Andalus' poetry

[Andalus]

Five-Leaved Clover

I found a five-leaved clover, lucky as pure luck can be.
A stem that sprang up young and strong, and spread its leaves for me.
I found another not long after, by luck of the first, perhaps.
These ten leaves I knew would bring me safe through trials and traps.

They chose me as their keeper, of that I'm surely sure.
And to think, I thought their power a myth of fanciful folklore.
But luck they've brought me all these years in all my daily deeds.
My work can never fail if I trust my clovers' each five leaves.

No eldritch magic here at play, they're as natural as the earth.
I found these lucky clovers by me from the moment of my birth.
Aye, I looked there to my sides, and from the stems of my newborn arms,
Grew two young palms, each spread five leaves, and these my lucky charms.

[Andalus]

Because I've never posted this one here for some reason, and since this week's update was awfully awful, here be one of my best as an additional addition.

Watcher in Heaven

Behold how the cherub stands with wings outstretched on the ramparts of heaven,
As he watches the pale mortals head to prayer, their solemn faces leaden.
He hears the church bells ringing, and pities them for their tone,
Their brazen peal far weaker, far less glorious than his own.
As he stands with wings outstretched.

He stands and views his master's lesser work below, brown and green and grey,
With not half the radiance and divine splendour that he cherishes every day.
Lacking all that makes its people yearn for heavenly grace at death,
For their paltry lives, when compared to his, are but a single breath.
As he stands with wings outstretched.

See how he stands, gazing down, in a single passing glance from on high,
And over the joy and laughter he hears, rises a united, plaintive cry.
The true voice of the multitude, toiling on, throughout their bitter lives,
While the cherub stands in heaven, and in eternal bliss he thrives.
As he stands with wings outstretched.

Behold as his ears hearken the majestic voice of his master's golden call,
A beauty unknown to those below, as their chants echo upon lifeless walls.
A mystery to even those who claim they hear an answer to their prayers,
A pleasure reserved for the archways of heaven and he on the ramparts there.
As he stands with wings outstretched.

No proud sneer can there be seen to sully his face of gleaming light,
His angelic mind pure, untarnished, to please the holy master's sight.
Only pity he feels for man of dullest grey, straining to escape the dragging mire,
And something else hid deep within, as he sees wretched man's yet high desire.
As he stands with wings outstretched.

Behold his feet tremble on the gilded ramparts, as he watches a child play,
He sees men laugh as they drink in sin, and the love of couples in the hay.
He turns his head from his sentinel gaze, and casts a look around,
The white hospital walls of heaven enclose him, high above the ground.
As he stands with wings outstretched.

Now see a silver tear leave his shining eye and tremble down his face,
A tear of envy for the gleaming hope of those who robed in mud still live in faith.
A spark of sin there malingering in the creator's purest work,
A wish for life not robed in white, not kept from worldly hurt.
As he folds his golden wings,
And jumps.

[Cuddly Khan]

YOU ARE AMAZING!! This is try poetry.

[Andalus]

Thank you very much! Wednesday again already, have another:

Translating Life

With perspective learn to translate
The meaningless unto intent.
The purpose of life flows from the well
Which you yourself must plumb.
Take your own hand, lead your own feet
On roads where they are sent.
Without your translation to give voice,
The journey's teachers shall be dumb.

Death the only certain wyrd,
Even birth less oft adhered,
And even these hold no design,
No deeper meaning to be feared.

Wake beneath the sunrise and live
Until you kiss the sunset's glow.
Why should you wonder if the sun shines
For you to feel its beam?
Walk and talk; you have already found
The only fate you need to know.
Speak and let your words the truth reveal,
Your life is no one's scheme.

Your word the only crucial plan,
Not shadowed by intrigue or scam,
No answers here for you to find,
As if this were some lord's exam.

So with perspective seek to translate
Life's plot to your own script.
You must learn to speak this foreign tongue
In words that you create.
Put your mind to work and mysteries
You soon will unencrypt,
And understand this foolish nonsense,
That folk have christened fate.

