There are poems that seek
And some that keep;
Troubles that we find.
But some are fun,
They bring the sun
And help to heal the mind.
For things that are spoken
Find hearts that are broken,
Needing words to heal;
But joy can be found
If we let words surround,
Thoughts we can't conceal.
So it's time to look,
Turn the pages of this book
And find where reason leads;
For words can say
All that brightens the day,
To give the mind what it needs.
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Read an Excerpt
By Elizabeth Wesley
AuthorHouseCopyright © 2011 Elizabeth Wesley
All right reserved.
The night was fickle as November
A time when all sleep in slumber;
The moist mist hangs over the river,
And a still cold moon hangs as a sliver.
A soft liquid light captures the glow,
Of the first few flakes of new fallen snow;
She shines her light on turret towers,
And tucks in bed the sleeping flowers.
Her crescent rides through clouds that fly,
Shining on wolves as they howl and cry.
Etching the transient phantoms of night,
As wings of an owl brush the dust of flight;
The crystalline light shines on lovers,
Yet pale and still the moonlight hovers;
To tip with silver the restless waves,
And on tombstones marking silent graves.
Cast your moonbeams, cast them down,
As you float in your silver crown;
And the ribbon of dawn will wrap your head,
And put your shining eye to bed.
He mounted his horse impatient to ride,
With silver spurs and a heavy stride;
The clatter of hooves on the cobblestone street,
Flew on limbs so swift and fleet.
The moon rose above the copse on the hill,
Casting dark shadows gloomy and still;
The clock chimed twelve in the village square,
As he rode through the street shrouded and bare.
The toll of the bell in the stone church tower,
Rang long and loud at the midnight hour.
The moon rose above the graves on the hill,
Casting dark shadows dim and still;
Beneath the churchyard lay those who died,
But still he rode on with measured stride.
A glimmer of light from the belfry's height,
Pierces the gloom of the cold dark night;
As he leans in the saddle with reigns in his hand,
With flying feet he gallops over the land.
Ride up the hill and down in the dale,
His cape flying in the wind like a serpent's tail;
He rode his horse faster and fleet,
With sparks flying out from under his feet;
And people rose from their beds to listen and heed,
Of the footfall of rider and his gallant steed.
The footfall of March comes whistling by,
Wrapped in the hope that winter will die;
But the winds of winter still coldly blow,
Bringing the harvest of leftover snow.
The birds from south wing their way home,
From faraway places where feathered wings roam;
Pregnant with the breathless feelings that bring,
Promises of hope in the womb of Spring.
The bright days of Eden are almost here,
Blossoms that are sleeping will soon appear;
But only the snowdrop lifts her brave little head,
From a cold dank earth and lonely bed.
But the skies of grey are turning blue,
The days grow longer and storms are few;
Earth has joys to bring in her arms,
As the birth of Spring brings in all of her charms.
The languid eyes of soft sleepy June,
Awaken to tease the flowers that bloom;
With liquors of dew for striped honey bees,
Dipping their straws if the blossom agrees.
Let the whispering wind fly with no haste,
Thro pavilions of blossoms dotted with lace;
Where tender feet trip thru the myriad of greens,
To paint the pastures of June's sunny scenes.
The ancient forests deck far away hills,
Where winding streams drift thru unruly rills;
And the alchemy of all that is told,
Turns mossy stones into precious gold.
The perfumed petals adorned with scent,
Surround everywhere the elfin spirits went;
As these little ones skipped thru the sunlit day,
It was with these shadows I needed to play.
So the chapter of June comes to a close,
She floats into summer on the scent of a rose;
She pirouettes on tiptoe in her gossamer gown,
Wearing on her head a bright golden crown.
Pilgrims without Progress
Pilgrims without progress were a people by name,
They travelled a road that was always the same.
The way that was mapped for the route they took,
Was inscribed by pen in a leather bound book.
The road was rocky and scattered with thorn,
And the people were hot and feeling forlorn.
