The Web Poetry Corner
The Web Poetry Corner
Wesley A. Storer
of
Spokane, WA, US
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If ever in Plymouth by the sea
by
Wesley A. Storer
If ever in Plymouth by the sea you should be
If it's cold December night should you invite
To listen for echoes of the early pilgrim plight
Where solitary waves haunt those eerie shores
To hear their lonely sighs their homesick cries
To reside in cold hunger as when they first arrived
The silence is more silent in those pilgrim hills
As if the silence itself is remembering still
The melancholy ambiance that Winter did instill
By a cobble bottomed brook a lonely statue stands
Of a caped and capped pretty pilgrim girl
And I wondered while seeing her standing there
As visions of cold deprivation my mind did forebear
With what eloquence did God bless her final rest
And I wished her well I wished her memory well
Walking beside the graves upon that little knell
As solitary waves foamed their haunting refrain
With thoughts of loyal Squanto and noble Massasoit
While golden moonbeams on a gabled window gleamed
The lantern skied diamond dust stars convened
To have been there and felt that love so rare
To have known to have known someone truly cared
And sleep the eloquent sleep a pilgrim must keep
If ever the cold December night should you invite
If ever in Plymouth by the sea you should be
Song of the Dirty Duck
by
Wesley A. Storer
Songs of the red winged blackbird
from the solitudes of chantilus
SONG OF THE DIRTY DUCK
How could I have been
All those different people?
The snot nosed punk of 12
Scaring old ladies with firecrackers
Tipping over Johns at Halloween
The 18 year old soldier at J.F.K.'s funeral
Who once opened the door for Jackie
With her secret service escort of 3
At the National Gallery of Art in 1963
At 25 involved in a terrible car wreck
Trying to elope with an old lady of 65
Whose own daddy tried to gun him down
In a drunken bunkhouse brawl the same time
Who they say tried to commit suicide at 30
By jumping out of a plane at 3,000 feet
The orthopedic surgeon cussed like Satan
For four hours and forty-five minutes
Putting an 11 inch nail in my left femur
Was I the guy who hitched to Boston broke
Who got shot for being a stool pidgeon
In Dorchester, Ma in Spring of 1988
Who almost died from huge gall stones?
That guy who almost froze to death
Hitch-hiking in Montana in 1969
But why should I stretch credulity
With this and yes even more
When I can scarcely believe it myself
Yes all of those people were me
I guess my mother must of prayed for me
The Desert Rat
by
Wesley A. Storer
A poet is a miner of his mind and soul
Like a prospector is a miner for gold
Back in 1849 a lonely man headed West
To find the desert gold his all obsessing quest
Until one day desperation carried him too far
His water and luck low from lusting yellow dust
He found a covered wagon in the hot sun's glow
With Father, Mother, and Daughter thirsting below
Draw horses dead from no water scarce as gold
Reviving them he gazed into the young girl's soul
And the love of his life her sad eyes did unfold
Feeling a sense of doom his plan to them he told
Travel by night and avoid the hot sun's scold
Ride my mule and when he stops walk on
Saving water four nights will see you through
To the little river where once the cattails grew
I'll get help from Indians don't worry about me
He lied knowing no indians who were as dumb as he
Brave men will die to save an innocent girl's pride
Early that night he watched them ride out of sight
There in the last of the cold Desert's light
His old mule braying his last heartfelt goodbyes
He followed in the distance with weakening resistance
And prayed that God would lend them assistance
They made the river Owens with death closely stalking
And survived the fiery furnace known as Devil's Fleu
She married a godly man whose posterity grew and grew
While far behind beneath the shifting sand
Rest the unknown lover whose love she never knew
Where the bleached bones of a miner forty-niner
lie hidden with their arm around his mule.
