C.G.Ayling

Category: Poetry

  • Wrought, of Stone

    ~ Wrought, of Stone ~
    ~
    Modern buildings wrought
    by man and so quickly sold
    no longer last as do the
    ancient structures
    of old.
    What differs?
    The builders,
    or the sand
    they cast into transient,
    impermanent stone?
    ~
    Humanity’s efforts to better nature
    are misguided at best,
    and soon fail before Time’s tests.
    All humanity has ever built is doomed
    for Nature will once more take
    its rightful place,
    and from earth’s cruelly scarred face,
    of us,
    every single sorry trace
    erase.
    ~
    Is all of humanity
    already doomed to return into the
    dust
    from whence we came?
    Only Time will tell,
    but will we be here
    to listen when Time
    tells her tales?
    ~

    modern efforts dwindling to dust.
    modern efforts dwindling to dust.

  • Suns and their Sets

    ~ Suns Rise to Set ~
    ~
    Upon the planets of a thousand suns
    do a thousand sunsets
    die
    then with a thousand dawns
    are they resurrected
    again
    their faces reform upon their
    worlds and within every watching
    eye
    may I my every sunset
    my you,
    let go
    for at my every dawn
    my you,
    will I behold
    again
    and as I my body down
    upon my sleeping bed do
    lie
    may your moon forever
    be the moon that in my dreams
    I see
    and thus
    my you
    do I
    never need relinquish
    again…
    ~

    Luna in all her glory - by Julia
    Luna in all her glory – by Julia

    A post, for every lover of Art in all its myriad forms.

    I hope you enjoy my poem, and my favorite youngest child’s magnificent, and incredibly difficult to accomplish, capture of our beloved moon.

    Julia is a very special young lady. She is a true artist, filled and motivated by compassion and love. Several of her poems appear sprinkled throughout my blog, search through some of the Poetry and you’ll find her words. I don’t doubt they will touch your heart.

    Julia is special for another reason. She is also the principle Heroine in my work, Malmaxa. I say principle, for within that work are many Heroines and even a Hero, or two.

  • Wildflower Blue

    ~ Blue ~
    ~
    Blue,
    the color of woe,
    of tears
    that have no place to go.
    Blue,
    the color of mood,
    not joyful but low.
    Blue,
    the color of hearts
    so sad they glimmer
    not glow.
    Blue,
    the color of ocean and sea
    endlessly pulled hither
    and fro.
    Blue,
    the color of our moon
    maker of tides
    relentless though
    slow.
    Blue,
    the color of the depths
    below.
    Blue,
    the color of sky,
    the regal dome over earth
    so high.
    Blue,
    the color of space
    between.
    Blue,
    the color of souls
    unseen.
    ~

    and another poem, of a flower, an image of which follows.

    ~ Wildflower Blue ~
    ~
    Wildflower blue
    upon the plain
    patiently awaiting
    the coming rain.
    Wildflower blue,
    so patient and true,
    what has the wind
    done to you?
    Burst your pods wide
    your seeds to set free
    wildflower blue
    So patient
    So true
    ~

    Wildflower Blue

  • Wealth’s Poverty

    ~ Wealth’s Poverty ~
    ~
    We lie atop the sacrificial slab,
    and with our quill,
    our heart we stab,
    blood words upon our skin we scribe.
    Our hope?
    That others those blood wrought words
    will read,
    and from spiritual poverty
    be freed.
    ~
    The goal of every word
    we write?
    To free another from
    our plight.
    Our truths we see, we say,
    and for our truths
    we’ll fight,
    and from darkness,
    the willing
    we will
    drag
    to light.
    ~
    In the shadows do the wicked dwell,
    from whence the poor,
    with false hopes cast as arrows,
    they fell.
    With mistruth they bind the masses,
    spreading hopes of salvation,
    which they buy,
    then tell.
    Lottery promises of escape from poverty,
    they sell.
    Hopes, of freedom from this
    mortal hell.
    ~
    A piece of soul-scribed skin,
    from our flesh they flay,
    a map they intend to use,
    to help them find their forgotten way.
    ~
    We won’t beg, or plead for the wealthy
    to stay.
    You see,
    our stolen words do the rich mislead,
    for though salvation’s map is true,
    the needle-eyed gate is one
    which rich thieves will never
    pass through.
    ~
    Peaks of luxury do the wealthy climb,
    while down below their workers wade in slime.
    With no excess sufficient to their unsated greed,
    they’ve let this world slide and slip to seed.
    Loud do they their lying anthem proclaim,
    “There will always be the needy!
    So let them toil and bleed
    while upon their labors,
    we,
    the wealthy,
    feed.”
    ~
    And yet unshuttered eyes easily do see,
    the rich have finally gone insane…
    Their mad intent?
    To keep this broken world,
    the same.
    ~
    For their obscene wealth,
    the rich feel no shame,
    and on the burdened shoulders of the poor,
    heap they all blame.
    ~
    Unwanted garments from their shoulders slough,
    gourmet delights uneaten,
    left to rot,
    till from their banquet tables,
    once good food falls with a putrid
    plop,
    sustenance they’ve let turn into
    slop,
    while from hunger
    they let the poverty stricken
    drop.
    ~
    When will we,
    the victims of wealth’s poverty,
    from our indentured slavery
    turn, not flee?
    ~
    I fear
    not soon
    enough…
    ~

  • Rhododendron

    ~ Rhododendron ~
    ~
    A picture of beauty pristine
    Of divinity still hidden unseen
    Of beauty yet to come
    Of a mortal’s desire undone
    Of time captured forever
    Of moments denied and now never
    Of petals basking in sunshine
    Of beauty unseen, yet sublime.
    ~

    snapshots, frozen in time
    snapshots, frozen in time

    I took this picture of a Rhododendron I will not see open in bloom minutes before I left on a trip. Perhaps it will still be in bloom when I return. Hope.

