A Dream out of Celtic mist …

You think you are a romantic, do you?
For you as for so many others nothing is worse than unrequited love…
Did life not tell you, it is the sole way
to find your soul?
~~ Clarte DuBois, Aisling of Breton

There, beneath the green cap of felt rolled tall
red hair and large eyes intimidate fate
press conclusions into handshakes and running
opinionated into honesty, she left
unsolved, romantic conundrums of nothing
nothing is worse, is worse and she flies
a green tufted, shy breasted, sparrow in air.

She is of course, correct; rigid and right
in expression, philosophy and form, i know.
for among the grasses and dirt roads of walking
encounters with the many blessed finders of souls
has so enriched the understanding of our lives.

The beauty of this Aisling tends to sway light
heat, and her words are music from a bard, a bawd
that always deep and truthful images fill a poet’s ear

the caressing touch of unrequited 30 caliber justice
her gold brass hot among the morning’s kisses …

the spring day of unrequited boredom found a soul
lost in the warm grassy orphan’s yard, not yet alone …

bright unrequited sunlight burns sea, sand, and flesh
in sun bright blinding white napalm cascades …

Gathering souls, insights, images in beauty, muse
or dream or certain drug whispering nothing
nothing worse, and she, La Belle dan sans
assures through pain the soul regains, remains, rest.

About dragonpoet

But sometimes what you write is neither polished nor useful. Then it arrives here. With lots of sentence fragments and beginning ideas. If you wish, please comment on what you find. If you don't like the politics, don't comment. Here, we deal with the writing.
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3 Responses to A Dream out of Celtic mist …

  1. Sayonara LongShiren…
    Here follow the unreworked version of
    My Lament to Lone Shiren…

    So, LongShiren, my heart is heavy
    As Honesty has made me choose for you
    Against my young rebellious friend,
    The Xico boy

    You think you are a romantic, do you?
    For you as for so many others
    Nothing is worse than unrequited love…
    Did live not tell you,
    It is the sole way
    To find your soul?

    Then we are not a match in heaven
    All the champagne of the world couldn’t change that…
    And all that
    Due to the grasp
    Your romanticism disagrees
    Utterly with mine…
    As mine is not Byronesque, nor Vignyesque.
    Even if I have a serious weakness
    For Chopin and Tchaikosvsky…
    Then, their Slavonic roots may excuse them.

    It could be I won’t meet you along the Alston River…

    Yesterday, I partied heavily with my friends
    Whom were so happy
    I seemed to have find
    A kindred spirit.
    However, I had my suspicions already…
    The Shiren’s I read about
    Were of very different kinds…
    Too different!
    Some would be poets
    While others would die for Vincent Valentine
    And even Reno, but then with a smile…
    And the one I hoped to meet
    Would need more mixed tastes yet.

    So, when Assurancetourix,
    Our friend the bard arrived,
    We were in an unusual loud discussion
    As my friend tend to be a bit withdrawn…
    Except for Assurancetourix,
    Who is a jolly good fellow
    Always ready to put in song whatever comes to his mind.
    But, yesterday,
    Even Sherlock wouldn’t join him with his terrible violin;
    He and Vincent Valentine agreed at one single glance
    To send him fetch the forgotten mistletoe
    With his old golden sickle…
    After all, is he a druid or not?

    Then Corto Maltese and Severus Snape
    Made their entrance,
    One as dark as ever
    Half enfolded in his flying cape
    The other his cap so low,
    I couldn’t see his eyes…
    But I know him so well
    -Because of the kind of woman I am,
    He feels so secure with me-
    That I could see
    He was going to enjoy the company…

    Sometimes after, Vincent told me
    Reno and Rude were on their way…
    Some unexpected fun coming!

    Then I realised, too late
    Far too late!
    No whiskhy, no beer , no wine!
    Without speaking of the Champagne!
    Water?Tea? Coffee?
    Don’t even mention it!
    Never Mind…
    Some sake, I bought for you?

    Yes, Long Shiren!
    All gone now!

    I have tried to figure out:
    Which kind of dragons could be tamed?
    And the more I searched for
    The songs of Passeo,
    The arduous it was…

    Then, later, much later,
    The true friend of my heart asked me:
    Pessoa, Passeo, Passoa?
    And I decided to quit…

    So long, Lone Shiren…

    I know, LongShiren!
    If it was only my ponctuation which was bad!
    My French roots are guilty of my somewhat extravagant English…

    And by the way, shame on you to dislike that funny head of J.K.Rowlings………………

  2. LongShiren!
    Help! I am not a poet!
    Not at all!
    I know, you would like me to give you some feed back, but I don’t understand all what you say so…
    And as you know, I can be blunt… I always regret of course but what I do is a game and it is very childlike, while you do it in earnest and it sounds beatiful…
    But I would like to understand more!
    a lover of words to another fellow-lover of words….

  3. clartedubois says:

    Some times poets are like birds,
    Wanting or not, liking or not,
    You have to leave them free;
    If you hear a certain tune:
    It is sung in your favour,
    But it is so constrained.

    A fairy touchs my heart.
    It was a gentle token.
    Looking mischievious?
    No! Only a teaser.
    And a feather.
    My wee elf.
    My soul.


    Sharing of
    Our sorrows
    Was courageous.
    Perhaps dangerous,
    As it took the rest.

    My Dear long Shiren,
    Here, and mostly here,
    I long to hear you again,
    Praying Angel’s and Dragon’s,
    To give you back your strenght.

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