Saturday, April 27, 2013

More than Meets the Eye...

The story that's told is of those ill at ease.
Friends become foes when one seeks to so please
His own fancy at the others expense;
Love turned astray is vengeful recompense.

M: Tarry you so long at the huntsman's gate
That you should find yourself to be so late
In arriving here by my side where you
Vowed to meet your love ever good and true?

F: Well, by your mean look on me you're jealous
Of him, he that speaks of your lifelong trust,
Who through thick and thin did wade with your life;
Between you both is love; or would be wife.

M: Tarrying words cannot, will not, make clear
What it is that I desire from you.
Draw close to me now, have no thought or fear!
I seek only my turn to court, to woo.

F: So bluntly as this do you seek my kiss?
An arrogant ape that would sooner rape
Than would miss the rest for a moments bliss
Are you, and he worse! You both offend me.

M: If offense is what you take from my words
Why then give them back and I'll make such burs
That are these advances into a rhyme
Of beauty and grace; for you are divine--

F: Peacock! Don't think to flatter me withal
The powers of charm. Back to earth you'll fall,
Your head's in the clouds from lacking earths air;
But after love's deed your love will prove bare.

M: And does my friend speak to you in pretty
Rhyme or serve a dainty dish of words sweet?
Is he not uncouth, rough, an angry sea
That boils and froths whenever you two meet?

F: Tis modesty that holds him back, tis you.
You see he loves us both, and is more true
A friend in the sight of God than either
You or I. We do him harm, I am sure--

M: Harm him not then! Do not give in to his
Advances and lashes of woeful tales;
For he does spin them up out of what is
In reality a web of his ails!

F: It's not his ails that compel me to speak.
Nor have you guessed rightly in the offense
That I mentioned before. I am but weak,
And my words do fail to show my intents.

M: What, have I not guessed them? Or they may be  
Other than I have mentioned...Are you free
To speak your mind with me, your utmost friend?
Have we not to journeyed far from end to end?

F: Why tis only your imagination
That makes it so, and it is a vexing
Frustration that takes its toll. What a pain
You are that you talk of this and that thing!

M: Are you suggesting I have not the ring
Of truth concerning the problem at hand?
Are you not worried to harm him, to sing
Of your love for me, do I understand?

F: When we were children we each did walk, talk
Side by side of our hopes, and of our dreams!
And while you did of each other so balk,
I remained quiet amongst silent screams.

M: What talk is this of screams? Of nightmares then
Do you speak that keep you from answering?
What nightmare could stride apace from a den
To cause your stammering and sad shaking?

F: Anger it is that causes me such grief!
Yet sorrow to. For time has been a thief
To take from my my gentle friend at hand
And replace him with one who will demand!

M: I demand nothing more than what is mine.
Tis for you, my friend, as you say, I pine!
I've no understanding of your anger.
Am I you friend, of whom you can be sure?

F: My friend, my friend. You are my friend, say so!
Not as you intend, for you should now know
That your hopes and dreams are not mine to wed;
I love your friend, our friend. Your pain I dread.

M: Say tis but a mischance that you spoke so
And I will lay aside my grief to show
That I am not opposed to jokes and games
When from my love they achieve their smart aim.

F: T'was chance that kept us together so long.
Years went by, and we three among the throng
Remained steadfast while bitterness and strife
Grew among our people. Now, on my life--

M: Say not again what you have said before!
I've shut my ears and heart  as though a door,
And will not hear you but to hear you say
That you'll adore me each and every day!

F: Tis vanity to say such a thing, fool!
Do you not see how arrogant a tool
You have become with age? I did mistake
To think you'd love my choice; for love you fake!

M: Fake is the snow flake, for it is water
Crystallized in a pretty form made sure
Footed by the cold that is winters grip.
Yet when I sought water it only bit...

F: Enough with such delusions! Clear your mind
Of such a thing as this bitterness. Why
This is what I feared would happen in kind,
That you would my words pull apart and ply!

M: Your bite proves far more bitter than winter's
Waging war upon spring. Summer blisters
Is hardly the name for such a harsh sting
As that borne upon your treacherous wing.

F: You rant and rave in a corner. Well, fare
Thee well enough to the contents of hate
Borne of bitterness that refuses fair
Words and kind hearted cheer uttered too late.

M: Late are you in leaving, why tarry now?
How long will you remain, arms fixed across
Your busty chest like a steady held bow
Prepped for a dogfight at sea? Why at a loss?