Wistful
by
Wesley A. Storer
The last of them can now no longer refrain
No longer from time's call may they remain
The November wind the last of them claims
You know of course I refer to the leaves
Falling on sidewalks and filling up eves
I swished through their wispy sienna seas
Reveling with their levity setting me free
I wished their cheerful brilliance to keep
In a special place somewhere inside of me
I trounced drifting rifts of merry melee
Like a madman gone nuts on a drunken spree
Like a prisoner from his dungeon released
Making the most of their moments with me
Wishing their cheerful brilliance to stay
Tromping the pomp of their stately ruins
Their lonely splendor's protégé I would be
And toward that noble end I went a-wooing
No amber pandering prurients can they be
magnanimous little critters of curious debris
Wistful little waifs of nature's tapestry
Their vivacious vibrancy of timely happency
The Chinese Elms' sheets of gold undoing
Scarlet Maple the Tanager's fire pursuing
Scampering and dancing mid rustling mutters
Dull glowering sky gave no time to putter
Their cheerful brilliance my mind to clutter
That lonely day of the first November rain
Their cheerful brilliance my mind did claim
Their innocent intimacy my journey sustained
The Love Song of Chantilus
by
Wesley A. Storer
The wind frolics through the leaves
Of this my gently listing tree
With soothing longing calming ease
With magic music of a Westerly breeze
I wonder what its soft sighing speaks
Some tropical beach or blustery reef?
Does its quiet lull some spirit seek?
As its sound of nothing now reveals
It's quiet interlude of sighing conceal
How I wish that carefree sprite was me
Sailing sailing into rising sunsets
From farthest West to farthest East
Filling sails of romantic Portuguese
Neath stalwart wings of Northern geese
Fill my sail with thy sighing trill
A lonely Norwegian princess We go see
On a mountain by a fiord her castle be
About her palatial walls we will fell
Around its lovely parapets we will gale
Some comfort speak while kissing her cheek
As beautiful lonely Jesu his mother sweet
Her soul with comforting countenance keep
Carry me away then! Carry me away!
To that wild and constant calling shore
That upon my soul you evermore implore
My gratitude will fill thy breathy sighs
With I love you through the endless skies
The Roses of Versailles
by
Wesley A. Storer
ONCE A LAND FOR FLEURS DE LIS
LE ROSAIRE CHERI ET LA MUGUET
EXOTIC COLORED PASTELS MIXING
STRIPED AWNINGS AND UMBRELLAS
CONCERTINAS AND GYPSY DANCERS
PARIS COLORS ARE BLUE AND RED
AND FRAGRANT LINED LEAFY LANE
FLEURS OF ALL DESCRIPTIVE HUE
TRANSCENDING FRAGRANCES ASKEW
HERE LIVED LOVE AMIDST CHARMS
OF LOVE'S SPLENDID ASCENDANCE
WHERE UNDER HONEY COLORED SUN
OF DRIFTING CLOUDS DESCENDING
FABLED IN LOFTY WIT AND PROSE
WISDOM GUIDED LOVE DID REPOSE
HER LOVE OF SENSITIVE PASSION
EVEN HER FOOL HAD SOLID SENSE
ONCE THERE WAS NO LOCKED DOOR
WHERE ONCE WAS BUT IS NO MORE
JESU'S LIGHT A BRIGHT DELIGHT
GONE NOW QUAINT ELEGANT CHARM
HER INNOCENT BOUNDLESS CHARMS
I BOUGHT HER LA ROSE ROUGE IN
LE GARDEN VERSAILLES OF SIGHS
SHE GAVE MOI A BURGUNDY BERET
HOW VERSAILLES GAVE HER SIGHS
SOME OLD LADY SAID I WAS NUTS
BECAUSE SHE COULD NOT SEE YOU
HA HA HA CEST LA VIE HA HA HA
I AM SICK OF THIS TIRED WORLD
ONLY THEE FAIR FLOWER OF LOVE
Fallen Leaves
by
Wesley A. Storer
Light bright wander sprites
In every old wind that goes
Of a free falling merry mix
Of brittle red yellow green
Promiscuous vixens let free
Brisking whisking crackling
Of crispy popping crunching
For walking sloshy bunching
For land of Autumn rainbows
Whispering down royal lanes
Their trains of regal flame
Filled eves and window pane
Nomadic scattering throngs
In our hearts and our sight
In our memories they remain
Singing past suns and rains
Until snows fall from above
Celestial icey mortal frame
Their silver chains reclaim
Pittering and pattering din
Their this to thatering end
Of a gone again cycle story
Like days of dancing angels
For useen memories of glory
Windy breath of Jesu Cristo
