The Sun, a Ballade

April 8, 2012

No campaign could ever convince
no brave prophet, however bold
could share what his dreams did evince
Never believed though we were told
that man would ever lose his hold,
that control could ever be won.
Never believed we’d feel this cold:
The great erasure of the sun.

We tore up all offending prints
burned the heretic books of old
cast their writers out as cretins
swore as one, we would never fold
that we would never be cajoled
we believed it could not be done,
a story we wouldn’t be sold:
The great erasure of the sun.

But O, for all those ignored hints,
the day it came, the sky burned gold,
the sun burst with one final glint
flaming rains fell, the sky it rolled
lightning struck, booming thunder growled
the omen of the fallen one
coming down to collect our souls,
The great erasure of the sun.

When will you come to us, O Prince,
keeper of night, when will you come?
We wait for you here, have been since
The great erasure of the sun.


Originally posted in Form Focus at poetry-here-and-now.


xxvi. Climbing Back

April 18, 2011

the easiest thing to do is to just let go;
let your fingers loosen;
let your grip undo;
let yourself… fall.

The darkness down below is so much more comforting
than the light above.
The sun rises –
the sun falls
but the darkness is constant.

in the dark you can feel so at one with yourself,
when in the light
you feel alone,
you feel lost.
In the dark there is no alone; there is nothing.

the path just feels too long no matter how far you have come.
In the dark,
there is nowhere to go,
nothing to look back on,
only the moment and eternity as one.

the darkness is a place to go to leave the world behind,
to catch your breath,
to bear up,
to get back on your feet,
so that you are ready to face the light again.

the darkness is the only place that you can feel strong
but do not let the darkness become your home;
find the strength
to climb back
for the light is life and the dark is a hellish place once your eyes adjust.



Originally written for the @PoetsHereandNow forum, linked here.

xvi. What if?

April 1, 2011

Squinting out the sun
as it invades your sleep
Zero flicks to one;
deafening: beep beep beep.
As the volume grows
you beg the night to stay
wishing for the shadows
to keep the day away.
Curtains drawn but light
creeps rudely through;
screw your eyes up tight
but morning claws at you.
But if the Sun could hear your pleas
that it should lose its battle with the moon,
If it turned back just to appease,
refusing to bring dawn or noon,
Would you be content,
to see night reign
Or in such an event,
beg for sun again?



Inspired by the following poem (a gogyohka) from Brigid Briton, found over at her poets’ forum, Poetry Here and Now:

what if day decided
like a groundhog
to turn around and sleep
a while

vii. Sun Set

March 16, 2011

we ran
up the stairs
to watch
the sun set
a second time

ii. Summer Sun

March 5, 2011

Summer Sun
lights up the sky;
lights up the corners
and the cracks;
rubs the shadows out.

Summer Sun
chases off the cold
and scares away
the apathy
that winter left.

Summer Sun
casts new life
across the land;
casts a smile
across my face.



Inspired by One Stop Poetry’s ‘Poetically Friday‘.

i. Rain City

March 4, 2011

Above them glowed a golden sun,
The first they’d seen of it in years.

The people gazed up at the sky,
At something they had long forgot;

For so long, rain was all they’d known;
The rain defined their lives; The rain,
Had been the only thing they could,
Depend upon. From morning right,
Through every day, the rain came down.

There were a few among them who,
Had been around before the rain,
But none remembered how it felt,
The rain had washed those days away.

For all the rest, the sun was new,
An alien come from the grey;
That soft grey safety blanket they,
Had been wrapped up in right from birth.
And now that blanket had been snatched!

Exposed, they stared up at the sun;
It stung their eyes and burned their skin;

They soon all ran for cover from,
This stranger in the sky. And this,
This scramble for the shade was what,
Sparked memories for that small few,
The few that had survived this long.

They suddenly remembered how,
They too had run for shelter when,
The rain began to fall. There was,
A time when they had hidden from,
The rain; A time when they had missed,
The sun… And now it had returned,
To grant them warmth once more.

But how were they to tell the rest,
Who loved the rain, and loved the dark,
The clouds it cast above, the grey,
It painted in their sky, the cold,
It’s blanket wrapped them in. How could,
They ever understand that this,

This brightness, boldness, heat, was good?
A thing for them to bask in, not,
A thing to fear; A thing to set,
Them free from dreary servitude;
A thing to light their way; A source
Of vibrant joy. The light it cast,
Could rid them of the apathy,
The rain had filled them with; Could help,
Them live again, if only they,
Could see the truth. But fear of change,
Impeded them – Their fear, it made,
Them yearn for rain, for what they knew,
And when the sun persisted, they,
Rose up as one and put up walls,
To block its light; To keep its heat,
At bay, to claw their blanket back.

Eventually, the elders passed,
’til none remained from days before,
The rain. No, none were left to teach,
The rest to leave the shade and trust,
The sun. And thus, they stayed inside,
For good and raised their young the same.

The sun burned on, up in the sky,
But none who lived there let its light,
Shine on their lives; they never felt,
It’s warmth upon their skin again.

They never knew the joy the sun,
Could bring; They never felt the sense,
Of freedom that it promised them.



Inspired by the title of the song, ‘Rain City‘, by Turin Brakes.