THE INCANTATIONS OF YOUTH AND AGE

             BY: MATTHEW DONALD WETHERBY
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                    YOUTH
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            A CHASTENED ISLE (A WAKING DREAM)

I gazed upon a chastened isle
and wiped my sweating brow,
I drew upon my ear awhile
luxuries and floral sounds,
while all along the tide did sweep
a shore of emerald hue
the sky above me strained to keep
its slumberous tint of blue.
Oh closer still both senses sprang
with an elusive melody and clang
until with eyes of mercury fire
there came a portent of sensual desire;
from out my soul with flesh imbued
naked nymphs danced cadaverous upon a fetish beach,
around----- about in numbers two,
so close they were but out of reach,
so near----- twisting and turning (never seeming to tire)
across these ivy sands painted peach.

Their breasts were dappled as they swayed
round and round this voracious maze,
they sang and crooned----- while from where I lay
palm trees swooned
as the lime-lite moon
reached up over the mountain-side;
with a thirsting swell
it qhenched then welled
a sparkling enigma through the tide.

The chase of unbridled ecstacy
closing forth beneath the stars
to culminate and echo lustily
from climates drear yet far,
no shouts were heard 
as wordless words
became the fevered plea
and the only fear was a fearful trance
to hasten this auspicious dance
from star-lite and from sea.       (c)M.D.W


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              A CHILD

Oh my child, my little child,
what and where you walk
has been the laundered days of seasons mild
and carefree, prmissive talk;
oh my love, my little love,
your days are drawn against the flowers wild
yet your smile fits you like the stars above.

Oh my precious, my little precious,
the fragrance drawn is never as sweet
than just before the evening does blush
and with the night melds lofty conciet;
oh my darling, my little darling,
while you were roaming until your face was flush
there was no time for sadness to sing.

Oh my child, my little child,
the fields are golden, stark with deceit,
yet still you plume their duties mild
with echos, laughter, and promises to meet;
oh my precious, my little precious,
your body has gleaned of streams drawn wild
through the passions and desires of sanctities touch.

Oh my love, my little love,
I dare not stat your brethren kiss
when it was the sky above
that bore snow to heighten your bliss;
oh my darling, my little darling,
your will has been that of a parceled dove
and there was no time for sadness to sing.  (c)M.D.W       
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            A TETHERED TOUCH

I took from out a tethered touch
what was not there for me to take,
(the miserly quarters and shapely crutch
of rueful joy and resistant heart-ache.)

But I could not witness the mortal tone
of love as it governs and sedates
the passage and quality (stark and alone)
of its own permissive heart-ache.     (c)M.D.W


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               SUPPLE LUCIDITY

A child made a wish on a star
an infinite sun bore centuries afar,
he prayed every night
unto this radient sight
but was lost unto the supple lucidity of that star.
                                           (c)M.D.W


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              BONNY BLUE

Miles and miles away from home
I met a woman harvesting her sorrows,
one that wept for she was all alone
in this world of no tomorrows,
hers was a time of eternal afternoon
and the past, being all but gone,
remained haunting, so I gave myself to soon
unto this wonderful woman, sweet Bonny Blue.
   
With a kiss as warm as Cordelias smile,
how I remember her enchanting embrace,
so much an angel lost and defiled,
I made love to the sadness drawn from her face,
yet she lived in a time of eternal afternoon,
bearing my heart to always quicken a pace
as I gazed and amazed at her unanswered gloom,
this comforting woman, sweet Bonny Blue.

We talked and we walked under heavens shifting brow,
for years being the candles which inflamed the night,
two strangers to desires that had been willingly found
in this dreamy land of our making, this world of mesmeric light,
yet she lived in a time of eternal afternoon,
washing a fever through her skull, bearing a thorny crown,
still, I needed love more than the earth needs the moon
from this gentle woman, sweet Bonny Blue.

But, gazing no longer with trust upon me,
hours turned into uncaring days,
left intent on memories in which her mind could never flee,
the sun remained shining yet shallow were its rays,
still, she lived in a time of eternal afternoon
and, relying no longer on antique tears I began to drift astray,
contracting the misfortunes of her disheartening gloom,
this tender woman, sweet Bonny Blue.

