The Web Poetry Corner
The Web Poetry Corner
Ayr, Scotland, UK
If you have comments or suggestions for Alisdaire O'Caoimph, you can contact this author at:
Kalidonian@aol.com (Alisdaire O'Caoimph)
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In the Silence
It is here in the silence
where the winds of time swirl
dances to the soft petaled dreams
and lays open the sacred name of balance
To sweep those internal planes of faith and hope
nourish deep the waters of that eternal spring
To ravish the Soul to its true being, light
That profound and deep reverberates
the scared name into the heights of life and being
Fulfilling Gods ultimate plan
Its will reinforced deep within
The goal of humanity to be
That all the moment rides upon
through and over a simple, innocent song
Love of one another.
A Whisper Of Today
I heard a sweet song that filled the air
some how it drifted upon the night
winged its away across the thousands of miles
And hinged a dream within my mind.
Not to long ago
between the nightmares that harbored deep
there was a glimmer upon such nights
a small hope that seemed to bridge my sanity
opened that small pack of belief and whispered
into these twisted folds of beat and soul,
That dream once called a heart.
I heard its tapping upon those icy edges
that broke apart those tightly bound strands
and opened the promised view
Like a panoramic display of worlds
where meaning again founded and ran free
Upon the rich meadows of love and life.
I loved that song
dearly trusted the words it gave and fed
till soon life meant again all possibilities
And the morrow is a whisper of today.
Theres a little sigh that falls
between the soft barriers of all I hold
That will forever taunt my heart
echo my mind gently too
and across those old fields of time
To see again.........You.
Looked at you
I awakened to a new light
that held the dawn in still
till it had arose within my heart
Gardens so deep and vast
with flowers of every bloom
I heard the birds within
sing a sweet song of love
and understanding all said
I turned and looked at you.
It seems to swirl here
in the thick heavy air
That song cast long, long ago
that filled the hills and dales
smothered the essence of life
and laid the empty breath heavy
Upon these fields worn and dead.
Its a place where the souls wonder
aimless to the ancestral beats
the lays of this eternal flesh of land
that haunts the centuries
To the decayed dreams, the mornings cry.
Marred by the wretched blood that flowed
from warriors hand and noble steed
that dressed the wounds of life so pale
and crushed the hordes of time to
The bitter array of sorrow and tears.
O' the tempest of night
that hovered amongst these departed souls
Brave men all, the deed fair fought
surrounds these poor souls of night
To make the battle ever right
In deep wrung tears the sword still slashes
the blades cut deep, the wounds gashes
The battle cry that vibrant roar
heard upon the winds once more
They clammer too, fight and fade
where blade to flesh taunts the masquerade
and leaves the world of dreams to rear
This night bears fast mans common tear.
Woe they come the mothers old
The wife's demented, the daughters cold
Gathering the form of loved ones around
Howling into the night, deaths wailing sound
Ah! What right the wrongs befall
The mystery of death, the legions that call
That though all gone into deaths great rapture
This battle of cry their souls recapture.
The Fallen body amidst its peers
upon these fields of battles fears
A soul so bound to mortal clay
the moment relived in constant play
That marks well the sorrow of that day.
We stand to admire the brave in deed
Recount the Chivalry, honours seed
We bless the fallen e'er by name
forgive the bloodstain of their shame
Such be the horrors of the night
that wings so fast wars evil might
We cast our lots upon empty dreams
And leave the night to their haunting screams.
In Celtic myth and legend, The twilight hours are those that belong to the Fairy realms, Where mortals can be taken into the twilight realms of the Sidhes, A place that time stands still, the moment hushes and the soul lingers to the nightly feasts of the eternal's. I suppose I take this to apply to our dream world as much as to a factual place.
She hovers upon the wings of night
casts her drift of the fairy tunes
that creep like the fine mists of time
Engulfs the land, inhabits the realms
where thoughts so gather, flood and flow
Covering the world into her fine blanket
To drift us all to the world of dreams.
It is here that all possibilities arise
takes flight upon the fancy cries
Hovers lightly upon perpetual forms
and lingers in the thick flowered groves
In this world where the fairies dance
to the old jigs and airs
Swirl the embrace of their twilight realms
Between the mantel of the universe.
It is here upon their midnight embrace
that the ancient Gods arise and cry
their archaic forms stretch forth
Grasping hold of man's internal cries
They summon the strings of the ancient web
whereby all creation stems and flows
Illuminating us to their ways ever afresh
And placing deep within the will, the form.
