Poetry by Chrissy Schreiber in the style of John Keats:
The Rose’s Lament
I
I am thy king of thorns –
In sunshine and in storms.
Under the sun and moon
Doth my heart ever bloom.
II
My scent leaves traces sweet,
Yet trampled by their feet,
They steel away my heart –
They tear my flesh apart.
III
My soul becomes a wish
But love quits, soft and swift,
Wherefore I cease to be –
For thou hast murdered me.
Bright Star
Amid thy sweetness I forget to breathe –
My lungs are all aflame within my chest.
For none could ever shine so bright as she;
A queen, she rose and fell before the rest.
Her smile becomes her like a falling star
Becomes the nightly sky behind thy lash,
Ablaze, aflame, admired from afar,
As one extols embers and glowing ash.
O, prythee, tell her when I am away –
On nights she shall awake among the dew –
My mind will e’er live within her sway.
My eyes will ne’er forge her shades of blue.
And should she call me home, my heart to rest
I would remain, my head upon her breast.
On Dreams
I
Is sleep but travel to a distant realm
Where light is dark; Or wouldst thou then believe
Thy path be cloaked in thorns and ash and elm?
Nay, hearten love with heart upon thy sleeve.
II
How strange it seems that man might wander so,
To gather smoke and dust along the way.
And so they wouldst be blind to where they go
While covered by the dark’ning light of day.
Poetry by Jacquie Burckley in the style of Edna St. Vincent Millay
Fish
Your hair it does but gleam and shine;
May I run my fingers through?
I wish you were but only mine:
I want to be you.
Weight
I imagined my life, my love, in such a way,
melting glaciers to flowers of bloom.
But those flowers were much more to weigh;
a feeling of impending doom
Once more that bell tolls;
I will hear it not again.
Perhaps there is my life, my love once,
but I ask you, when?
Thanksgiving
Come and eat at my table for there is plenty to spare.
I would only make ample – yes – there is enough to share!
(Read) Between the Vines 