The Ishavar

The Ishvar
~~~~~~~~

They feel him ~ in whispered black deeps
some form
wrought of fair taled fancies
and thieves of sleep.
Stripped of fear, thus honor, thus name
an extinct
their minds seek not its image
nor memories retain.

This species once so proud with gifting
centuries full
with vigored life in prowl
of earthly shiftings.
When mortals more something to be sought
and then
more to muse and think much less
to give a thought.

But Oh' how death and deadly was their kind
and Ishvar fell
Percieving not their numbers nor evils hold
on mortal minds.
Once, long before time was time- and law
He called
and the elements themselves gathered
in Ishvars awe.
no more.....no more.

Yet,_ awhile...
when bloodied moon and corpse filled tides

will come
And the Ishavar free of mortal seed will quit
this hide.

*Thus' hidden in foliage of long anticipates
bides time
for their clawed prints to once again
dot the landscape.

For now........he waits

   (©. 2009 Mea.)

Ritishmpire

 

In days of leisure long now past

twas once a nightly gather.

Of vagabonds with minstrel gifts

for dance and ale and laughter.

All but a few, this nightly crew

 frolicked from dusk till dawn.

Twas on such night two souls first met

Sir Bitter and Lady Forlorn.

 

One brief glance can change a course

One look can calm a storm.

As their eyes touched a fate was sealed

and Ritishmpire was born. 

 

Sir Bitter, quite the jester who

was renowned for performance and wit.

Laid guitar to rest, to ponder some riff

to bestow on the Lady Forlorn.

His pockets bare, just matchsticks there

perplexed with naught a gift.

  on striking sticks- a thought was lit

and Ritishmpire was born. 

 

***  A matchbook cover_ a cardboard cover

with the words.. "The British Empire".

He measured and bended and folded it over

in twices and threesomes and fours. 

Then he tucked in the seems

creating a ring

and grinning with satire fed.

Pleased with his jest, he looked at the crest

" Ritishmpire " it said.  ***

 

She turned to him, his heart went still

and born within his breast,

Some awe bit upon and he vowed her then on

the one he would love till death.

With eyes pooling his in liquid sleep

down on one knee he bent.

With kiss to her hand in earnest deep

" Ritishmpire " he said.

 

With laugh suppressed she asked his quest

and twas then she saw his means.

A rounded thing, to look a ring

no jewel would ever best.

"I have but lowly gift for you,

but with it- intent to wed."

Upon her finger it came to rest 

" Ritishmpire " it said.

 

She realized intentions can die

with time if nothing else.

She fought to ignore, she'd heard before

this childlike sentiment.

But willy all reasons she chose to accept

this emblem- though rudiment.

So off with their visions of fancies ahead~

" Ritishmpire " they said.

 

So soon these two became entwined

soon after bore a Son.

And in this mix you'd hope for bliss

but fate would have it none.

The paths they chose were in oppose

in all that they endeavored.

The dreams they sought were never more

then fleeting hopes of pleasure.

*And Ritishmpire was bled* 

So days were spent in slow descent
the more that time went on,
Miss Forlorn grew more bitter

Sir Bitter . . more forlorn.

No fault lay with the child sweet

they loved him fierce and stead.

I merely imply their love had died.

" Ritishmpire " it said.

 

One day she removed the tattered ring

and placed it safe to keep.

Within her jeweled box of things 

for sentimental peeks.

Unaware that fateful moment-

ah' that chosen deed.

Entombed what love along with it

in dark with it

alone with it.

Whispers weeping ~ reaching ~ leaping!

" Ritishmpire" it pled. 

 

Thus in darkness there it rests

together side by side.

The ring of jest and doom of quest

both locked in knotty pine.

This box beneath the earth now keeps 

till dust shall meet the sky.

 All the while neath the quagmire 

whispers.... Ritishmpire.
*
* 
 A matchbook cover_ a cardboard cover 
with the words..."The British Empire". 
He measured and bended and folded it over
in twices and threesomes and fours.
Then he tucked in the seems 
creating a ring
and grinning with satire fed.
Pleased with his jest, he looked at the crest
  " Ritishmpire " it said..    ***
   

  

 
{© #169 Mea.}
Dedicated to my son Justin

 

 



WHEN WILL WE TEACH OUR YOUNG ?

When are we going to teach our young
their purpose in life isn't found in one.
That the road to happiness doesn't start
finding Man or Woman to fill your heart.

When are we going to teach our young
a peacefull life can't be bought or won
That they wont find joy in a cash flow game,
chasing power or craving an empty fame.

When are we going to teach our young
That the world doesn't revolve around
their personnel wants,their hopes or dreams.
Compassion is worth more- than all of these.

And the Earth in all its glory
Has a sad historic story
If we learn from mistakes in our past
Why do we keep replaying the worst for last.
And the World is in a furry
In its mad euphoric hurry
We've shredded our morals, they're all but gone
leaving all our souls bare to every wrong
When Will We Teach our Young ?

 When are we going to teach our young
Darwins theory of mans evolution is wrong
That we're more than Intelligent design
We were all created by One GOD Devine.

When are we going to teach our young
Survival of the fittest is no G-Net code
But a name we use as an excuse for..
blameing need for lust in our human flaw.

When are we going to teach our young
The only true source of love is found
In the God they learn to deny or fear
And His Son in whom every life He bares.

And the Earth in all its glory
Has a sad pathetic story
If we've learned from mistakes in our past
Why are we reliving all the worst for last.
And the World is in a furry
in a mad nuclear hurry
Lies have tainted the truth so long..
Our souls are rippened for evils Throne
WHEN WILL WE TEACH OUR YOUNG ? 
 © 144# Mea.