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Literature Text
The Bard to His Love, at Length
It is a tale as old as history itself: two young lovers, one mortal, one immortal, drawn together by the strands of Fate. But ah, amorous youth! - the journey is not an easy one. Let us gaze upon one such scene, even now in progress, and witness the tragic tragedy of a romance that was never meant to be...
BARD:
O splendid Queen, to mine own heart so dear
Whose eyes, twin suns, twin lanterns, gleam sublime
Thy subjects dot the vast celestial sphere
Thy praises, ranks of cherubs constant chime
Thy face, like Helen, launched a thousand hearts
Though Helen never spoke as fair as thee,
Whose dulcet voice in graceful notes imparts
Thy wisdom, keen as Hell's severest darts!
ELF GIRL:
Were thou but mute, I might still be asleep!
Pray write some tale of unrequited love
And take it somewhere far away, and weep
Where bards perhaps are thought more highly of.
Mere time, 'tis said, the broken heart repairs
And might I add, that silence wouldn't hurt -
'Twere best, keep private all thy heart's affairs,
And ride away, and tell someone who cares!
BARD:
O wretched Chance! My fate is ever such:
My blushing rose doth prick me with her thorns -
Yet do I love the sting - nay, thrice so much
Because of that perfection it adorns.
Less faithful beaus, 'tis true, might be dismayed
And founder, as a bark amid the storm -
But guided by thy star, I'll not be swayed -
Remember me, the constant bard who stayed!
ELF GIRL:
Yea, how could I forget? Thy nightly pleas
Incessant 'til the very crack of dawn
Have all the charm of drunken bumblebees
Who, lacking honey, heedless bumble on -
O unwashed hair! O stench! O chin so cleft!
Remember thee, the constant bard who stayed?
The trick would be, I'd wager, far more deft
Could thou but be the constant bard who left!
BARD:
Were I to leave, thy face would haunt me still
Thy velvet lips, lush gardens of desire
Thy supple skin, whose light, against my will
Doth alternately tempt me, and inspire;
O elven race! Like silk, thy raven hair
How slim thy curves! How sheer thy pedestal!
Thy soul divine! In form, how passing rare!
'Twould be unjust to call thee merely fair!
ELF GIRL:
Wilt thou shut up! I'll give it to thee straight:
Thy face into a castle wall be rammed -
Thy tongue be tied - O sweet poetic fate -
Iambic verse, and thee, alike be damned -
Is this my curse, for being born an elf?
Eternally to live, inspiring fools?
Put back thy pointless passions on the shelf -
Forsooth! I'll come and take thee out myself!
BARD:
Yet verily -
It was at this moment that the elven sylph hurled a clock down upon the hapless bard, who, already Smitten With Love, was subsequently Smitten With One of Her Family Heirlooms. Not every tale can have a happy ending - but it's nice to see that this one did.
It is a tale as old as history itself: two young lovers, one mortal, one immortal, drawn together by the strands of Fate. But ah, amorous youth! - the journey is not an easy one. Let us gaze upon one such scene, even now in progress, and witness the tragic tragedy of a romance that was never meant to be...
BARD:
O splendid Queen, to mine own heart so dear
Whose eyes, twin suns, twin lanterns, gleam sublime
Thy subjects dot the vast celestial sphere
Thy praises, ranks of cherubs constant chime
Thy face, like Helen, launched a thousand hearts
Though Helen never spoke as fair as thee,
Whose dulcet voice in graceful notes imparts
Thy wisdom, keen as Hell's severest darts!
ELF GIRL:
Were thou but mute, I might still be asleep!
Pray write some tale of unrequited love
And take it somewhere far away, and weep
Where bards perhaps are thought more highly of.
Mere time, 'tis said, the broken heart repairs
And might I add, that silence wouldn't hurt -
'Twere best, keep private all thy heart's affairs,
And ride away, and tell someone who cares!
BARD:
O wretched Chance! My fate is ever such:
My blushing rose doth prick me with her thorns -
Yet do I love the sting - nay, thrice so much
Because of that perfection it adorns.
Less faithful beaus, 'tis true, might be dismayed
And founder, as a bark amid the storm -
But guided by thy star, I'll not be swayed -
Remember me, the constant bard who stayed!
ELF GIRL:
Yea, how could I forget? Thy nightly pleas
Incessant 'til the very crack of dawn
Have all the charm of drunken bumblebees
Who, lacking honey, heedless bumble on -
O unwashed hair! O stench! O chin so cleft!
Remember thee, the constant bard who stayed?
The trick would be, I'd wager, far more deft
Could thou but be the constant bard who left!
BARD:
Were I to leave, thy face would haunt me still
Thy velvet lips, lush gardens of desire
Thy supple skin, whose light, against my will
Doth alternately tempt me, and inspire;
O elven race! Like silk, thy raven hair
How slim thy curves! How sheer thy pedestal!
Thy soul divine! In form, how passing rare!
'Twould be unjust to call thee merely fair!
ELF GIRL:
Wilt thou shut up! I'll give it to thee straight:
Thy face into a castle wall be rammed -
Thy tongue be tied - O sweet poetic fate -
Iambic verse, and thee, alike be damned -
Is this my curse, for being born an elf?
Eternally to live, inspiring fools?
Put back thy pointless passions on the shelf -
Forsooth! I'll come and take thee out myself!
BARD:
Yet verily -
It was at this moment that the elven sylph hurled a clock down upon the hapless bard, who, already Smitten With Love, was subsequently Smitten With One of Her Family Heirlooms. Not every tale can have a happy ending - but it's nice to see that this one did.
Literature
Your Poem
On the twentieth day of July 69,
For the first time in history,
The moon landed on a man.
The first time such move had been attempted by a celestial body,
A great feat of precision,
Didn't crush the man at all.
You see, we see things from our eyes,
And everyone knows our eyes see upside down.
Or is that the right way up?
I could tell you about walking through deserts,
The beauty of running water, of rain,
You'd be thinking of TV shows.
When was the last time you were challenged,
Walked away from a conversation stunned.
Who are you listening to, me or yourself?
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Is meaning in the eye of t
Literature
Echoic
Echoic
Your core is refracted and deflected from
the straight path which
continues to lead you here.
Your transcendence,
although well documented,
lacked any sub-stantial
evidence
or clues on how to break
your punctuated fall.
R E S U R G E N C E
Fresh diffusal of cool silence
in this echoic theatre of beauty;
imitation of speech and gesture,
up
close
and personal.
You are replication,
my draft and fuzzy focus -
interpreted perfectly,
clearly defined fractal lines;
my better half
and improved reflection
lying in wait for me.
Literature
Snowfall Dances
Settling softly
A graceful fall
Pirouetting in crystal air
A dance of elegance
Lost in the multitude
Ended by the earth's firm kiss.
The snowflake sinks
Into a bed of brethren
Becomes one with all
Singularity surrendered
To join the Drift
In blissful anonymity.
Motionless
That which was
Lies silent
Smothered and smothering
Awaiting thaw
And Spring's release.
One wonders
Does it now regret
The fall from grace
Abandoning its dance
Or does it slumber, fury faded
Knowing peace at last?
Suggested Collections
They can't all be Beren and Luthien.
© 2006 - 2024 bbd127
Comments5
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I love this too. Very interesting. I was actually laughing. I don't do that very often these days to computer screens. Is it okay if I leave a comment on EVERYTHING you've written telling you how great it is?
I don't need your permission...
I don't need your permission...