Their feet were sore and their faces were red,
And the sun shone without mercy down on their head.
The distance was painted with bright coloured flowers,
That soothed the eye and filled the long hours;
And a hawk that soared high in a bright blue sky,
Was looking for food to feed her babies nearby.
They kept on walking throughout the dark night,
With the moon on high shining her light.
A breeze that comforts touched their weary face,
Urging them onward to finish the race.
Though travels of all made them weary and sore,
A need to get there was not helping anymore;
For the way that they went led all of them round,
Back to the place where the beginning was found.
Waiting for You
Daylight is dying
Twilight comes flying
Purple and crimson blaze in the sky;
The sun's in a rush
To fade with a flush
And kiss the meadow good bye.
An hour for trysting
When you come unresisting
Precious and eager on hesitant feet;
Shadows disguise us
Rose scent to baptize us
Scenting our bed with odours so sweet.
We can't know the reason
Or the span of a season
But eternal the stars shine up above;
We never had sought it
We never had thought it
Were it not jeweled with the beauty of love.
But all is forgiven
By chance that has given
An hour for the transition of youth;
We never will know it
But our dream will now show it
Changing it all to astonishing truth.
The fireflies ignite you
My breath will excite you
Nothing will vex the passing of hours;
Come, I await you
Night is too late for you
Come while the dewdrops are kissing the flowers.
The wind of the night is
Fragrant with lilies
Touched by the scent, kissed by the dew;
The garden lies breathless
Where love awaits deathless
Under the starlight, I'm waiting for you.
There was a camel that trots a lot,
He trotted his way from Camelot;
With tasseled fringe and jeweled saddle,
He forded the sea with a golden paddle;
Up the dunes and across the sands,
He traversed the way to Arab lands;
Where there is no water to pump,
So he carried it in his camel's hump.
On the way from Camelot,
The rider found that he forgot
All the jewels and precious things,
Borrowed with haste from Hottentot kings;
So he turned his camel around,
For what was lost had not been found.
Then he steered his beast toward the east,
Where men of China drink and feast.
The man who came from Camelot,
Sat on his camel and smoked some pot;
He puffed with need on the evil weed,
Till his lungs were filled with empty greed.
He spent his days looking glazed,
And what he smoked caused some delays;
But the man on the camel that liked to trot,
His name of fame was Sir Lancelot
Now Sir Lancelot was very hot,
And he never found a shady spot;
But he had a drink from the camel's hump,
By using his hand to pump the lump.
And all the while the camel was panting,
While Sir Lancelot was loudly ranting;
And the words he spoke were poppycock,
All the way back to Camelot.
Do You Love Me
Do you love me enough, am I dear,
Do you hold me most precious of all?
In the quiet spaces of your heart,
Do you make it known, is it clear
To the one you love? If death's quick call
Should suddenly tear us apart
Leaving no time for a sad farewell,
Would you feel you had nothing to tell
Of things you wish you had said before?
Could you have said more?
Do you love me enough? How swift the years fly,
Faster and suddenly they fade away;
And each one carries its dead
With no words left when we cry.
Soft words to be whispered another day
May never be done or said.
Speak softly to me in my listening ear,
And know I want you to be always near.
Don't wait till I go to the grave,
For the time to tell of love is brief;
But long is the silence of our grief;
Do you love me enough to be brave?
Another Man's War
You won't be here when the lilacs bloom,
You won't breathe their sweet perfume;
Instead my love, you'll follow your star,
To fight with passion another man's war.
Skimming the air, the swallows fly low,
Over the battle where patches of snow
Mingle with mud and stains of blood,
Reaping the tide of that bitter flood.
On foot, by air or by lethal machine,
The fight of war is vast and mean;
Our sons charge thru the valley of death,
Crying aloud with their last breath;
And it plucks the soul and tears the heart
And grieves the loved at home apart.
Both pray to God for His will to win,
In spite of the fact that war is sin;
But love our neighbor and all mankind,
Would heal the loss and mend the mind.
