Once again, members of the literature club (now called ‘Okey Dokey Literature club’) gathered on the 28th of January to share their poetry. This time four members performed their poetry and after each reading, we took some time to discuss them. The session was another great success and afterwards all attendees agreed that next meetup, we will all write a short story so look forward to those in the next blog!
Here are the poems, written by aja, Celsius, Fahrenheit and Fox the Eternal respectively:
Golden
In the garden, in a willow’s embrace,
I am put to sleep in His Grace,
A quiet humming in the breeze,
In a dream, something lost from me.
Appears a vision in the night,
Woman basked in radiant light,
In my flesh you formed unseen,
When sun broke in a golden sheen.
Dawn incarnate; bright as the sun,
Gilden skin, you’re my only one,
In dawn’s light, my world you’ve stirred,
Emotions surge; rapture’s song is heard.
Bones of my bones, close and entwined,
No longer alone, souls aligned,
Flesh of my flesh, you’re all I’ve known,
In His good Will, love’s garden sown.
Brightest sun who casts shadows away,
A presence that moved night to day,
Yet, I pay no mind a warning in the trees,
Foretold that you’d be the death of me.
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Yellow *
Already coated with gold but in the first place,
Was he bothered by gilt he’s seen?
Those contented with shining in their own place
He scarred with tales lies built in
Building lies off of fears false and stoned stories
That all were piled on with praise
Gilded lies falls off of his tongue as he worries
For nothing while his victim prays.
Preyed upon by peers perspectives poor
This victim will pray for him
But he will continue lying more
Unbothered with guilty sins.
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Apart in the blind ocean **
From distant skies,
I travel alone,
to see with my own eyes,
a planet unknown.
A living ocean,
the mystery thereof,
delivers her once stolen,
my Harey my love.
Our rays pierce the strata,
and measure our debility,
behold the simulacra,
a mission of futility.
please dear answer my call,
the leaves have begun to fall.
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The Sin of King Louie, or the Temple ablaze
oh Thalia joyous Muse Smiling Coy,
oh Goddess Loved by Trolls and other beasts,
Sing me now King Louie’s Folly Extravagant
of He Who Wished for Fire to be a man.
Unsatisfied with fostering his clan,
covetous other’s blessings abundant,
He would embrace the novelty and feasts;
be Free to eat the bug and drink the soy.
Dismantled Temple, troop undone, unmourned;
ancestors laying lonely and forlorn
such was the price he paid besides his kin;
to think he only wanted to (be a) good goy!
Such tales as this must fill us trolls with Joy
for despite being racist we don’t hate Skin
as much as foul resentment envy borne,
(or) servile homogeneity forewarned.
So to conclude remember this fun blague:
Louie may never be a man, but their friend;
for the troll’s friend may be, it’s not so vague,
no lackey but a racist who won’t bend.
Poetic