To the golden sands of time
A Pilgrim's Lament
by
Wesley A. Storer
In an empty and lonely midnight street
A phantom specter known as Shadow King
Drifted his soft essence into his brain
And whispered in his ear an eerie thing
Fear not said he fear not pray thee
Ancient shipwreck of ancient evening free
Dream love's illusions and yet illness be
From that sick and insipid ancient Eve
Who put her poor maker second to her need
To feel the dance with death thrusting deep
For a curious vanity she desired to see
In her dark nights within of thrusting deep
That could never satisfy or edifying be
Just the never that was never meant to be
Fear not this shadow king said to He
For once the universe was set in motion
I could not easily stop my ordained devotion
To search for that lost and ancient Eve
Burning to dance with death thrusting deep
A burning curious vanity of thrusting deep
So now fade into the lightness that is me
Melt into the nothing of me and be free
And be kissed by the lights of eternity
For I need the night in order to be light
So much in fact I would die for you alone
This is what the shadow king said to me
I will never create man in my image again
For Death O Pilgrim is the death of death
And life the knowledge of good and evil
Better the day of death than one's birth
Autumn Snow
by
Wesley A. Storer
See the satin enshrined sky
Her misty vestured spendor shine
Glossy clouds of pearl unfurled
Ending lustrous Autumn's world
October's riotous delights declined
By cold November's deflaming rain
Then those mysterious flowers came
With no two blossoms ever the same
Their affluence of abundance reclaimed
The North world's six proned domain
Their tiny petals shimmering gleaming
Landing in icey leaves upon my sleeve
Snuffed like little yellow candle flames
How lonely shines the Sun I wonder
Is her warming gaze her only fame
By the high flung clouds restrained
While below no two snowflakes are the same
Their unique dimensions exquisitely framed
Mysterious phantoms of a fabulous design
Unique mini paragons of mysterious time
Landing on soggy leaves at my feet
Painted daubles ruddy colored baubles
Twinkling glimpses scarlet tinted
Golden frozen lights taking flight
Wobbling in watery frenzied rivulets
Melting into glory at my feet
Dropping in the gutter at my feet
O City of Ceaseless Roaring
by
Wesley A. Storer
O CITY OF CEASELESS ROARING
WHEN DEATH YOUR LIFE DID CLAIM
I MARVELLED AMAZED
HOW WELL DEATH KNEW YOUR NAME
COULD IT BE OH CEASELESS CITY
ATTRACTING WRONG KINDS OF ATTENTION
THAT BAD PASSIONS PUT AN END TO YOU
YOU NEVER LOST YOUR INCONSOLABLE GAINS
(You never found them to begin with)
FOR TO YOURSELF YOU LIVED ALONE
SOME PIECES OF LOVE YOU BORROWED
A PENCHANT FOR BEING PROMISCUOUS
DISLOYAL DISHONORABLE AND TREACHEROUS
ALTHOUGH I KNOW YOU TRIED YOUR BEST
BUT YOU MUST LEAVE LIKE ALL THE REST
THE INDIFFERENCE THAT TOOK MY PEACE
LONLINESS NAWING MARRING MY SLEEP
POLICE AND FIRE ENGINE SIRENS HOT RODS
THERE WAS A FLAW IN YOUR BEAUTIFUL THINGS
THE TRAGEDY OF LIFE THE INNOCENT MUST PAY
YOUR WICKED MEN ENSLAVED THE POOR AND MEEK
TO KEEP THEIR BEAUTIFUL WIVES FIT AND SLEEK
THEIR BEAUTY UNFAIRLY JUSTIFING YOUR RAT RACE
(signed) the last beatnik
Mother's Day
by
Wesley A. Storer
A song for love my heart would find
In orderly oracles of lyrics divine
A song of songs all the angels sing
Echoes of their distant chorus ring
Celestial vestured angels of Spring
With their flowing meadows of green
Verdantly flowing landscapes serene
The ruddy winged angels of the dawn
Flourishing horizon winged paragons
Crimson glories never gone for long
And a blue winged angel of mornings
Her soft chiffon the dawns adorning
Spreading satin white billow shrowd
Shading the world with velvet cloud
The gold winged angel of the Autumn
Bright colors paint arbored columns
Splendor reflects many leafy jewels
And a rekindled faith in God renews
With glorious rustic essence to you
A white winged angel named Snowfall
None found quite the same in design
Crystalline symphony crystal rhymed
Many orange winged angels of Summer