Oh! How we arise to the Dawns sweet call
relishing to the finial vestige of the night
We wish to return to that realm of no pain
where sorrow and fears all subside
to the pleasure of the sidhe's ways
where life holds its true embrace
and love wings its fluttered call
and draws fast the human soul
into the desired length of passion's night.
She rolls upon the long lost train
that rivets upon her soul and mind
A fantasy of a thousand dreams
the beguiles her heart away
into those tender soft cushioned soles
Her mind walks daily.
She will set with the wind
that crosses the abodes of time
Haunt the silent placing of love
Into the deep surrounding harmony
where all lives fresh and new
As her heart so begs it be.
A lost world where twilight calls
in little voices within her head
She draws the curtains
Lays back upon satin sheets
the lavender fills and drowns
Till gone into sweet precious sleep.
She again holds her love
looks deep into those eyes so warm
Hears again his fading words
that soars deep her souls lament
Drifting within his arms
To the long beat, the quickened heat.
The morning always comes to soon
and finds the pain that rides the dawn
Tears encircle where she seeks to be
In another time and place, she longs
The feel, the texture, the face
That long lost, gone, warm embrace.
Irish poet Eoghan O'Caoimh 1656-1726 Upon the death of his Wife in 1707 and two years later his Son Art. Eoghan joined the Priesthood and was ordained 1717. he was to become one of Erin's best writers not only of the bardic traditions from which he was raised, but also for his deep writing on the ancestry of the Irish High Kings and the family names and places of the clans. He died in his 66th year.
When tears bitterly lay the trace
of the image of her loving face
that dropped away sudden as a dream
Into world of deaths silent stream.
His love, light gone upon the breeze
no moment holds where now his memories freeze
the banshee cries her wicked drone upon the night
To gather his son Art, to his mothers sight.
Born dead to the day His life in such disarray
wife and son prisms of the fragile clay
he wanders lonely to the call, banished far
Like the shooting light of a falling star.
Ah Old mother sod how bare you the soul
to stock the fires of hell like burning coal
You waste of life the perpetual dream
To bring poetic beauty to such an ending scream.
God the father, God the son
Deliver Eoghan from fates bitter run
Fill him to verse, the dialect of tone
To fill his soul to bardic Bone.
Let words of love fill his lips full
the promise of the heavens become his tool
Priest now Eoghan walks the path
far, far from the rages of deaths wrath.
He spins the tales of ancient times
the history Of the people, their grace, their crimes
The High Kings of Erin, Tara's sweet fertile ground
Brought upon play of lip and vibrating sound.
Behold the host that here foregather
The souls soft whisper, the spread of matter
Equations all by barrier and sound
All that holds Erin's soil as sacred ground.
He passes on traditions old and deep
the world of the Fay's that within this land do sweep
The heritage of people, a story old and worn
The battle of the weary, the visions torn.
Parish priest Eoghan O'Caoimh has become
the thundering voice of the heavens to some
A gentle man, that so love rich and full
The stories of his people, the history of you.
Beget the dream that rides the clouds
fancies far that herein enshrouds
The dialect of peoples places things
The beat of a heart, the love that stings.
All riches, all profound
Intoned in the glory that poetry passes round
To love and be, as the stories that flee
The symmetry of the garden, Life's eternal tree.
Sixty years to fill the fields
Love to love and the child it yields
Fill the vision to gods sweet face
And here in death rejoin your race.
Till no more
Do these words of mine
truly reach you, beyond the wall
You play in your own world
between the hopes and despairs
Have you heard me calling
my voice loud, bellowing
begging you to hear what deep you fear
that longing I know so well you feel
the sorrow song of the heart...Pounding
Here in a sanctuary of tears
that weep the pillow cases full
And begs a soft touch.
Do you feel
where my eyes long to rest
my heart at best
beats profoundly for yours
understand the ache
that fills and torments
longs your soft kiss
upon the gently blush
That rises to your cheeks.
Is there a moment
that here your thoughts don't rest
that gathers me to you
holds dear the words exchanged
held upon the soft whisper of my name
And longs the sound of my voice.
If I go, will tears follow
will the days drag along their sultry course
Shall you seek my company
where memories linger
or shall I be as the breath of wind
Hard then soft till no-more.
Would that you were here
to share the simple light of day
the grasping words that interplay
the joy that would fill the way
walk upon the open lay
That fills both heart and mind.
Would that you could see my world
that fills around the topsy-turvy
to rush with me in the fast sweet scurry
where time so is in such a hurry
holding the dreams these fields of hope
where together we share the gathered scope
of a world wherein there is but true
Only a place for loving you.
Promise I hear
Its a promise I hear
when your words meet my ears
dance within me, waltzing
the soft melody of your soul.
