Thursday, 15 March 2007

• Poetry

  I was wading through my Documents folder, reading old school assignments, etc, when I came across some poems that I had forgotten about. Finding an old poem is like finding a (yes, I know this is over-used) dear friend. A poem is like a little piece of your soul. A poem reflects your world view, and the beauty that you see in life (or ugliness).
  
  Anyway, I decided to post some of those poems here. Some of them may be repeats, but oh well!
  (The flow of a few of these may be a bit off, but you must excuse me, some of these are early poems!)
  
  

  I see the moon

  It shines and shines above me,

  Ever so bright and pearly.

  Its ivory face gleams so clearly,

  As I look at the tiny island,

  So glistening and so light,

  I bare my soul to its soft gleam,

  And think kind thoughts of the night.

  Oh moon! How you alone reflect the sun!

  Oh moon! You shine with the light of a thousand stars!

  Moon! I sit entranced in your pure light!

  Moon...your light is a caress,

  Moon...your bright shadow a vision of glory,

  Moon...your face a mask of pearly tears.

  
  

   I see the moon now.

  It shines and shines above me.

  I see its tender look, its gleam of round delight,

  And I gaze sadly at the pale orb,

  So far far away,

  And a drop falls from my radiant eye:

  A gift from the moon.

  
  

  ______________________________________________________________________________________
  

  
  

  My Weed Garden

  
  I have a garden, so full of weeds -

  Oh! those steadfast stubborn steeds

  Of hate and menace, green with envy

  Of my stolid tomatoes, beets and sundry.

  Some are cloaked with flowers fair -

  Others with thorns of despair.

  Watching ever and anon

  For honest workers to appear,

  And on them leap and rend and tear:

  Flowers sweet and flowers rare!
  

  
  

  Here I have a leafy field,
  

  Once the home of roses-red,

  Now a den of thieves and dead

  Unwholesome things unfit to eat -

  So choked up is this plot of land,
  

  That now I call it my weed garden!

  
  ______________________________________________________________________________________
  
  
  Now this is a close-to-final draft of a poem that began as a blog post about
  
  barbecuing.
  
  

  Grilling is the entrance into a land of smoke and fire.

  The fuel gas or coal, the chef young or old, the options overflow,

  While the culinary flames  bestow their warmth and lend their spice -

  When the cooking fires grow.

  Grilling is the entrance into a land of scent and fragrance.

   

  The sauce that sautes, the fiery rays

  That flavor and perfume in a delicate dance.

  The savory mist that carefully obeys

  The orders of dials and switches.

  Grilling is the entrance into a land of order and justice.

   

  The thermometer tells me the meat is done,

  The sausage golden,

  The grease has run

  Down, down into the heated pit of drippings.

  Grilling is the entrance into a land of baste and marinade.

   

  The flames soar and smoke pours -

  Heat will sear and burn.

  I turn the valve and pull the lever,

  Drench the fire and stifle the roar

  Of raging blaze and scorching light.
  

  Grilling is the entrance into a land of calm and quiet.

   

  Put out the light and quench the fire -

  The duty is done and over.

  Bring in the platter, load up the table!

  Fill your stomach, if you are able.
  

  Grilling is the entrance into a land of feasting and joy.
  

  
  
  That's all for now folks!
  
  Geoffrey
  
  
  
  These poems are copyright  Geoffrey Machamer. You may not re-use or reproduce them without the express permission from the author.
  

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