Ancient Stones ~villanelle

Ancient Stones

Ancient stones speak tongues of history
a truth of time buried beneath our fears
forgotten knowledge told as mystery.

Only a few can hear stones speak clearly
bestowed this dying gift they walk in tears
ancient stones speak tongues of history.

A history if lost is gone in misery
it bears wisdom of times we made unclear
forgotten knowledge told as mystery.

Alone among the hills lives a gypsy
she hears stones tell ancient stories when near
ancient stones speak tongues of history.

One must believe and listen gingerly
in hopes to hear an ancient stone appear
forgotten knowledge told as mystery.

Stones tell the truths we lost in memory
the day we ran like fools from nature’s sphere
ancient stones speak tongues of history
forgotten knowledge told as mystery.

©River 3/11

villanelle rules: 19 lines, 2 repeating rhymes and 2 refrains, 5 tercets and 1 quatrain, A1 b A2 / a b

A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 / a b A2 / a b A1 A2.- capitals refrain lower case rhymes.

1 and 3 line of 1^st tercet repeated alternately in the last lines of the succeeding stanzas; then in the final stanza, the refrain serves as the poem's two concluding lines

from the French

posted for One Shot Wednesday week 36 at One Stop Poetry~ come & join the fun!

Echoes

The Stone Nordic Theater

by moonlight is barren,

except for the latest Graffiti

and once in a while a

drifter borrows a night,

soothed by crashing waves

and the hum of the city.

By daylight, the stone

reveals its cold, empty stage,

a webbing of jagged cracks

crumbling from neglect.

The stonewalls hold memories

wrapped  in aged grape vines

flowing from crevice to crevice

near a woman dangling her legs

over the edge.

An edge of the mossy wall

overlooking the mighty waters

behind the Nordic theater.

She contemplates choice

with tear streaked cheeks

watching the brewing storm,

the swell of rolling waters

crashing against rocks

wails against stonewalls

echoes through the theater.

12/10 

posted for One Shot Wednesday week 25 at One Stop Poetry ~ check out more poetry

Death to the Plain

An ancient time, a time of Pharaohs

leisurely wishing for aesthetically pleasing,

eye capturing, breath taking marvels of beauty.

No, peasant bore brown branding by glance

only glory  of color for birthrights by chance...

Death to the plain!   (said the Pharaohs

Rulers ride the line of place and time   

designing cultures of waxen mold

defining beauty as their own

courted talent for privileged eyes

captured musings of a phantoms guise.

Centuries pass, royalties fall      

freedoms of expression for all!

Beauty lies through the artist’s eyes 

sketching their nameless muse

feverishly absorbed in creation

lost within a bliss of elation

truly mastering their formation.

The willing observer deafened by years  

innately knows his growing tears...

Flow centuries long for all people

denied the beauty known now

taste the waters of the lands

walk through expressional sands

feel the magic of an artist’s hands.    

Beckoned by our silent cries

driven by their passions

clutching works of pure devotion

varying forms of aesthetically pleasing

pieces of deep meaning...

Writings of poetry, sculptures of design

paintings of landscape, photos of line

whispered melodies of modern day jazz…

Aesthetical dimensions

freedoms of expression

  Death to the plain!

                                         ©River Maria Urke 11/10

posted for week 20 - One Shoot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry
click on the name and be swept away to a doorway with many links to some great poetry.

Tea with Fuller and a Few More

Wouldn’t it be something
to be at a
Transcendentalism meeting
back in the day with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
Oh…
that would be amazing.

I would fit right in
challenging conventional thought,
challenging each other to
think outside the box
write even better.

I can see it now...
My arms flaring,
eyes glowing,
thoughts pouring,
passion uttered
with every word.

That is when I got a word in
with all those philosophical minds.

Protesting 19th Century
Culture and Society.
Resisting conformity from
Unitarian Doctrines,
Harvard Intellectuals.
Writing and debating for
Freedoms of thought,
Religion, and person.

I would be friends with
Margaret Fuller.
Two women
among a few more
in a group of men.
Intelligent,
Strong
Women.
Feminists
voicing their thoughts,
their opinions
for the centuries of women
that were hushed
and would be for
generations
and still are.

All of them at the table
living way before their times.
The strength,
the perseverance
it took for them to continue
opening the doors for
You and I.
People were laughing at them,
others shunning them,
a few applauding.
While, we will never know
how many hid away
with their writings.

I would love to tell them
their writings are studied today,
praised for the thought and work.
I would love to tell them
they were a part of change,
Inspirational to many,
Revolutionary to thought.

I need to tell them
The truth about Indians.
Culturally
Religiously
Persecuted!
Misunderstood and
unjustly Romanticized
their time through my time.

It would be something
to go back in time
and have tea with
Thoreau
Whitman
Fuller
All the members of the
Transcendental Club.

It would be something,
Unforgettable!
Even if I could only tell them
Thank You!

©River 6/2010

The full Moon rises to the East

She dances under the Birch
To the music of her soul
Bare feet against wet Earth
Freer then she has ever known

She dances a healing dance
To cleanse the invisible wounds
Buried through generations
Deep within the soul

She dances for all women
Young, weak, strong and old
Women across waters and land
Throughout all of time

She dances secret knowledge
Beats of movement and song
Mothers have taught to Daughters
Since the days of Avalon

She dances under the full Moon
Encircled by the magic
As they have for Centuries
And will forever more

River 7/10

The Bird with a Bad Rap

Old Europe permeated with fear,
evil lurked in shadows
people thought, Crazed in fright
superstitions swarming
bad omens dispersing
protection for the paranoid.

A bird was trapped for evil deeds
Omens were wrapped in their flight
Seeing two gave bad luck,
one meant death was tonight.

Misconstrued through fears
an intelligent and cunning bird
found guilty for hundreds of years.

Stories traveled of the bird
by folk lore they flew
with the dark side children heard.

A bird misread even now
superstitions gone away
dirty replaced evil
bad is still around today.

Don’t you think the time is here
for the bad rap
on the crow to finally disappear?

River 10/10

Thanks Goggle images

Crows

A bird of many created disguises
kept in stories by cultures and times.
Observed by some taking care of its sick,
deemed protectors of their children and home.
Others who closely listened to them commune
believe them to be a passer of knowledge
they say Stop and listen when they caw.

Even so, to the ones who run the show
this intelligent and cunning bird
is no more then a foul, dirty,
scavenger you chase
with a broom.

Come on, stop and listen to the crow
they have more to teach then you know.

River 10/10

Thanks to goggle images

Poems for One Shoot Wednesday week14
click the link to read many more poems  :)