Finis Coronat Opus

Along a misty alleyway ‘Mid murky twilight fog A shadow deftly wends its way Beside the moulding wall. It ceases not, it wanders on, Concealing well its face, And keeps to shades and corners dim, Or where the light should wane. But nightly shadow growing swift Hides naught from spirit’s gaze, And knowing looks and eyelids quick Meet trav’lers on their ways. Ah! fading specter of the past, What terrors you have seen While on your brow is written fast That such as is has been. Originally written 08/28/2019 While writing this poem I was struck by how fleeting time is, yet how those brief moments are remembered throughout future generations. How do we apply what we have learned from our forbears? What are we doing to impact our heirs?

The city streets abandoned lie,  Their stony paths untrod; The houses sit forgotten by As vultures wheel above. Forsaken is this ancient town That once was filled with life; Where merchants had traversed abroad,  Where shone the summer’s light. But winter came, and warmth did flee  The homes within this place. The children singing merrily Lay buried in the grave. For rather than prepare for cold The people still would play, Stop up their ears from warnings told,  And waste away their days. So when at last the snow did fall And blizzards howling came, The townsmen did forsake their halls  To flee the storms in vain. Alas! they swiftly met their end ‘Ere warmer climes they found: In hunger’s pangs they named the dead  Laid in the rocky ground. Their city now is wolves’ abode, The haven of the stork. The people heeded not sound word,  But did refuse to work. Thus, generations ended swift,  An ancient line did die; For rather than perfect their gift...

Alone I stand upon a cliff. Eyes wand’ring o’er the ocean’s drift;  I ponder long on legends great, E’er ancient kingdoms met their fate. For long ago, long since forgot,  Fair men of old faced fiery dart  ‘Mid battle tumult, standing tall  Til war was won and dragon fall. Alas! Their sons remembered not, Nor cared to think of kindred lost, But rather stopped their ears and said,  “For mine alone I’ll win my bread”. And so the ancient lands would fall, Their children conquered, brought to thrall,  Deposed, destroyed, crushed into dust By their own selfish, wanton lusts. Thus, as I stand above the shore, And muse upon the tales of yore, I fear for many of my kin Who follow swift those former men. Let not desire take hold your heart  For kingly gain or sovereign’s part,  Lest blind you turn away your gaze  And meet demise e’er break of day. For from such shade is little hope To break aside that filthy yoke: So guard your hearts and steel your s...

 Finis Coronat Opus: "The End Crowns The Work".  As a writer, this thought pushes me through challenging passages, meter that simply won't fit, phrases that seem out of place. What is the end, the point I'm trying to get across, the picture I am trying to paint? As a reader, I seek to find the "end" of what I read, whether a classic piece of literature, a matter-of-fact biography, or a modern work of fiction. What does the author seek to tell the reader? Beyond just the "end", though, does the "work" hold the reader's attention to reach the "end", having experienced the author's perspective, the tale they wove, the canvas they painted in the reader's mind? As a reader, it has always fascinated me to follow the threads of a book's theme from cover to cover, how the characters, style, and phrasing push the point of the work home. This is my own goal as a writer, certainly: words carry meaning, the structure of thei...

What's a story? Something to divert one's mind, engage the brain, impart wisdom, distract from difficulty? All of the above? From a young age I have been fascinated with literature and books of all kinds. Books always seemed to me to be treasure chests, waiting for me to open them and find what gems lay within. Learning new words was always an epiphany, both in discovering the meaning and the history behind them. Words have meaning and are powerful little things; words have the ability to soothe a tiny child to sleep and stir the hearts of soldiers to battle. Such aspects enthralled me through childhood and continue to fascinate me as an adult. This blog is a resting spot for thoughts, musings, and explorations with words, drawing mental pictures with phrases and poetic meter. My hope is for the reader to sense an appreciation for their significance as have I.