F: You were once more proper in how you saw
My frame. I know you seek to make a thaw
Out of what you deem to be a winter's
Grasp. You make yourself but a gross sinner.

M: And he whom you have chosen over me
Is more virtuous so as to speak of
A subject you deem as ill modesty?
Isn't it an illusion this game, love?

F: Your hands ought to know their place, as your thoughts.
I've overstayed my time for our friendship's
Sake, but you have soured my love with your quips.
I leave, that you may be sane, as you ought.

M: You leave me but to leave me with no choice!
For I know women cannot give a voice
To the desire that affects their whole being,
They'd rather men accost them then be seen--

F: Seen by who? And seen doing what? Leave me
Be! I desire only to leave you to
Yourself now that I see you are not free
To be the man I once thought of as you!

M: I've always been the man you see before
You now. I am what I am! There's more in store 
For such a one as you, who are my friend.
If you'll admit you're interest in bed--

F: What madness is this that takes you by the
Soul so that you should speak such, as though a
Demon were driving your wit and your mind?
Let me go! Open the door, or you'll find--

M: The beauteous raven that I once knew
Turn ravenous with anger, this tame shrew?
You can't fool me, for all women are
Of the same breed and like, those near and far!

F: Stay far off! Or I'll meddle with your brains!
Though I see now that you have none, nor heart!
Else you'd have understood the labor pains
With which I delivered my tale in part!

M: A tale of betrayal!? Harlot thou art!
Leading men on with a smile and a glance
As you joke and sigh and ask them to dance,
Such is your tale! As fatal as deaths dart!

F: Please let me go--Please--Let go, let go! No!
A beastly brute you are, you are but show!
Have you no sense in you to realize
That this act you commit you will despise?

M: Whether I shall despise it or you is
Hardly the matter on my mind. I'm more
Than willing to love you with a kind kiss
That I offered once before at the door!

F: You miss again my pointed cry and plea
For abstinence and for so much mercy
As you can muster! No please, don't do this!
It wont bring you the love you sought, no bliss!

M: Tis a bliss merely to act upon you,
To unleash the beast that you will soon rue,
To satiate with hell what heaven denied
With the maid I have many years espied.


                      More than Meets the Eye...(c) Luke Bennette, April 2013

Thursday, April 25, 2013

A list of Sayings

Have you for me today my friend,
A thought a word or deed?
A sentimental heartfelt phrase
To make an ink pen bleed?
Have you a simple metaphor
By which your excess need
May be expressed in such a way
As to make haste and speed...

What have you now for me tonight,
Tis but another rhyme!
Have you a gist of syllables,
A sigh by which to pine?
What catchphrases of language
Will you this fair night maim?
What ambiance will go to waste
While you speak words so lame...

How many lines will you obscure
With ill begotten meaning?
How long before you do procure
A dictionaries gleaning?
Wherefore art thou, in nothingness!
No sense in you is found!
What happenstance could make you think
A square's that's clearly round....

Is all that's in your head but fluff,
Philosophies of yearning?
Has traveling within the bluff
Filled head and heart with burning?
Is common sense dead inside you
Or is that but a dream?
Please understand me when I say
You make me want to scream...

Which way is up and which is down,
Are you perplexed indeed?
By words expressed you are a clown,
And smell of herbs and weed.
In likes or um's or well you know's
You shake your head and smile.
I smile back, and all my shows
Label you infantile...

Your woeful tales do speak your mind,
But hardly speak of you.
Your actions tell me what I'll find,
They give to me a clue.
Your body language so awkward,
I want to run and hide!
Like Antony I'll find a sword,
Despair is born of pride...

Theology has never been
Your forte, this I guess.
For what is wrong is deemed as right
In how you deem to dress.
Theirs so much more to you I say,
Than meets the eye's first glance.
Yet you believe in expose
Bare as the floor you dance...

And what of you O ape divine,
Is this how you respond?
You look at her and for her pine,
And lead her far beyond!
Were not you meant to be for her
A shinning Knight in deed?
Was not a man a womans sure
Defense in time of need...

Now tell me dear professor sir,
Your catchy wit for me,
Explain the symptoms of the cur
Who strongly speaks of thee?
Why has it gotten into man,
That youth is somehow blessed?
Overcome with good looks they tan,
With ignorance obsessed...

