All through the days so cold I wanted to write But the words had died Slithering away in a whirlpool Of frantic anxiety;
I stood at the threshold Surrounded by the bellows of Unrelenting stress and misery I could barely stay afloat Wallowing in fear and self-pity,
When they knocked at my door I struggled to make sense Of those jumbled letters. So, I shut them all out – Now no one will ever know The stories those words told!
Book cover of Das unheimliche by Felix Schloemp Buch
Darkness whispered to me Secrets from the ghastly depths A smirk on her lips A spectre of disdain She laughed at my troubles Amused at my failures.
“I saw it die a thousand deaths Ages ago it heaved its last breath Goodness is a cadaver Goodwill a misnomer It’s the time of the Black Serpent Slithering on slippery slopes In and out of its slimy scales; Let me teach you the spells From the bowels of hell To charm Beings of the Night For they are all that survived.”
I embrace the inky silhouette, “My dark friend, I heed your advice.” I summon them from within Pettiness, dishonesty, slyness – Throbbing, waiting to be spawned I befriend the shady shadows Blind like the bats betrothed To deepest caverns and gallows They tell me how to don a mask, This masquerade I join with pride, Of the deceitful who have thrived.
Poetry inspired by the book cover of Das unheimliche by Felix Schloemp Buch. Munich: Georg Mueller, 1914.
Book cover designed by Walter Crane for A Masque of Days by Charles Lamb.
Tread gently and stay for a while The crisp summer air beckons Emerald trees tip their branches Swaying leaves give a nod Hear the birdsong in the breeze Sunkissed glades, always serene Look around you, notice the pace It’s tender, slow, in a lazy way
We pursue and embrace chaos The hustle and hassle of our days Sleepless, hopeless, washed away Riding a storm, dropped like debris A wild goose chase; always in a hurry Our souls are tired; we know it all The entire futility, yet we cannot Tread gently and come to a halt
Today, I wrap them up, Tuck them away in a corner The worry and weight I carried I shove them aside Now, I seek to return to words That aspire to be heard
They tore out the letters Wriggling on my lips – These troublesome thoughts They snuck into my space Where the poetry should live With the stories craving to be
I am ready to reclaim my peace Banish the darkness With whatever spell it takes, To let the ink not run dry And creativity to burst forth Like molten sparks from my core.
Book cover designed by Thomas Watson Ball for Gilian, the Dreamer, His Fancy, His Love and Adventure by Neil Munro.
The dried twig that lay still At my doorstep is not dead yet It has sprouted green wings; The cracks in the sidewalk May hide magical abodes For I spied tendrils of a beanstalk.
Burdened by daily chores It takes a moment to see Hope arrives in the strangest ways In a message bottle, Washed ashore Or in a heart, Just weary of being sore.
Poetry inspired by the book cover designed by Thomas Watson Ball for Gilian, the Dreamer, His Fancy, His Love and Adventure by Neil Munro. New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1899.