Weekly peom #2

This one is also a bit late... sorry 'bout that. This particular work is how 13 different things view the sky.

The Prologue

The sky, the sky
Clouds view it as home
How way up high
A nice place to roam

And people of the world
How unseeing they are
For they don't know
That which is far

But the birds, they know
What the sky is about
And they fly and flutter
And are without doubt

The planes are the same
As the people will be
They fly right on by
And they do not see

And the trees see it
As a wonderful thing
Open and bright
Makes them want to sing

And in the heavens
Are the mountains high
They are grand and gloating
Neighbors with the sky

Near them the volcano
Spews fire to the air
As the red and gold
Is portrayed with dispair

As the warriors ride
When the golden sun sets
And another chance
That the darkness gets

It is night now
And sleep the sky can
But not after long
The sun rises again

The ground is the first
To witness the day
As it stares at the sky
And can't cast it away

And the ants, they live
So far, far away
From up by the blue
They aspire to say

And the dead, as they can't
Look up to the sky
For they live in it
The day that they died

And time viewed the sky
As it wasted away
Because time lives forever
As long as time may say

Weekly poem #1

This one is a bit late.

Prophecy

He who dares enter my realm
Be weary of the ancient Elm
For when it burns shall be the day
When all the world will waste away

The fire's air will burn so bright
Illumination of the night
Understand and you shall know
How and Why the world shall go

In your mind I'll forge the Tree
To force you now to look and see
Be warned you who enter Here
To see the light when you are near

Weekly poems

I decided to start a sort of "weekly poem publishing deal that will go on I hope for awhile, I will be publishing a poem every week starting with one that will go out this week (This does not include all of the poetry I have done up to this blog).

Let's see if it works.

Love is Blind

Love is as the Sun
Bright and revealing
Because sharing and caring
Is light and not stealing

Fantastic it is
Such fluttery feeling
To be where you are
Your presence is healing

So I tell you now
You mean much to me
Though you know how
You I cannot see

This is another one of my poems the topic of which was supposed to be love.

Love poem

The King by Rudyard Kipling
Couresy of: www.famouspoetsandpoems.com

"Farewell, Romance!" the Cave-men said;
"With bone well carved he went away,
Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
And jasper tips the spear to-day.
Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,
And he with these. Farewell, Romance!"

"Farewell, Romance!" the Lake-folk sighed;
"We lift the weight of flatling years;
The caverns of the mountain-side
Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.
Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,
Guard ye his rest. Romance, farewell!"

"Farewell, Romance!" the Soldier spoke;
"By sleight of sword we may not win,
But scuffle 'mid uncleanly smoke
Of arquebus and culverin.
Honour is lost, and none may tell
Who paid good blows. Romance, farewell!"

"Farewell, Romance!" the Traders cried;
Our keels ha' lain with every sea;
The dull-returning wind and tide
Heave up the wharf where we would be;
The known and noted breezes swell
Our trudging sail. Romance, farewell!"

"Good-bye, Romance!" the Skipper said;
"He vanished with the coal we burn;
Our dial marks full steam ahead,
Our speed is timed to half a turn.
Sure as the ferried barge we ply
'Twixt port and port. Romance, good-bye!"

"Romance!" the season-tickets mourn,
"He never ran to catch his train,
But passed with coach and guard and horn --
And left the local -- late again!"
Confound Romance! . . . And all unseen
Romance brought up the nine-fifteen.

His hand was on the lever laid,
His oil-can soothed the worrying cranks,
His whistle waked the snowbound grade,
His fog-horn cut the reeking Banks;
By dock and deep and mine and mill
The Boy-god reckless laboured still!

Robed, crowned and throned, he wove his spell,
Where heart-blood beat or hearth-smoke curled,
With unconsidered miracle,
Hedged in a backward-gazing world;
Then taught his chosen bard to say:
"Our King was with us -- yesterday!"

This poem is a bit difficult to anylize because of the extreme use of metaphors. But part of the assignment is to talk about one specific metaphor, which I might choose to talk about the people's encounters with love along their everyday lives. I interperet this poem as saying the people think that love is more of an interference with their work than a pleasure in life.