Climb up the hill where gypsies hide,
And breathe on the wind of a restless tide;
Where notes of sorrow from a violin,
Cry out to the night from a heart within.
The day is dim and night is alive,
And gypsies dance like bees in a hive;
They spin and turn while the fire burns bright,
And sparks fly up to kiss the night.
Old men sit while weaving a tale,
While young men sit drinking their ale;
And fires of night flicker and glow,
While the winds of night moan and blow.
They dance too fast, they dance too far;
They follow the light of a fallen star;
But there in the sky a sickle shaped moon,
Dances with gypsies in the fires of June.
Queen of Hearts
There she sits with grace, and dainty
Satin dressed, a charming lady;
Her dark blue eyes and golden tresses,
Adorns a face that heaven blesses.
Gems and jewels shining, gleaming,
As the queen of hearts sits there dreaming;
Where she sits in lonely fashion,
Not fit to share her only passion
Of love for kings and love for jewels,
Not to mention her share of fools.
The king of hearts comes for his lady,
Down the path neath trees so shady;
Over hill in stately fashion,
Rides the king with all his bastion.
Drums are beating, trumpets blowing,
With the horses onward going;
Down the street on feet that clattered,
As if the dream was all that mattered;
There to meet his blue eyed lover,
A prized illusion to discover;
And all the joy that rang from rafter,
Was nothing more than daydream's laughter.
Finger of Fate
Women of wit are treacherous tools,
Ever fatefully embracing idiot fools;
When pleasure waves a finger, it's never too late,
To enjoy the indulgence of the finger of fate.
To tread through briars and hedges of thorn,
Where whimsies shrewd fickle feet are borne;
Tasting with delight the pleasures of pain,
Where everything's lost, and there is no gain.
Whenever a woman of wit should arrive,
Collect your wits to stay alive;
For you know she'll gather her skirts to chase,
And a fickle finger of fate might just save your face.
In the garden two were conceived,
The man and wife were Adam and Eve;
These two who sinned received no pardon,
In fair Eden's perfect garden.
They had a choice to choose from which tree,
But chose the wrong and had to flee,
For the serpent offered a deadly delight,
That was wasted in the garden that night.
This first sin was a vain endeavor,
Resulting in separation forever;
From a God who gave all He could give,
So others who followed could happily live.
Man's disobedience brought much pain,
It took the sun and brought the rain;
Where forbidden passions burned the soul,
And broke in pieces all that was whole.
The days of Eden were dim and cold,
Harboring a lesson that must be told;
We need the truth to help us see,
And that is the secret to keep us free.
A Summer Afternoon
Summer comes all clothed in green,
To paint the path of a passing scene.
Wheat in the field bound in sheaves,
Shares the glory of gold tipped leaves.
Gossamer drops of morning dew,
Lie on a bed of radiant blue;
And clusters that hang on wandering vines,
Brings juice that gives sweet scented wines.
The midnight owl takes her rest,
Hidden in the tree in a secret nest;
And raucous rooks in ferny nooks,
Take in the scene with cautious looks.
The hawk that flies under sapphire skies,
Stretches her wing till daylight dies;
Poised in flight, her arabesques,
Soaring, dipping, seem so effortless.
Prisms of sunbeams shimmer with gold,
To capture the warmth till day grows old;
Erasing the shadows that go at noon,
As day wastes away, all too soon.
Memories of autumn linger still
The pale sun loiters on the hill;
A prodigal year now grown old
Is gathering all her days of gold.
Flocks of birds now eager to go
We share the dream with footsteps slow;
We meet beneath the apple tree
Join hands in silent company.
We will not part love, oh not yet
Too soon the weary sun will set.
The crickets cease to sing their song
The gold and russet wilt away;
The crimson trees stayed too long
And all the sky is wet and grey.
We know at night the frost will fall
And scar the asters on the hill;
The golden rod and sumac all
Will feel the hand of winter's chill.