    Pictures… they might be considered fragments of eternity captured. Though they don’t truly freeze time, in some ways they do. This flower will still bloom, even while its essence here remains set forever in the fabric of a virtual world.

  • Blossoms

    Blossom~ Blossom ~
    ~
    You are the blossom of spring
    in my step.
    A cooling breeze
    on my brow.
    The rising sun
    that greets my day.
    The moon as daylight
    fades to dusk.
    The perfect match
    to my lonely soul.
    Your happiness,
    my goal.
    ~

  • immaterial

    ~ immaterial… ~
    ~
    Reach out and touch me,
    with other than your words,
    you can’t
    for I am not there.
    Though my heart is real,
    my spirit is not made of matter,
    my spirit
    is immaterial.
    Material things do not matter
    to me,
    at least as much as they matter
    to many.
    I
    am immaterial.
    ~

    Time never stops, and it never changes.

    Time is like a stream we flow through.

    Is all we really are ripples in time’s flow?

  • On Fate

    A couple of days ago the question of fate came up, several times, from several different people.  Perhaps those interactions fated the writing of this post. Perhaps they did not.

    What is Fate?  That question is not one that any thinking person should dismiss without due consideration. Why not?  Because Fate is far far more complex than just something we either think exists, or we simply dismiss.

    If you don’t believe in fate, then you should.

    If you do believe in Fate, then you shouldn’t.

    Contrary statements?  Only when considered superficially. You see Fate truly is something so compelling it warrants our careful consideration. So, in hope of starting you along a path less tread, I have modified part of one conversation that occurred on twitter. The conversation began with a poem of a fateful nature by Nandita Das. My original Tweet, in reply to Nandita’s poem, appears below.

    Fate… what is fate, if we have free will? what is free will, if our destiny is fated? Yet fate, just feels right.

    Twitter forces the compaction of thoughts. Sometimes this compaction is good, in how it focuses the essence of a thought, but others it isn’t as it removes essential elements. My full thought appears below.

    ~ Fate… ~
    What is fate, if we have free will?
    What is free will, if our destiny is fated?
    While Fate seems that it must be
    Wrong,
    Fate, once experienced,
    just feels
    Right.
    ~

    And below is another poem on Fate, composed in another completely separate conversation that occurred about the same time.

    ~ Fate ~
    Let us not tempt the Fates
    by presuming to understand them.
    If the fates have desires,
    then to them we will succumb.
    If the fates have goals,
    then we are but their ball.
    If the fates have wings,
    then perhaps they’ll let us fly.
    Yet if there is a question that
    to the Fates we may not cry,
    it is a single word,
    one word
    from which they’re warded.
    It is the question,
    Why?
    ~

    Perhaps the root thing about the fate, or its lack, is this…

    Even if the Fates are not, then what will happen, still will.

    Something I find particularly fascinating about the Fates, is that even the Gods cannot escape their dictates, and if the Gods can’t then what hope have we?  We like to think we’re masters of our own destiny, so much so that we’re unwilling to think about the possibility we are not. That is why, especially if we don’t believe in fate, we should still consider it.  It is also the reason, if we do believe in Fate, that we should rethink it, even if only in hope of finding a path ahead we have not yet seen.

    What do I believe about the Fates?  Well, there are a few clues within this post, and many more sprinkled throughout this blog. One of these clues is that within the question opening this paragraph I capitalized the word.  Could that be an example of Decorum, a concept used throughout Malmaxa?

  • Words, Sweeter than Wine.

    Words matter, they really do.

    ~ Words, Sweeter than wine ~
    ~
    Little pecks upon the cheek.
    Gentle lips that lead,
    two loving mouths,
    to meet.
    Two tongues that twine,
    and sometimes,
    little sips of wine.
    Tender kisses,
    here and there,
    tender kisses on their neck,
    and hair.
    Think of the many many things,
    two loving mouths may share.
    And, of course,
    the most precious things
    of all…
    the little words,
    that show we
    care.
    ~

  • What is a poem?

    Poems are more about sensation and emotion than they are about rhythm and rhyme.

    Poems says much more than the sum of their words.  They’re like a message in a bottle, thrown into a hostile sea, to be found and interpreted by someone whose attention we may only hold for the time taken to read our desperate plea. If we don’t grasp and hold their heart, how likely are they to set up a search and rescue operation on our behalf?

    Perhaps the essence of a poem might be that it is a plea for understanding?

    With that in mind, here are a couple of mine. Others are scattered throughout the blog, under the category, “Poetry“.

    ~ Carbon Copy ~
    ~
    Were I to dust you down with soot,
    then lay you on a sheet,
    that is a sheet I’d surely,
    forever,
    keep.
    ~

    ~ A plea ~
    ~
    With you,
    I’d like to walk barefoot in the sand,
    the only touch,
    our hands.
    I’d be tempted to run you into the sea,
    and there,
    upon one knee,
    an eternal pledge,
    I’d plea.
    We’d let the waves be our witness,
    the only tears shed,
    the rain,
    as a loving sky enfolds us,
    our souls unite
    to once more
    become
    one,
    again.
    ~