Bodhran
I vibrate to your measure
and undulate my tones to your touch.
My skin bears decorations
echoing an ancient poet's culture.
Soft steps I govern
as my cadence bears witness
To the rigid rhythms
of kilted dancers.
I join my voice to melodies
shared in smoky pubs and parlors.
My high pitched comrades
squeezed and bowed
recite the tales
while I lay reasons below
in counterpoint and base notes.
poem by B.V. Dahlen
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Katrina
That lovely name so vaguely Nordic,
and gently slipping off our tongue
is now a blasphemy of destruction,
death and turmoil.
She brutalized the coastal towns
and clubbed them to their knees,
like a Valkyrie upon a sodden steed,
and in her wake,
the pride and shame of our culture
dwelled in those turbid waters.
Alone and frantic they waited,
aided their colleagues,
sacked their cities,
and waited still longer,
on roof tops and tree limbs,
in shelters, on bridge ramps,
in dusky drowned alleys,
with unslaked thirst and hunger,
[...] Read more
poem by B.V. Dahlen
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Rice Papers
Long before she turned her pen
to vampires and such,
A favorite author wrote a book
that I enjoyed so much.
It told a tale of long ago.
In Venice it was set.
Through operatic landscape,
this text of hidden threat
transported me to sites that I
could visualize and tread.
I felt the cobbles 'neath my feet.
I knew the sense of dread.
Relationships and champions,
villains and their prey
existed there within the pomp
of opera's early days.
The voices, costumes, schemes and trysts
entangle and engross
the reader in this medieval
tapestry morose.
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poem by B.V. Dahlen
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Villanelle on Depression
Depression is a fact of life for me.
As much a part of life as food and air,
It hovers like a dreaded entity.
It scatters joys like useless stale debris,
And sews the ashes of my dreams in gloom.
Depression is a fact of life for me.
It poises like a shadowing banshee
With somber wings just waiting to enshroud.
It hovers like a dreaded entity,
And I can almost always guarantee
Secreted in my spectral holidays
Depression is a fact of life for me.
My life becomes a frequent abductee
Purloined by mirthless bird of prey
It hovers like a dreaded entity..
[...] Read more
poem by B.V. Dahlen
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Reflections On Nine Eleven
Within me sits a fearful mass
that seems to grow each day.
Metallic flavors poise there, on
my tongue, and plan to stay.
A pensive, panicked atmosphere
pervades my waking hours,
and agonizing nightmares flaunt
those two dissolving towers.
This morbid anniversary plays
upon my stricken soul.
A worldwide situation whirls,
and spins out of control.
I try to dwell on lighter thoughts
to scatter dreams of doom,
but overwhelming details crowd
my brain, and leave no room
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poem by B.V. Dahlen
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The Summer Yard
Twelve trees out back our forest deep
a place to fantasize,
and Tarzan’s jungle it became
Beneath those summer skies,
where I was Jane. We’d swing from trees
on knotted rope grape vines,
and roar our warbling jungle calls
within the yard’s confines,
Or putt putt golf course using bricks
and orange juice cans, we built
our nine holed run with obstacles
there in the root bound silt
and charged our friends five pennies each
to play the shaded course
with plastic clubs and Wiffle balls
from five and dime resource.
[...] Read more
poem by B.V. Dahlen
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Our Domain
Twelve trees out back....our forest thick,
a place to fantasize,
and Tarzan’s jungle it became
beneath those summer skies,
where I was Jane. We’d swing from trees
on knotted rope grape vines,
and roar our warbling jungle calls
within the yard’s confines,
or putt putt golf course. Using bricks
and orange juice cans, we built
our nine holed run with obstacles
there in the root bound silt,
and charged our friends five pennies each
to play the shaded course
with plastic clubs and Wiffle balls
from five and dime resource.
[...] Read more
poem by B.V. Dahlen
Added by Poetry Lover
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