magic

Ondine: A Tale of the Sea

Folder: 
Narrative Poems

Deep oceans dwelt in her soft cadenced
breathing, and the song of the seagull
strained in her hair, and her eyes had the hues
of the sunset as they sank in the distance
in hazel-brown skies.

She came unexpected, entangled in weeds,
caught in the net of a sad-eyed fisherman,
and her song had the call of the ocean,
and the call of the wave, and was heard

by all creatures that live in the deep:
the fisherman's nets now are crowded galore!
Bass, salmon, and lobster, bewitched by the song
of the girl who came from the sea!

They made love in his cabin, off the west coast
of Ire, the girl from the ocean and the sad-eyed
fisherman. And her sighs were like magic,
like the surf on the beach, and her moans were
like breakers that broke on the cliffs of his heart.

He was caught in the foam of her spell-binding
songs, caught in the strands of her sand-colored
hair, caught in the breeze of her lips, and the fish

in her mouth, as they loved in his cabin off the west
coast of Ire, and the tide of the ocean, and the wind
of the sea, and the sighs of the girl stole right
into his heart.

Now the cabin lies empty, struck by the wind,
and the waves of the ocean, and the tides
of the sea, and a song that bewitches

can be heard in the distance, in hazel-brown
skies, which glow like the eyes of the girl
who came from the sea.

(c) Copyright Jim Valero, 2012.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is written in ballad style. It employs cadence, rather than strict meter, to create evocative rhythms. As you read it aloud, you will notice the cadences and the textures built by sound effects like assonance, alliteration, and so on. Repetition works to create a longing, melancholy feeling in this ballad about a mysterious love by the shores of lovely Ireland.

Magical

The magic's in the moments
we never want to end.
We closed our eyes
beneath the skies
and watched the moonlight bend.

The magic's in the moments
we feel within our hearts.
I opened mine-
and just in time
to watch a shooting star.

The moments become magic
when everything is right.
The rising sparks
turned into stars
then faded into night.

I start to feel the magic
when you hold me warm and close.
You're fast asleep-
your breathing deep-
our faces nose to nose.

I feel the magic living
as I watch the moon go down.
But the end begins
as the sun ascends
and starts to wake the town.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I know it doesn't sound finished, but I kinda don't think I ever want to. It suits the moment it describes this way.

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Ghosts of days gone by and voices that remain silent

No one speaks of those events
the evening when a soul was required for the game
when four young kids called out into a realm
they did not understand; opening a door that would not be
closed unless one should be offered as a sacrifice.
Is this hazy specter beyond the glass, beyond reflection that very soul;
the ghost that will not let go?

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Magical Unicorns

Folder: 
Unicorns

Magical Unicorns,
Prancing through the sky.
Who knows how
these beauties
get around.

Maybe they walk on rainbows,
up in the sky.
Maybe they just fly,
without any help,
just on their own!

Maybe they use the clouds,
jumping from one to the other,
causing the clouds,
to take the shape they do.
They might be cloud shapers.

Maybe they jump from star to star,
and since we can't see the stars in the day,
to us,
these magical beauties
seem to be flying.

However these Magical Unicorns
get around,
all I know is that
I want to be one,
and be beautiful.

A beautiful unicorn,
that everyone adores,
who can fly through the sky,
and be totally free.

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Deaf Man's Tragedy

If I were to tell a deaf man of the radio,
I would start with the promise it brings.
The hope springing in your heart when you press the button,
The chance, that your favorite song, or perhaps a potential favorite comes on.
The feeling of rushing down the highway, with your window down.
Dancing, like you honestly don’t care.
Because you don’t.
Nothing, in your mind, could tear you down
Because when the wind is in your hair
and you are hopping and jiving in your seat,
You are unstoppable.
You can be whoever you want to be with the press of a button.
From thug, to classical musician, to a Latin dancer, and back.
The possibilities are endless…
But then again,
how selfish would it be, to describe such a thing to a person incapable of experiencing such magic?

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Potts Wallace

Have you heard the trancing words
of the Mystic Bedouin?
Have you witnessed his wonders
that force men's thoughts to skew?
Such things we could believe...
If only we were faithful...
Do you believe such magic?
Do you think of him a fraud?

An arm that's bathed in blessing
from which he calls his thunder.
Casts an eye upon us;
he speaks forgotten words.
A breathless gasp that rings amidst
a crowd that's been devoured
by a man that wields a God-borne fist
and charges by each hour.

Said to bore from Galloway
but born from Marmouth soil,
a hermit sheltered by the day
who speaks and sings untethered.
Truest name of his to own
is known by those who do such wrongs.
But they grasp at strings and find
that he has moved along at ease.

Sly Potts Wallace, forward on
to find a few and willing hosts
to feed upon with might and fancy,
at last to show them the mystic lives.
His palest skin, his fetid core,
his grin that serves his wandering eye;
he turns from "home" and sets ablaze
a path of righteous indignation.

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Dark Silence

Folder: 
Satanic Serenades

Listen to the wind
Feel the earth beneath you
Whispers in the air
Energy course up through your flesh
Deriving strength within, without
Entering your mind infernal
Gates of Hell open wide
Animated black flame

In the still, in the night
Ravens speak, then take flight
Feel the tone in your bones
Conjoined, what is, and is to be
Alive in all that is to see

Dark Silence, spreading forth
Ripples in the air
Meditate, materialize
The Daemon rises, conjured eyes
Perceive the path, The Will of Mine

Candle fire gently flickers
Incense taking shapes
Shades of brothers, sisters baneful
Appearing on the walls
To greet again in this darkened place

Words take form in reality
Whispers echo rumbling thunder
Desires come to be
By the Name, the Only One
Projection, reflection
Summoned unto Me
Kingdom Come, Kingdom Won
All is done and All is One

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A Satanic Meditation. Reflections upon prevailing hellemental conditions stimulating psychological sensations.

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THE MUSICAL BOX.

 

THE MUSICAL BOX.

 

 

   I saw your picture in my secret musical box,

Once we used to be lovers,

And now we can not even be friends.

Is cold outside,

And yes, I am not in love anymore,

But we melted our flesh once,

And his cold outside,

When are you coming inside?

I can hear you whispering me,

“Remember you, I only love you”,

That fine, I shall leave the music box,

On the stairs and I know you still have the key,

Remember is better to forget then cry,

I wish you would come

But I wish impossible things

So I hope I won’t find your delicate frame frozen,

And if so, remember,

We used to be in love,

And my precious music box,

Sing our song,

The one we dance under the stars,

But is not the same you,

Even the song of my magic box

Tonight seems so tacky!

 

 

                   COPYRIGHT@H.NAUDET.2010.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

everyones shouldhave a secret musical box...

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