Two together

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Here is an attempt at achieving symmetry with a poem split into 2 parts with both being formed from couplets - 445 words each, separate but linked.

Submitted: March 19, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 19, 2013

A A A

A A A


 

2 in 1

 

I have waited many long hours

For Proserpina and her enamours

And then she came out of the shapes

Of Hades where there were forlorn shades

Or remnants of humanity.

I had waited an eternity

But now it is over

And I must see my lover.

When you are fixated by a woman

You must discover as a man

Her secrets and desires

That burn within her as fires

Of all hues and sizes,

Constantly unravelling surprizes

Beyond the bottom of the seas

Where no doubt Pluto reigns in Hades.

Her hair is blonde and auburn

And in the winter’s sun I yearn

As I rest and dry my hours away

Yet in the new summer I will play

With her – we’ll both be naked

After the tears we have so long shed.

Some women are deceitful in their manner

But with Proserpina there is no matter

In this respect for her mother, Ceres,

Allows the corn to raise

Out of the ground from its seed

To give her daughter and me what we need,

The fruit of what seems

To be an unending array of dreams

And then a mad woman

Comes to see me in the san

With her strange abstract voice

And I’m filled with this disturbed noise,

The judgemental mental paranoia

Which is eternal, the business and the lawyer

Which begs for the receipt of your pound

And then recites when you’re in the ground.

Do you see the regeneration,

The continuing process of revelation

Of a soul in its varying forms

Which walks along, mad, according to storms,

Bound by the strict dances of the planets

Yet deep in fragrances of delectable strumpets?

Proserpina comes to us to continue

And entrance me and you

With the comedy of her fabliau,

The courtly love of long ago

From the ancient story

Of what God is and his story,

He who birthed himself from the tomb

And grew again in another womb.

The daffodils are dying

And their fairies are crying

Having lived for this one spring

But next year more shall sing.

I have a long way to go this summer,

Get hot in hay and play with her

As Ted Hughes died with the apple

And I hear poetry’s bones rattle

Underneath the ground as he did try

To understand the poetry –

With words he was sometimes flush;

He could evoke the picture of a thrush

And him and Heaney and the rabble

Could maybe burn as corn stubble,

But once again Prosperina emerging

Is the one genuine sign of spring.

And I wish I could write forever for her

After all we are in the land of never ever.

 

When my soul has slept to rise

And Keats became a delight before my eyes

I wondered through vales of serenity

And saw the whole light of eternity.

It was ever uncertain our dance

As the poet moved us into a trance

And made us glide away

Into worlds within another’s day

Where poesy reigned a heart and pen,

A glory seen now in what was then.

I delighted in his faery tales

As I made my way through the vales,

Seeing figures in wonderment

Creeping from the woods all innocent

As the colours of the beats

Stand people up off their seats

The band forever playing

As momma rubiyat gave birth to men like Keats

And flowers beneath trees swaying

Weighing out the words of what he is saying.

I listen to the trend of thought

Going towards the end of nought.

What was number one

In that summer gone?

Where would the brothers take us to die

And would we always work for why

Even after a florid death,

A torrid stream of breath,

Mixtures in conversations and bodies,

Nature’s pixies in the land of harmonies,

The reasons why we look and see,

The actuality of what it is to be?

It is all too seriously real, the appearance

Of her on a movie reel, the entrance

Of a body from another world,

A bodice falling from a body – she’s unfurled.

She lies in space with the stars.

She’s the face intriguing Mars,

Her mysterious in love’s codes,

Part of what the poem forebodes,

An explanation of the poetic

Yearn to be, a river flowing its music

For you and me, water growing to be a sea.

Right now, just bopping along I see

It falling into the hour like a spell,

Her flower approaching with its smell,

The innocence of her inner eye,

The sense of the earth meeting with the sky.

They put me there in the lock up –

She’s waiting for the great big cock up,

The fashion of the medias,

Tones flowing from the sun’s nectars.

I make my way from school to life,

Maybe a fool in need of a wife,

Looking at all the old books,

Sentences streaming along like brooks

And finally Endymion is flowering.

He has found the hour to sing.

And so we venture deep into the dream.

Was Mary the faery queene

When Elizabeth 1 drew breath,

Shakespeare rehearsed with the rest

And a diary was written between the lines,

A daily dairy of fresh milky lives?

In your soul the movement coerces

You to lay bare your universes,

Spaces across time you have been through,

As this point we come directly into.


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