So miles and miles away from home
I left her to a prolonged fate,
I left her rueful and all alone,
my dearest lover, my most caring mate,
as she lived in a time of eternal afternoon
her soul, becoming shrouded, had flown
away, bearing a wallowed body of gloom
unto this gracious woman, sweet Bonny Blue.
                                 (c)M.D.W


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          AUTUMNS END

The foliage has peaceably christened
a floral remnant of summer vacancy
and with a slackened embrace
withered the sun unto its fearless mortality.

For these are the days of lucid yet transient
condolence where life is frugal
and bitter with a moist ripple of ripe redundance
leaving time to faction peace-meal its whimsical notoriety.

Lathered through ages sultry and careening
the bludgeoned leaves are rapt as they wilt
from their dour hinges while shuffling
crude images of luxuries formal yet heinous.
                                   (c)M.D.W

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         A HOLY DAMSEL

The casket flowers 
are well in bloom,
the evening bower
caressing the moon.

A holy damsel
was laid abreast,
her soul did swell
as she was blessed.

Each maiden guest
that passed her grave
could sense a sacred rest
and none of blame.

No hint of anger
did mark her face,
emotionless it sturred,
a priestly grace.

Yes, the casket flowers
are well in bloom
with the evening hours
coveting the moon.   (c)M.D,W


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         THE SWARTHY SOLACE

Of the swarthy solace underlaid
        mute laughter swimming
    hasty battlements
             at the moment
and weeping rose
         to cry no more
                     (c)M.D.W

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                   AGE
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                LOVE

All the day I thought of you
and all the night I wept
but as the sky once more turned blue
I cried no more and slept.

I cried no more----- I wept no more
for sadness did I see,
she was of sorrows seven score
and stale-crusted misery.

She lulled my weary head to rest
when I was young and mild,
I came upon dreams likened crest
with the laughter of a child.

And by this giddy structure
she tapped my sober brow,
I sifted through her noble words
to learn what I know now.

"Tears are shed forth from the heart 
like ivory ribbons in the snow
and love cannot ever part
where love can never go."
                      (c)M.D.W

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            THE DYING SOLDIER TO HIS LOVE

Oh lady shapeless beneath the stars,
craddled by the moon afar,
perfumed by the noctrine air
with opiate love and whimsical care.

What dread hour did you confine
the licked mysteries of my heart divine?
from where----- oh where my spirit thin
drew you upon my conscience dim?

How came the eaves of cypress fair
to tint your tufted, shadowy hair
with temperate honey cold and sublime,
why do you quaff this heart of mine?

My eyes are weary with grains of sleep,
I cannot flee, I cannot weep,
for I am tempered as you come
and shall not gaze again upon the sun.

Oh where are you my little one
as I lay dying from loss of blood
garbed and shackled to the sea
in ancient woves of misery?
                         (c)M.D.W
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           FIRE IN THE NIGHT

Fiery, fiery, starry night,
closes all from mortal sight,
but in the tundra of the day
this fire is so far away,
the clouded soul is all that stays
to seek immortal flight.

For celestial tears have drenched the permissive sky
and their tools of pitance have flourished wide
beneath the zesty, alarum glare
of your languid, hostile stare,
and with a treachery borne of motherly care
your palpable eyes pollute the dour mountain-side.

But oh time is but a means
to ward the heavens slackened eaves
unto the thunderous, grating swell
of this earthly, promiscuous cell
where all forms of turbulent madness dwells
and quenches its thirst within our recurrent dreams.

The mists of dawn (by lands obscure)
have stifled forth their muddy cure,
and they permeate, they tremble,
the dewy depths in which resemble
solitudes ungracious heart dissembled
from within the creeping battlements of fluctuant allure.

Fiery, fiery, starry night,
closes all from mortal sight,
but in the tundra of the day
this fire is so far away,
the clouded soul is all that stays
to seek immortal flight.
                           (c)M.D.W

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          THE SEED OF DAWN

The seed of dawn
was the seed of union,
this union we have lost
to our torn shades of sceptic purity,
leaving the loose life
called insomnia
to corrupt our race
with its own,
so pity us,
not for our stupidity
but for our petty games,
for our stature of grace
as we cling together 
in a richeous lament of strength
and find that nothing is there
to further this strength
beyond a quick repentance;
as we are all fools,
(shadowed fools of
blackened hearts)
care has forgiven the injuries
in which time has slackened
upon our feral breats,
yet despair has tousled
this forgiveness
so that now our souls 
are discretely fettered in a molasses
of some inescapable surety,
leaving us as paupers,
matted souls,
matted life leaning
and uprooting the thoughts of
our ancestors
with the intention of civility
yet raising only wounds
and curled scars
to be remembered as love
in place of loves remembrance.
                        (c)M.D.W

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            WHERE THE SEA-GULLS SOAR

Down by the carefree shore
where the sea-gulls soar
the resistant tide ebbs and roars
forevermore.