[Silver Wolf]

Very inspirational song... You made me think about life and my dreams that have yet to be fulfilled...


These are my favorite lines :

"The purpose of life flows from the well
Which you yourself must plumb.
Take your own hand, lead your own feet
On roads where they are sent."

"Why should you wonder if the sun shines
For you to feel its beam?
Walk and talk; you have already found
The only fate you need to know."

We sometimes truly need to stop thinking about things that burden us and admire the real beauty of life...
But we can't wait for some special sign or God knows what. We are the creators of our destiny.
That's why I took a break from everything a few months ago and started living with a new philosophy : enjoying the little things in my life...
I've changed a lot since then and now I'm a much better better person.

+rep !


EDIT : Woah, this is actually my  1,500th post !

[Cuddly Khan]

You are truly amazing. Not even I can write this good.

[Andalus]

Glad you both like it. Silver Wolf, always pleased to hear something I've written has made someone think. The majority of my poems do have some philosophical element and/or message, though of course like anything it is always open to the readers' interpretation. Good to have it appreciated, anyway.

That's why I took a break from everything a few months ago and started living with a new philosophy : enjoying the little things in my life...
I've changed a lot since then and now I'm a much better better person.

Yeah, I did something similar. It is that matter of "perspective"

[Andalus]

Plot Execution

Lay my head on the writer's block
And bring the axe crashing down.

Hope to bring me some inspiration
From the axehead's ringing sound.

May words flow mingled with my blood
From my neck's stump to the page.

Better this way to induce some plot
Than sit mindless 'til old age.

[Andalus]

Viennese Chess

The music begins with a tap of the foot,
And the dancers glide out across the floor.
With a bow and a curtsy, and hand in gloved hand,
In double file procession, as if to war.

The waltzing parade pours over the room,
Flowing like water through a river's weir.
Elegant grace and a surgeon's precision,
Spinning like blades and leaping like deer.

In pairs they whirl, each to their own dance,
But in synchronised steps they cohere and unite.
The men tall and smart in long black dinner suits,
Their fair partners swirling in ballgowns of white.

Like chess pieces battling on the chequered floor,
The tiles divided into boards, eight by eight.
Each white maiden a queen, each black warrior a king,
Each queen entrapping her partner - checkmate.


(inspired by this)

[Andalus]

In Black and Blue

Lights flash in the darkness.
Drums pound in my head.
Feet leap on the dance floor.
The room is alive.

And I see you there across the throng,
With blue eyes dark and black hair long.
And I'm drawn to the blue strip around your wrist,
Glowing as your hands sway and your body twists.
The music pours over, and I watch it dance with you.
Dancing, dancing in black and blue.

Your body twists in the darkness.
Your smile plays with my head.
Your feet slide on the dance floor.
You are alive.

You are alive in my mind as I watch you there,
Seeing you move to the music without a care.
Black shoes tap the floor as the black hair sways,
The black of your dress lithely hugging your waist.
Blue lights wash over the crowd and so through.
Dancing, dancing in black and blue.

But then you move in the darkness.
You turn your head.
Your feet leave the dance floor,
And the room is dead.
I'm no longer alive.

The door swings behind your sudden retreat,
And I follow you down to the cold black street.
All I can think is "Don't leave! Dance all night!"
Only offered adoration, never hoped to bring fright.
But you flee, and your bracelet drops like a glass shoe,
Spinning, dancing in black and blue.

I give chase through the darkness.
Spirals blur in my head.
My feet pound on the floor.
I need you alive.

Your body so graceful and quick in the dance,
Yet unsuited to run, never standing a chance.
My hand seizes your arm and your dancing feet slip,
Tumbling hard to the ground as you strain at my grip.
Your blue eyes open wide as you crumple askew,
Dancing, dancing in black and blue.

Your neck twists in the darkness.
A trickle spills from your head.
Your feet splay on the floor.
Are you alive?
Or dead?

