Fri, Sep 23rd - 2:26AM

Misread (lines in the sand)

Like soft grains of sand that tickle my soles,
Scratching my backsides, and stuck 'tween my toes,
Brown Eyes, they haunt me, like two burning coals,
Their passion within a beauty that glows;
Scared as a rabbit, I run for my hole,
To hide from this fox, so deep down below;
I shake like a leaf; I freeze like a foal,
Seeking a haven, with no-where to go;
She burrows me out; surrender I must;
Not bravely, I fear, though the fear is unjust;
I misread the passion; I murdered the trust;
'Twas friendship, it seems, seen blindly through lust;
Foolish, I gather, more heart-wounds to lick,
And soft grains of sand, that scratch me and stick.

Copyright © 1981 Lyle Melford Miller, Jr.

Fri, Sep 23rd - 2:23AM

In the Stars

The stars, My Child, you fail to understand,
Are ours, to hold, just reach out your hand,
And leave fools behind to squabble in the sand;
Leave behind this world of fear;
The ether beyond, with freedom so dear,
Waits before us, the ones who are bold,
To sail the high ways, on sunbeams of gold;
No, the old ways, they just cannot last,
For those who scream that the change is too fast;
To them, this young dream dear, aye, it must show,
That soon, very soon, we will heavenward go;
The stars, My Child, beckon from the blue,
So reach for them love, for when we are through,
We'll be there with them, together, me and you.

Copyright © 1981 Lyle Melford Miller, Jr.

Fri, Sep 23rd - 2:20AM

A Lover's World

Upon laughter singing feet
My heart skips
A beat
Because your loveliness
Holds time still
For one moment
Half masked
Half revealed
By the evening light
It causes insanity
I'm crazy you know
With desire for so much I want you
To be beautiful
For me.

Copyright © 1981 Lyle Melford Miller, Jr.

Fri, Sep 23rd - 2:17AM

Blonde Gold

Sol-bright, starlight, dances in her eyes,
Moonbeams and stardust, descended from the skies;
Yon Viking Maiden, Ho, she doth play a fine jest,
For with nary an effort, Ah, my heart she hath wrest;
Her honeydew hair, tries the strength of my mettle,
Yet the warmth of her voice, helps my spirit to settle;

Be it ever so cruel, but dear fate has decreed:
She could never be mine; Nay her way must be freed.

So spread your wings, Fair Valkyrie, before the Ides of Spring,
And my heart will go with you, for my minstrel voice will sing,
Yea, far beyond Valhalla, there'll be words whose booming ring,
    With Laughter,
        There Battles,
            For Freedom.

Copyright © 1981 Lyle Melford Miller, Jr.

Fri, Sep 23rd - 2:14AM

Blackbird

She's my bird,
Long, black and beautiful,
Twin engines laid back,
And her cockpit up front.

She's my J.E.T.
Jet, jet black, living jet,
Waiting and ready.

Take off on a high ride.

And my love,
Throwing the throttle in,
Carries me away,
Shrieking through the heavens,
In ecstasy,
To Tomorrow.

Copyright © 1980 Lyle Melford Miller, Jr.

Fri, Sep 16th - 12:47PM

This is NOT Poetry

I call it 'Wordsmithing'.
That attempt to evoke a response,
To convey a feeling,
To express myself.

Often in the seach for the 'right' word,
I check its sound.
It might be the shade of meaning that matters most,
It might be that flash of feeling that naturally comes.

I tickle the senses, with aural stimulation.
And much more, the smell, the touch, the sense of movement and vibration.
Can you feel the sting of sweat in your eye as you labor strenuously?
Do you feel the ache in your arms and legs of fatigue?

Breath, and what do you feel?
Through your nose, what do you smell?
Through your mouth, what do you taste?
Can you hear your breathing?

It is an introspective journey every time --
Who am I truly?
What do I feel?
Can you relate?

Copyright ©2005 Lyle Melford Miller

Fri, Sep 9th - 1:01PM

Anthem of the Death Singers

I can taste their fear,
And smell the anticipation of battle.
My troops rustle and rumble behind me.
The enemy before trembles and quakes
My Lady Death will soon gather new sojourners into her cold embrace.

The song has begun
Played many times before, it is still new
New voices, from those wide eyed in the wonder of it
Mix with the old harmonies of the Veterans
Grimly remembering the strains of the songs sung past.

Glorious and Gory the heat of conflagration
Sweeps like wildfire across the heavens
Patterns of control in the midst of carnage unleashed
Push those who oppose us
Like flotsam on the waves.

Another stanza is written: in blood and sweat and tears
Reaching a new frenzy, the crescendo of voices rises
Over the thrumming throb of the machines of war
Lacking perfection, the song is sung better, and will be better yet
Still again, seeking graven restfulness at last.

Copyright ©2005 Lyle Melford Miller

Wed, Sep 7th - 10:41PM

Death Courier

Tue, Sep 6th - 9:19PM

VERDUN