

For life’s more simple – and complex – then I back then suspected:
For purpose, to be meaningful
Must be
Outward
Directed

 

(inspired by this interesting idea.)

Aunt Diane

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems8 Comments

Whenever family heartbreak came
The problems big or small;
We all would call my Aunt Diane
Who could sort out them all

She didn’t know of hatred and
Advice she gave but spare;
But all of us would go to her
And she was always there

I reached an age, however
Where I would stand on my own
And though my troubles came in waves
I never used the phone

To call my Aunt Diane because
I was my own damn man;
As years turned into bitterness
And new heartaches began

Just yesterday, I got the call
That she had passed away
I saw her this last weekend
On my daughter’s wedding day

My Aunt Diane I somehow thought
Would always just be there
Because, in pride, I wouldn’t call
She’ll never know
I cared

(.)

Dry Dark Falling

On By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems5 Comments

Across the wasted landscape bare
There is a dry dark falling:

The last cloud burnt up with the sun
And no more birds are calling

With joy, or even sadness, for
Some mate or friends who’ve died:

The world is fading everywhere
And so am I
Inside

= = = = =

(..)