But love, it is not time to part
I need to hold you near my heart;
Yesterday was such a golden smile
Tonight we might love awhile;
Till autumn dies and love forget
When we must leave, but dear not yet.
The Hanging Tree
My cup of wine was ruby red,
I ran fast my love to see;
With a heart full of joy I said,
"How wild with love can a man be"?
The stars were laughing overhead,
And I danced with shadows merrily.
I thought, in a week we'll wed,
No more lonesome lady she;
We'll lie together in a bed,
And I will father babies three.
So dancing on the air I sped,
To her who did not wait for me.
Then I went with careful tread,
With beating heart my lass to see;
To the window where the light was shed,
Softly shining on the lea.
Then with my eyes I saw with dread,
Two shadows silhouetted there to see.
Another man sat on the bed,
And she unclothed upon his knee;
She looked in my eyes with dread,
Then her paramour was wont to flee.
Now the floor is bloody red,
And I'm waiting for the hanging tree.
Sleep my darling, the darkness is here,
Floating soft on crystalline dreams;
Scented with perfumes of night so dear,
With starlight sprinkling all of your dreams.
The hooty owl calls his amorous song,
Blessedly silent is the noise of day;
The stars of the night have shown,
Sleep my baby as long as you may.
Sleep my darling, the night is tranquil,
Moonbeams surround you at rest;
The wind is softly calling to you,
With hymns that are ancient and blessed.
Daisies come hither in the field to dance,
Morning comes quickly with tomorrow's tears,
But tonight is star struck with romance,
Sleep my baby with no more fears,
Daylight will come in a couple of years.
I forgive you dear Emily,
For you are more than fair;
Your flirty eyes give promise,
Your pouty lips don't care.
From the tilt of your head,
A heart it could break;
Your silken cheek with blush,
Where pretty dimples wake.
The mayhem in your eyes,
That will not look at me;
There the damage lies,
There for all to see.
You wink coquettish lash,
To entice me in the night;
Would the knowing of your heart,
Make everything alright?
What your callous lips may say,
Your naughty eyes deny;
What a tease dear Emily,
Enough to make me cry.
I rode down yonder cobbled street,
On stones that clattered 'neath my horse's feet;
Till we reached a grand lampstand,
That marks the place that ends the land
Where city street meets country lane,
And horses ride in summer's rain.
Out on the lane with fleet of foot,
We rode a path within the wood;
To wander round bright green trees.
With ruffled mane in a prodigal breeze,
To spy where pale narcissi lay,
And sparrows decked each floral spray.
Where squirrelly clowns cast their spell,
And twining vine where birdsongs tell
Of all the faerie tales when told,
Were all the joys and tears of old,
That lend their gold to aspen leaves,
And flutter gently in the breeze.
Sunbeams shaft thro trees with light,
Taking shadowed wings in feathered flight.
Along a path the sweet primrose,
Nod their heads with crowns of gold;
And as we leave the woods behind,
Meadowsweet's not hard to find.
From out the shade and into sun,
I urge my horse to a steady run;
Clip clop, clip clop the steady beat,
Defines the rhyme of horse's feet.
She shakes her mane and lifts her tail,
And the light in her eye can never fail.
Through dappled meadow and rutted lane,
We trot the copse through fields of grain;
Where bridal veil of blossoms bloom,
And scent the air with faint perfume.
As we round the corner and take the bend,
Home's right there, we've reached the end.
From the mouth of the ocean and the eye of the wave
You erupt in my being and leap from my grave;
A lover so gloomy, yet dreadfully bright
You're clothed with the darkness but crowned with light.
You come in the spark, you soar with the fire
The mist is your pillow, the tornado your choir;
I will kiss you to sleep on the wild ocean's crest
A sleeping volcano, an earthquake at rest.
When you feel the earth move under your feet
The sun will bathe you with her sultry heat;
Let not the stars dim the light in your eyes
Let not my passion find you unwise;
For all that you are is to be all that you can
For you are the dream, you are my man.
Excerpted from Polished Stones by Elizabeth Wesley Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth Wesley. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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