My lips too transfixed to speak a word,
But in my head, my terrible answer is heard.
Until joined by another that blares in my ear,
A cutting wail, screeches unfaltered and clear.
Lights flash in the darkness where I kneel by you,
Lights dancing, dancing, dancing.
Dancing in black and blue.

[Andalus]

With Every Beat

With every beat of a broken heart,
The fragments cut in deep,
With every dream of a hopeless tomorrow,
Every night of restless sleep.
With every note of a mournful song,
The music disappears,
As with every step on a weary road,
The path is filled with tears.

Each mottled stone that paves the way,
A mountain to be passed,
Each mote of grit under tired feet,
More painful than the last.
Each wooden gate creaking in the wind,
A familiar eerie cry,
And each bolt that falls into its place,
Another hard goodbye.

One more clock that strikes twelfth hour,
Another day escaped,
One more wheel of earth to hide the past away,
Behind a curtain draped.
One more clapper's blow against the bell,
Ringing with the heart,
As one more pulse darting through red blood,
A sting, a needle sharp.

Never silence yet no sound is heard,
Except to keep the time,
Never free from the notes of the fading song,
The lyrics' fading rhyme.
Never a salve for the spreading cracks,
Or a cure to seal them shut,
And never a light to guide the way,
To an end.

[Andalus]

Stealing the Breath of a Mountain God

I wonder how does grass grow
On the shores of a volcano,
Risen out of boiling oceans,
To offer newborn land?

Do the humble green grass stems
Know their home may evict them,
With no good reason but the anger,
That churns in magma glands?

Do the sheep that graze the grass,
Notice it tastes like sulphur gas,
Or that the shepherd boy who watches
Has a tremor in his hand?

Is there a farmer in the town
Who goes to fetch his livestock down,
And sees something in the flock's eyes
That he seems to understand?

Is there a widow weaving wool,
Who can't resist the mountain's pull,
Who stares upwards at its rocky slope
As she twists the coloured strands?

Where does the merchant's vision wait,
As he loads his ship with freight,
And sails off around the shore line,
Passing by the pumice sand?

Does he tell the foreign folk
His home island breathes out smoke,
The forge chimney of a blacksmith god,
Or pyre of the damned?

When he returns with cargo sold,
What does he do with all the gold,
That he earned from the volcano
And its wares, in distant lands?

Does he pay back to the vent
All he borrowed and was lent,
Or does he steal and all he trades,
He sells as contraband?

Is the merchant's heavy debt,
Ever at long last offset,
Or does he live in constant service
To his creditor's demand?

Does he ever climb the slope,
To see whenceforth comes his hope,
Or does he linger by the waters
Lapping calmly on the strand?

Will he know what took his home,
When the mountain claims its own,
And bursts forth like a bailiff,
To repossess the borrowed land?

[Marcus]

That last one is nice, it sounds like a reference to Pompeii to me.

[Andalus]

The initial inspiration came from the Minoan eruption of Thera, but there is a bit of Pompeii in there too.

[Andalus]

Hunter of the Sun

Sun-chasing Sköll, you pursue the sun's rays,
And break the silver clouds with your pounding paws.
Running blinkered through the sky, in deathly hunt of your prey,
Pouring rain on below from your slathering jaws.

Wolf, you seek to destroy what illumines the world,
And yearn the mindless satisfaction of devouring a star.
Though you can never succeed, and your dream is absurd,
In rabid lust you press on to the greed of your heart.

This light was once named, by divine Caesar, Sol Invictus;
The unconquerable sun, and yet still you bound on.
With what eternal vigour, you fear no seizure, nor ictus,
A grim hunter blinded by the heady scent of the dawn.

The hunt leads you far, far beyond the horizon;
Led around the whole world, still no nearer your goal.
The gap between you and your game never narrows, nor widens,
As your chase settles more to a steady patrol.

Perhaps one day you may end your pursuit,
As Fimbulwinter snows cascade thick on the fields.
Until then chase on, hungry wolf, with your lean back hirsute,
Keep the great sun moving with your jaws at her heels.