Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Cymru - The Crystal Instrument --

Cymru - The Crystal Instrument --

The Instrument of Characters are Bells.
The Touch of one against the others Rings.
In Chorus does the Multitude then Sing
and we, the Listeners, do hear the Tales.

'Perspective' brings, to we who travel o'er
that Double Bridge that looks across the Times,
A Heroes' Story that, with Ancient Rhymes,
Conveys what Love and Avarice fight for.

Attend! The Teller draws her circled cloak!
The Stars themselves arrange as Constellates
as she, whose voice-Elysium does sate
the hungry soul with branching balms of Oak.

A Storyteller she. A Bard. A Muse.
We're blessed by words. Her Spell we'll not refuse.

Be ye all well. Your Poet-Photonic, Robin.
(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

'Steamy Done' Sonnet.

'Steamy Done' Sonnet.

Upon the floor of dance she swirls the air.
as if her feathers guided motions there.
Menageries of all the richest birds
could never match her grace, worth praising words.

His white striped leggings and a courage white
propelled the Cad across the floor with spite.
Intent most foul enlarged his evil heart
while at her helpless self, he aimed his part.

I cocked my gun, advancing on the scene
But 'fore I walked two steps, her eyes had seen
and DEALT with Bully like a bully should...
by dropping him, quite senseless, 'pon the wood,

Her poise and carriage carried me away.
I've loved her deeply ever from that day.

(c) 2010 by G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved

"What Clearly Blooms in Voice"

"What Clearly Blooms in Voice"

This paper. This fine sheaf-made book of love-
combed vellum holds upon its Iv'ry flesh
the best of inky strokes and jewel like spots...
a very thick and folding window here.

This book, this tome, this bible of a heart...
So much lays in it for us all to read.
So much waits only good translation's touch
to free, to ear, to heart, to soul, to God.

This volume in my study that I'd touch
is signatured by only one scribe's work.
It is your voice that carries all these words.
Your voice whose gold and rarely witnessed hues
rejoice with poet's meaning from an age
that never knew our Sovereigns at all.
But still they echo out their tongues to us
an echo slow and old that speaks to us
reminding all alive that once were They.

Your key unlocks the truth of what was known
Its gift then guides from darkness with what's shown.
(c) 2010 by G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved.

'Spoken - Heard'

'Spoken - Heard'

A word or two may glance from off the tongue
with Thought - or not - directing what is said.
But what is Heard is often not among
the list of true intentions that once lead.

'Intent' and 'Meaning' sometimes rest with 'Sense'.
but 'Understanding' comes so often late
that though the air is filled with noiseful rants
too little of the Truth gets through the gate.

We prattle on, we gush, pontificate...
We smatter-chatter, gossip and we lie.
In every way convey some minor state
of what our Heart has stamped upon its die.

Let all the World's confusion blot what's True...
I will still strive to speak my care of you.

(c) 2010 by G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

"Winter Sun"

"Winter Sun"

It comes upon us, as reflections from
a mist-filled pond. The sun, as weak sounds come
from far-off fishermen, their oars in foam,
so this sun comes to us, who thank it some
for memories of all the fields it grew,
for brilliant days where shutters could stay loose,
those long lit days enabling to bring new
and better times than when weak storms confuse.

This Winter's Sun, this portrait of a Time
like lockets pressing air into its clasp
must to us be a beacon for the line
we walk, towards the Spring we long to grasp.

Our memory must bring us faith to earn
our pass to Spring through Winter's stormy churn.

(c) 2010 G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved

'Wonder 'pon the Stars'

'Wonder 'pon the Stars'

Why cast we down our gaze when only slight
that distance to the ground? Why should we seek
this mantle brown when deeply blue the night
awaits our pleasant dreams and guesses meek?

For all that we can reach, our numbers small
can never count the orbs that prick our sphere.
As shimmered lakes do flash, those evening's jewels -
each faceted with fiery stars - give mirror.

Let us create a stepping to those flames
then tread upon Celestial's carpeting.
Upon our Earth gaze back to seek remains
so small. This glimmer but a spark it seems.

Those stars whose worlds dance all about our sky
but mind we watchers what our dreams may buy.

(c) 2010 G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved

"Winter Storm"

"Winter Storm"

A Winter's Storm in Springtime harkens ill.
It beats a march onto the roof this night.
The rhythm burdens hearts worn hard by plight
Makes raw the soul that bleeds as cisterns fill.

Too many times the road called out to him
To go, to visit, travel one more time.
But always task at hand delayed the ride
And now he sits alone, late, at this Inn.

As every drop slides off the gable's well
And more, so many more will follow down
His spirit, empty, cold, no comfort found
Denies all hope will ever in him dwell.

His journey never made cost him his life.
Delay made her, his heart, another's wife.

(c) 2006 G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved