#petrarchan

[slowtumbling]

Upon the Absent Beloved

I bless the hour, though it wounded me,when first my eyes were taught to look and grieve,and every joy I thought my heart could weavewas turned to golden thread of misery. For Beauty came, and with her majestymade captive all I had believed was free;yet in that chain my soul learned how to seethe heaven hidden in captivity. O gentle light, too distant to be mine,you burn within me like a sacred…

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[poeticallypiarrot]

Howl

by Philip Piarrot

Nothing in this world seems to move the dial

Tired of this plane of existence. Try the next

What I have to say won’t fit in a text

Blathering on just seems to be my style

What I need may be the feminine wile

And not the phenomenon that is ‘sext’

Sure way to engender a gag reflex

I’d trade all that in for one truthful smile

I mustn’t think of throwing in the towel

I mustn’t tell myself that I’m not free

The moon is out, it’s natural to howl

I must admit that there is light to see

Nevermore, if I may quote the raven

With these marks, I’ll build a tender haven

[haley-harrison]

Fresh update, y’all

“(...)

I am an anglerfish, and you a coral reef - I dwell in darkness, while you could blind the sun. I wish I could turn over a new leaf, But I'm stuck, like a jammed safety on a gun.

You've made it clear, I see it now: There never was a chance; And yet, my dear, My heart will bow To you, as if in a trance.

Curse you, curse me, curse this Universe and Fate, Damn these feelings and this hunger I can't sate. “

~ excerpt from the latest update to my FictionPress. You can find more here:

https://www.fictionpress.com/u/1125556/HaleyProtega282

[scned]

Once I told you of a crazed mother cow

Mistaken often, prowess of the bull

Compared to the one whom nurs’d the calf full

Trepidly I’d cross her path even now

and take the life of the ox who doth plough

who to whom the farmer is most helpful

and never the one who loved a handful

the calf a consequence to disavow

Oh crazy cow now I am forced to see

After many of your babes ripped away

by rancher, wolves, and tricky coyote

you refused our bribe and payment of hay

to be the mother you needed to be

[a-rexr]

Youth

We were once the youth, carrying garlands of buttercups

Rebelling against the world and loving all but none

We protested and strayed from the life of grownups

The life we led became only a great run

You drew me in, enchanted me like red catchflies

Attraction grew like mayflowers and foxglove

With a white lilac summer radiant in the skies

Together, we grew cinquefoils and feelings of love

But our days can only ever last in a moment

Blue as crocus and meadow saffron we become

But even if baby’s breath and chorchorus go absent

We will bear fruit like clusters of apple blossom

In our youth, we resisted, rose up against fate

Today, we carry the rosebuds that open future’s gate

[poeticallypiarrot]

Revelation

by Philip Piarrot

Blessed with the sudden urge to be sincere

But there is nothing at heart to confess

It is apparent I must deal with less

And orient myself. Paint the veneer

Little to go on, it’s harder to steer

Propitiation must salvage this mess

Mountain summit and the wind’s firm caress

Prostrate, in hopes that salvation is near

In search of the one tested silver key

Amongst the affronts and amongst the dearth

Look past the veneer, perhaps at the sea

Your determination, round as the earth

Began this riddle with nothing to say

But what I must do now is clear as day

[poeticallypiarrot]

Red

by Philip Piarrot

Harmless and confused, he asks of his muse

‘Tell me young lady, are you my mother?’

She eyes the pillow, ready to smother

This old gentleman, like yesterday’s news

‘Honey, a moment. Would you please excuse...’

Once in the bathroom, she texts her brother

‘This man’s a loon. I can’t be his lover.’

The brother responds, ‘start digging for clues’

She emerges to the sound of snoring

Going through drawers, she looks under the bed

Amidst all the dust, a small ornate box

‘Hello,’ she says...’this doesn’t look boring’

Pieces that slide like a series of locks

She makes for the door, a lady in red

[poeticallypiarrot]

Recompense

by Philip Piarrot

It is odd, but I come to you in prayer

Stolid, to be sure, but in recompense

Now, while the words in my head still make sense

While I still have the compunction to dare

Showing my hand with a cupboard laid bare

With little regard for what was past tense

Attempting to cross a gap so immense

Destitute hamlet, and now I’m the mayor

To be sure, now the tide is rolling in

Structures of sand, in the end, have no chance

I can’t hear your voice above all the din

And can’t remember why I brought my lance

Affixed we are now, on opposite poles

Clergymen stranded with nothing but stoles