Down by the sultry shore
where the sea-gulls soar
the clouds stifle their gentle lore
forevermore.

Down by the pensive shore
where the sea-gulls soar
the sun it pierces heavens core
forevermore.
          (c)M.D.W

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             THE SLUMBERING BEAR CUBS

The awning stream curdled refuge
beneath an oasis of crescent stars
bleeding gallently its dusky vapors
upon a tapered hill-side

where two slumbering bear cubs snored
gentle isolatio unto a somatic forest-----
dewy crickets yelped with reasonless infinity
while a far off waterfall whispered unheard

to the darkling sky and its leave staind groves
surrounding this serene divinity,
and with a robins sweet bellow
these bear cubs slowly shifted restless.
                                 (c)M.D.W

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         THE NIGHT OWL

Lulling monarch unto the trapsing of odious time,
my soul fleets an ebony slumber mellifluous
while you (from out the torrent and impitus climes)
have wrought a sweet ditty----- where winded gusts
of porous fragrances quench and reced the temperate air
with midnight fancies, ascribing your fetal home
a vanity stilt of ivory care
left remonstrant within its halls of wistful stone.

Men have come of age beside your unbridled
stealth which none can ever peaceably witness,
for the ways of man are tainted by the frigid call
of serene splendors numerously dressed;
we have forgotten that while our hearts intercede
the consolation of timid luxury is impervious death----
it is true, we bleed, we bleed!
and our breathing is but mortalities insatiable breath.

Parting sorrows are indeed what living hopes
have practitioned from out your malleabe roost
as docile flakes of feverish strength helplessly grope
and unto heaven steam dewy vapors uncouth;
Psyche has abandoned the dire portal
and vagrant homage where coeval seraphs frantically,
in lives past, loved and love held them enthralled
within pastoral elegance of eternal descent.

For I have tempted the frost and bitter remnants
of decrepit and malign servitude,
(these constitutive paladins caressingly sent)
I have been a slave to some fixatious interlude
where fragile sight has ardently blundered
upon the wanton twilight of besotted years
and your stale wings streaking an elated fancy deterred;
oh woe my life, these parting tears!

Heaven beckons a reckless shade capped in dread
while its bland servitors hasten with unease
as your sublime hoot cranes amoungst the living dead
within festering raptures of incentive disease;
yes woe----- oh woe my life, these parting tears,
for sunken is the flourishing cavalry
of malignant dreams and sordid fears,
shapeless are my shackles----- dour my collective needs.              
                        (c)M.D.W


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            HEAVEN IS FALLING

                 I

A clouded void with bleated eyes,
blinding, hailing, this reclusive earth,
flowing round sighted pinnacles
masked by the mortal moon,
crested within grassy groans
and odors light yet burdened
as any eclipse of waning love;
frown oh lofty stars, heaven is dawning.

                II

Gazing anew this wayward peak,
the mountains, oceans, seas,
and seasoned vales,
wrought with imagery crested by stale hope
their triumphant farwell, gilded, burning,
the momentous sky
wherein sleeping solitude no longer thirsts;
frown oh seasoned stars, heaven is yawning.

                III

Pain still for those forms (those soothing dreams)
and the sun as they twine upward,
molding all within a fetish light
while the earths very breath is transformed
into but a shade of the universe,
mocking mankind with an impotent fear,
commanding all life to breath of its tears;
frown oh sulking stars, heaven is falling.
                                    (c)M.D.W

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               A THOUSAND OARS

A thousand oars could set tonight 
but none could reach the sea 
in which an island blocks the light
of forever eternity.

For delinquent fever has bathed the sundry air
within a sweltering, liquescent grief,
and limp upon the luscious waves of despair
blasphemed this earth through submissive relief.

And oh the fragile yet frugal eyes
of a child released unto destiny
with this selfsame fever polluting each tear he cries
upon famished lifes blasphemous creed.

But let the blisters of joy dissolve,
let the fester within factioned glee,
yet when thet mimick of traitorous resolve,
let them remain, let them be.

A thousand oars could set tonight
but none could reach the sea
in which an island blocks the light 
of forever eternity.              (c)M.D.W