From : Horace23@aol.com
Sent : Wednesday, May 19, 2004 9:45 PM
To : david_a_casey@hotmail.com
Subject : Further poesy (Praise!)



A great good day to you, sir.
I have here a series of newly-finished poems of poems of sorts, and would be most obliged if you'd deign to add them to the glory of yonder paganistic web-venture.

Poem the first

In this deep and boundless dark
I glimpse a softly dreaming bird
heard more than seen, felt more than heard
Perhaps, when it's tired, it will land in my tree
or it could be vicious, and tear off my bark
Perhaps, then, I will finally be free

The sun is fading and the world is turning
turning, forever, toward what is true
Somewhere in this world the world is burning
but here everything is turning to blue

Maybe, though I can't see it, the bird is flying
I feel the wind of the planets at my back
Maybe, like the planets, the bird is dying
The stars are slowly dipped in black

Now, though it's dark, I can still see
and, though it hurts me, I can be free

In the misted forests of my mind
where weeping woodsmen hold aloft
an ancient sapling, swept by the wind
very somber and very soft



Poem the Second

It was late in the morning and
the mist still lingered; so I set out blindly
and the world swirled around me
Gripping my coat.

The soft breeze bore me on my way
and then blew back, against my face
I reached a grove, where an old man smiled
at a curved bowl, brimming with flowers

"This is the moon," he whispered.
"Right here in this forest I've found the moon."

I hurried on and left him alone
an old man and his flowers
irreparably at peace.



Poem the Third

My love, the moon and water lie
within your hair, beneath your face
We hold the echo of the spheres
enclosed within this silent place
And underneath the turning skies
I glimpse the shadows in your eyes
It draws a lovely, weary sigh
draws out the lonely scent of tears



Poem the Fourth

I always feel rather ill-at-ease
when she glides by
caressed by a lilac-scented breeze
at times I feel that I could die

When the towers of hope have crumbled in the West
When weary men ponder what they could have had
and realize they'd trade it all for a little rest;
When the inevitable loneliness comes down like death
My words are softly driven mad
by dreaming of a warm, sweet breath

She paused, one finger resting slightly on her throat
and from that pressure I almost felt
the faint deceit of a musical note
the rocks of the world began to melt

But when the wind began to ask her why she came...
When she was overcome by her own melody
When she closed her eyes as if in ecstasy
the wind of the world seemed to mouth my name

Her whisper, made of feathers, drew slowly near
it dipped and sang like a bird in flight
She cried a lilac-scented tear
and swam away into the night


I grunt in affirmation. I have a few more, I just don't know where they are. Have a fine day Mr Casey

- Fidel the Magnificent