A family is not a whole,
Its parceled out like doe.
This government is but a toll,
A bell that signals woe.
When everyone is thought of as
A simple means of gain,
By ill economy's bad spaz,
Such medicine is pain... 

                     A List of Sayings... (c) Luke Bennette, April 2013

Thursday, April 18, 2013

The Batting Line

Merrily, quite merrily, I do sing.
Not because I must or because I ought,
But because singing has quite a nice ring.
And while it's true, as we both knew, were taught,
That singing is rude in public, construed
By this listener as awkward and plain;
Yet get a patron for a sword, that bled
Of your freedom you may earn by your pain,
And suddenly no one is bored by song
That comes forth from the north wind pipes you own.
I sing because I enjoy what was long
Ago told to me by my mother, shown
In my infancy. A song makes most clear
That what we hate, do most verily fear,
Is nothing more than a foolish thought made
In the heart to be the law of the land;
When in truth such a law, an ought, is played
By those with the power, do understand
That by constraining talent and joyful
Song to only a few they discourage
Many a man from expressing his soul
And limit the few as their personal page
To sing and to dance whenever they say
That today is a good day. I say nay.
Nay to those that would keep my soul in check,
That would my heart overcome, that do peck
At my wants and my hopes and at my dreams,
Who provide nightmares at which my soul screams.
I will sing and dance, but not for power;
Touch me if they can, if it is my hour.
So while I wait for them to seize my frame
I sing quite merrily. Though very plain
My song may be to those who hear it said
It is worth more while than such infantile
Songs made by those who have paid and have bled
To the power that be in order that
They may have their chance, their turn at the bat.

                        The Batting Line, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2013

Monday, April 15, 2013

Belief; that which in effect gives relief
To one who holds something to be most true.
Therefore when I say that I suffer grief
Wherefore art thou? My dearest friend most true?
For believe me most assuredly, or
Else my eyes shall be shut to thee, that wealth
Has no effect upon me. For the oar
Made of gold has no opposite, and health
Cannot be obtained through unspent trinkets
Kept for the sake of a covetous heart.
Why in it believe? Its power ill begets,
And can only in circles tear apart
What was once as clear a path as ever
Could be; the aftermath of purity
Made firm by commitment, that did never 
Waver, found out to be no more than free
Stagnant waters: a fair wind that proved in
Time most foul! And so sweet relief did soar
For but a time by the oldest known sin;
A believe rooted in pride which did gore
Us as a spear in the side, in the rib.
Why leave me alone, why from my side fly?
When two hearts become one and one has hid
It leaves itself in the open to die.
So belief in oneself, whether married
Or not, is the fools fate; by which one finds
That he has bought nothing (since he tarried
In trusting the Spirit that guides all minds).
Such fools--one alone, or two in one--make
By their failure a proof for trust in God;
For sin's a tailor that measures and takes
So that the bride and the groom through life plod
As a result of their naiveté.
For though they be rich in pocket and purse
They discovered their union in a fray.
Art thou satisfied, do you understand?
Wealth supplies not belief in the other.
It cannot supplant, replace, nor demand
Of belief that it should remain firm; sure
Hope and commitment lies in poverty
Of spirit, meekness, and gentility.
For such characteristics attract, and
Do touch the heart with a wealth of sweet bliss
Such as we affect in the springs warm kiss.
So believe that belief is by God's hand
Nourished and sustained in natures design
By which man and woman both first do pine
For the love of God which they discover
Is the key to loving one another.
Relief, an affirmation of belief
By which one finds bliss and avoids much grief.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

How to Unwind...

You simmer and simper at the mouth with quips
That hardly remind me of Karate kicks!
Yet the simmer becomes a boiling range;
And as such I can hardly say I am sage,
For I have fueled the fire by poking round
Within your mind. Fetters, if they are not sound
Do come loose with time, just you wait and see;
For anger is stewed out of great misery.
Then ask yourself what you would write on her
Who you do believe to be unhappy. Were
You in such a position to stop
At the red light you'd consider the cop
Waiting to start up the chase with such glee ,
Releasing his rage, O quite merrily,
While he steps on your mistake full throttle
So as to escape the need for the bottle
Of booze or other supplements to choose;
Embracing these things he forgets he is ooze:
believes, for a moment, he's worth his pay.
So don't go sticking your head in the fray,
Rather, wait patiently and change your mind,
Lest a simmer becomes a boiling unwind.

                          How to Unwind, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2013