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.

'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.

"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

"Borrowing From Nature"

"Borrowing From Nature"

I call upon the gentle rains and sun,
the moon and stars, the rose within its hue,
the woods and rivers, breezes' laden run,
the heart, the senses, sparrows and the dew.

These paints of words, each stroking silhouette
creates reflections from the world that is --
alludes to what is known and better set
by forces far beyond what I must miss.

So spar with what is given to what's shrined.
In vain I hope to compliment its own.
"So Nature thou art Nature's Art in prime.
So all of Nature's gifts from Nature grown.

I say 'you are a gem -- as rare and pure'.
When I could state 'you're you' and be as sure.
---

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

'Season of the Cold Clouds'

'Season of the Cold Clouds'

'tis Winter. Colder blasts the warring winds.
The bite of rains make daggers hook our bones.
If not for calendars, we would forsake
our hope of Spring and know our times would end.

'tis Winter. Clouds come down and are the Storm.
Thick Limbs do break, their needles thread the air.
The naked blusters dress in leaves that dance
with little things alighted on the ground

'tis Winter. Cluster now the snowdrift high.
The pointed crystals drop as ice from eaves.
The Wolves howl loudly to their packs in dens.
The pines explode from living saps that freeze.

The Sun may hide and Goddess Earth may sleep
But we with hearts will wake remembering.

(c) 2010 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved

"Brief Minutes"

"Brief Minutes"

In rushing, flies the moments to prepare.
In gath'ring up the portions of the wend --
the food, the garments, notebooks and a pen --
The hurried scholar rags in frosty air.

A scribble of the quill leaves thoughts too spare --
Quick figures on exchequer needs, losts found.
Affection and of thanks all poorly bound.
Some notes on chores now done, too brief of care.

So Journal keeps another morning gone.
Tonight another note or two fills in.
A year in volumed to be shelved begins
and many more looked forward to be done.

'tis written every morning and each night.
'go safely, swift returning'. 'Love'. All's right.


(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved

Morning Slumber

"Morning Slumber"

The mind in freedom soars as robins do
and like the larking red-breast, crows the day.
To cloud and sun, to high-perched tree-top's sway,
what realms deny it entrance? Very few.

To dream, to take in every breath and sound
from out the shuttered window and then weave
a garment full of splendored wonder. Sieve
the rude unwanted grit and live unbound.

All things combine. The motion of the morn
and candle flame. A breath and kitten's mews,
the creaking beams. But would I ever choose
a new made fabric and then have it worn?

This is the fancy best my life can be.
For dreams must wake, and wakened dreams be ye.


(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved.

'Nature's Trove'

Nature's Trove

Soft is sight when mists lie and hug the trees
Giving skirt and shawl to the forest's kin.
Light is the dawn and gentle is the breeze
When morning light does whisk the wisps and fen.

Boulder Cracking thunder may blast a mount
To ash. Hot ocean lashing bolts of Jove
May steam and splash to bedrock the great fount
Of the sea. Nature has both in its trove.

The gentleness of a spider's spire.
The Ragnarock of a Volcano's blast.
The song of bird and the scream of fire.
All this have I known and loved, first to last.

For High and hot and sleepy as a babe;
All have I felt when in your arms I've laid.

---------------
In Prose, the Poem would look and read like this:
---------------

Soft is sight when mists lie and hug the trees giving
skirt and shawl to the forest's kin.
Light is the dawn and gentle is the breeze when
morning light does whisk the wisps and fen.

Boulder Cracking thunder may blast a mount to ash.
Hot ocean lashing bolts of Jove may steam and splash
to bedrock the great fount of the sea.

Nature has both in its trove. The gentleness of a
spider's spire,
The Ragnarock of a Volcano's blast. The song of
bird and the scream of fire.
All this have I known and loved, first to last.

For High and hot and sleepy as a babe; All have I
felt when in your arms I've laid.


(c) 1999, 2011 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved

'The Welcome Cold'

The Welcome Cold

I greet this frosted air and frozen field,
The glassy pond and quiet morning breeze
With close and tender welcome. I'll not yield
To shudders for its Wintry challenges.

Tho' it withholds the many joys of Spring
And seems to misremember Summer's bliss,
I'd trade no other wealth or pleasure sing
Than moments cold and now that brings me this.

I stand within my holding, All I see
Is what I call my own by right and will.
And all is happy, held in blessed peace
Against the Times that may bring any ill.

But Pinnacled above what is my part
Is she who shares these lands, and warms my heart.


(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved.

'Morning Iris'

Morning Iris

Today does drip upon me each sweet hour
as drops of honey... slow and powerful
Each new birding sound, the wafting flow'r...
Come, come and let me sense this joy employed.

All Nature is this day, a chorus trained
to give to Kings the best, now Groundlings shared
and I, a warrior, worn and pained
drink in this Elysium... Re-born. Re-paired.

I know the moment next will be as good
but I am so enjoined with this good time
I think upon that not. What good then should
be better than when we are all in rime.

All paths are smooth and even is their way
and I am blessed for you are here today.

(c) 2008, 2011 G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved.

'The Calling Sound'

'The Calling Sound'

I wait upon the gate and watch the bell.
One swing and open goes the other quick.
For that one ring, the calling sound will nick
The hot impatience that would have me dwell.

I rush my thoughts towards the time at hand
And polish frets to mirrors of thy face.
I glance and peer while feet do dance their pace
While looking hard Horizon's broken band.

Each dodging branch foretells your riding through.
Each noise of stone or whinny is thy steed.
And every other Symphony a deed
By what you ride or sing or fairly do.

Your waiting love is pinioned by this Gate
O' please, 'Arrival' be thy only Fate.


(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith
All rights reserved