Looking my eyes travel
the sweet undieing youth
that all your form fills and hold
sacred this life of you.
This poem was written about the Old Fort in Manchester Tennessee, A 2000-year-old American Indian ceremonial site. It consists of mounds and walls that combine with cliffs and rivers to form an enclosure measuring 1-1/4 miles around. The 50 acre hilltop enclosure mound site to have served as a central ceremonial gathering place for some 500 years.
I feel them here
in-between each branch of tree
every blade of green speaks
the humble approach, the tender way
The sky haunts the final abode
where thoughts to heaven lend and bend
this land always theirs, never ours
whispers their cry upon the soft river
flows the streams of their soul out
Into the nights heavy laden fragrance.
Their ancient songs here linger
like a lullaby, a tender sigh
where white-tails dance the ritual
flood the fields to the dream
till the land again becomes ancient
filled to the ghosts of yesterday
that like shadows, form behind and through
the thick bushes, the winding trails
these eyes of theirs, here peers
into a modern age, a confused stage
That so longs again the peace.
A muckle adieu aboot nathin lass
tha sweet swarms that this frienship draws
gaithers fast an' hulds sae dear
tha wee kindred wish O' hert's that fear
the twilight dream O' whit may be
that friendship may yet lovers see.
The day awakens
where those eyes so cast their view
dress the world in their sweet allure
then sweeps back upon the eyes
That witness perfection's jewel.
I watch where the giggles gather
hold you in the prism of a moment
like a fine brocade that is rich in colour
fills my horizons and dances back upon
the soft tones of your voice.
I see the gleam of the day
there in your eyes that play
so softly the delicate dream
the haunting character of yesterday
The promised wish of the morrow.
Songs filter through
the caressing undertones
that draw the moment deeper
holds us in the balance
then sweeps past so fast
That the day never holds enough.
What more should I be
or can you here on your own conceive
that the winged feather so easily has fluttered by
said its peace, marked well the evening
laid its form soft to your touch
And kissed the lullaby.
Would that I hold you
where tales of the unexpected drift, lingers
like a flower that blooms
cast forth its form, draws the delight
then fades away to another sight
Of fallen petals the bloom is shed.
There's a song that even the birds so know
it gathers in the wind, hovers upon the nest
to sing the lilts of loves caresses
the tender sighs
That breaks the silence of the storm.
I sit where the peaks of life
drain upon the open passages of the soul
Look deep within those eyes
like mirrored panels reflecting
the same image over and over
till soon its mine staring back
across time, years and decades
It is this that is our common ground.
White men's garbs
The dark clouds gather
hold upon the planes
In the distance a clap of thunder roars
upon the prairie winds, upon the chill
where moist air gathers to the roar
like millions of pounding hoofs
that are no-more,
rumbling upon the land
crossing the great divides
It's here where the soil fills upon the breeze
That the eagle sweeps upon the current
holds it own with the battling air
and cries out upon the dusty planes
the song of souls long gone
that here upon earth and sky
Is the chant of the braves of long ago;
Warriors cast with the wild mustang
they sweep the undefiled forms of ghosts
that haunt our silent world to their demise.
The white mans tongue that so lied
and bleed the world to greed
Wore the mask of decay.
The rain falls heavy, these tears
that bleed the soul
the eternal flatbeds of time
pour out upon the world
drained to the broken promises
the fading sighs that here even today
their children bear, wear
the lost vestiges of a once noble creed
Dies to the lost dreams.
The broken arrows of the morning
that no longer drives straight the shaft
Holds to the Bow
rather now like the faded buffalo
they become a fabled tale
That rings upon the drums of yesterday
peers out across the distant fields
Drowned in the sea of civilization
Warped up in the white mans garbs.
I look upon your image
the fine soft lines and curves
the flowing brown hair that longs to breath
those hills again of home.
I stand here
peering down through
that which makes us all whole, one
feeling the silent scream that none can hear
Save those that in their tormented beds have cried.
So much of what we feel
bears upon the soft texture of time
holds us here captive to the inevitable moment
where ours Souls torn upon the sadness
seeks the illuminating pen
and drives out words that spring eternal
From the store house of the soul.
I see the same hunger, the want
that dances in your eyes,
I know you feel it too
that somewhere between all our being
we both glimmer through
And know the other.
I hear within you
that aching child
that so cleaved her all to a dream
one washed upon the blood of tears
that wore the spirit down
I stand here a witness
to the crimes that man commits
to the broken hearts and minds
where first kissed and teased away
Till gone to soon the milk soured.
Walk with me
where the hills of time hold
each deep scented root of you and me
where the moon still glows to candlelit dream
And love still holds our key.