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Array ( [sid] => 184746 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => English Death Comes Darkly In The Light [time] => 2017-12-30 21:44:08 [hometext] => The foulness of English royalty and their thirst for conquest [bodytext] => Wind sang skimming, breaching waves beating Irish fence, those stones of ancient hew.
A thousand years of misted song those seaside dwellers knew.
O, salt, ye/'/ spawn of sea, ever spraying beach to land;
white, crusty, crystallized, resolute in eons spent, a timeless lonely stand.

Yeats coaxed verse from blooded land, Irish love vexed by English law.
Keats, Keats! pen of truth, love, though in youth death stole with fanged tooth, crunching jaw.
Verse born on conflict/'/s hips, rhyme torn from Irish sea off wind-capped frothy lips;
life, death all danced through mist whilst dawn cried tears in dewy drips.

Knights, pages clashed upon the land turning green to red in slashing hack,
English spears pierced for land while sky bade farewell to dying Irish strewn in death upon their backs.
And English Kings safe, aloft, viewed melee/'/s on steeds clad in steel and gold,
though feel they not metaled pain; no! no harm intrudes their Royal fold.

Irish sea and land watched English gall, venting bitter salted tears on all.
Irish mirth laughed on English Kings, divining they too in time would fall.
Blind Knights died for glory, for their King, for the story soon sang of this fight,
as royal waves blessed their dying, a conquest forged for land, hatched darkly in the light. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 81 [topic] => 31 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )

English Death Comes Darkly In The Light

Contributed by invierno on Saturday, 30th December 2017 @ 09:44:08 PM in AEST
Topic: StoryPoetry

Wind sang skimming, breaching waves beating Irish fence, those stones of ancient hew.
A thousand years of misted song those seaside dwellers knew.
O, salt, ye/'/ spawn of sea, ever spraying beach to land;
white, crusty, crystallized, resolute in eons spent, a timeless lonely stand.

Yeats coaxed verse from blooded land, Irish love vexed by English law.
Keats, Keats! pen of truth, love, though in youth death stole with fanged tooth, crunching jaw.
Verse born on conflict/'/s hips, rhyme torn from Irish sea off wind-capped frothy lips;
life, death all danced through mist whilst dawn cried tears in dewy drips.

Knights, pages clashed upon the land turning green to red in slashing hack,
English spears pierced for land while sky bade farewell to dying Irish strewn in death upon their backs.
And English Kings safe, aloft, viewed melee/'/s on steeds clad in steel and gold,
though feel they not metaled pain; no! no harm intrudes their Royal fold.

Irish sea and land watched English gall, venting bitter salted tears on all.
Irish mirth laughed on English Kings, divining they too in time would fall.
Blind Knights died for glory, for their King, for the story soon sang of this fight,
as royal waves blessed their dying, a conquest forged for land, hatched darkly in the light.

Copyright © invierno ... [ 2017-12-30 21:44:08]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: English Death Comes Darkly In The Light (User Rating: 1 )
by JamesStockdale on Sunday, 31st December 2017 @ 05:58:24 AM AEST
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Great write with very unique wording.
One of your best.
Maybe old England should return? Cause in the last decade they lost their way!

Re: English Death Comes Darkly In The Light (User Rating: 1 )
by nightwolf on Sunday, 31st December 2017 @ 11:27:11 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I loved the rhyme and flow. Great write

Re: English Death Comes Darkly In The Light (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Monday, 1st January 2018 @ 04:37:54 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

where do we travel,
darkly in the light,
some move, some never
rest, still the same,
embodiment. avoiding
the sky in the dark
with light all around
again and again

but Yeats you were so
mystical, unlike Keats
who was fabulously
romantic, I stood,
in a manner, upon
the hill, we would
be together, for
I knew it to be true...

We would not be Knights
or even know of ships that
sailed the seven seas

We would instead be
ourselves, naturally

I thought in the dark
as the wind sat clearly
motionless against
A moonless cityscape
when I was young

nice Invierno!
Peace!

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