The Sanctuary and More

I sometimes wonder how the greats discovered and created the many nuggets of common knowledge and culture that are now everyday words to us. Surely all things need a cradle, some nurturing birthplace. Were these sanctuaries necessary to people who are now invulnerable to their peers, and to those historical figures now immortal?

I usually dislike free verse, for the fact that it is inconsistent, fragmented, and difficult to enjoy. However, that is a part of life and a part of this poem, and even sanctuaries may sometimes only be represented as such. This poem again sticks to the warmth and safety of home, and is therefore aptly entitled, “O Happy Sanctuary”.

O Happy Sanctuary

O happy sanctuary,
Scattered like seeds of a crop,
Yet fertile before their soils.

Although common as their job,
True sanctuary is rare.
A node of boughs seeking love.

Any man can be a king,
Should he possess the right throne,
And kings be but men without.

For appropriately perched,
Only do wise owls ponder,
And philosophers create.

Sanctuary’s small kingdom,
Where insects may be giants,
And masterpieces revealed.

Hours panning for fool’s art,
Leisure inexhaustible,
And gallery unending.

For thus does true art blossom,
With lightness of form and heart,
From primalities conducted.

The sanctuary, safe place,
Summarised within the spring,
So joyously moves the heart.

And thus do our angels bloom,
Philosophers, kings, saved men,
Humbled within our own home.

Bonus: This poem is doubly about the sanctuary of the porcelain throne, and is subtitled “Ode to a Commode“. Re-read it and I think you’ll find some far too modest analogies. Sorry!
Dedicated to a Master Bale of the Bigginhill, illuminator of such everyday taboos and my partner in misguidance.


Christmas Sonnet

Here is a poem simply written when I came home and appreciated how homely home can be, and how lovely the holidays can be when your loved ones all bounce back together, however far away they have stretched into the world this year. This is a sonnet, because what is more beautiful and heartfelt than home?

What romance could distract my sober eyes,
From constellations in this very room?
Such pretty stars that crown our purest prize,
Anticipating joys that come home soon.

What finer company could any ask,
Than bellies fed and toasted toes to make?
The warming smiles of kin around the hearth,
And laughter thrown as if it could not break.

Our wealth could not increase, though we receive,
For more we would not ask this world to give.
What better Christmas could a soul achieve,
Than sharing it with all the stars that live?

Snow angels hold their hands through paned windows,
Lit quietly by families come home.

Take Me Back or Take Me Away

It’s funny how you think when you’re crazy about someone. My mind is a bit odd at the best of times, so throw a spot of romantic feeling into the mix and things can get a bit strange. This poem is about adoring someone to the point of getting lost within them.

It’s also funny how memory works. The poem is based on a conversation I had a while back, but I could only finish it when I came back to the place where I was during the conversation.

So here is a poem that I shall call “I’ll Steal Her For Starlight”.

I’ll Steal Her For Starlight

I see the sandy waterfall, that falls along her back,
I wonder if water could carve ev’ry crack,
To sculpt a scape so thoughtfully, to free up ev’ry stone,
With timeless precision does dew etch my home.
Where water weaves, the light evades, and shadows cast their roots,
And gravity’s absence draws me to such fruits.
Before a shade her contours shames, and hides her from my eyes,
I’ll steal her for starlight and take to the skies. 

We’ll fly inside each other’s eyes, until we tread the moon,
For rockets that cost not are naught more than tombs.
We’ve lungs enough to share ourselves, new craters to explore,
To inhale each other, and open all doors.
We are the poles of our own world, for opposites attract,
And are not the only, but most perfect match.
Our slightest differences, and our private puzzling parts,
Throw genders between us and conjoin our hearts.

We’ll count the years in greys we shed, and wrinkles in our skin,
As no other part of ourselves lets time in.
If beauty’s in the eye, and we are only what we eat,
Let’s chew up the miles lain along every street,
And taste our trips and savour every stone our toes can meet,
And run for our lives to keep living so sweet.
We’ll cover ground ’til all is found, and doubly fast alone,
Exploring together instead is our home,
Inside and out, meticulous, as if we lost our goal,
But all I desire is to scour your soul.
Look into you and out for you; the eyes you didn’t know,
Ensuring our past doesn’t know where we go.

Though beasts may hide where eyes fall short, not one may cause you hurt,
No monsters can eat you if I eat you first.
My feast begins upon your toes so that you cannot flee,
We’d share them so you can live your life in me,
Like in you I lived mine since first you stepped foot in my eye,
Though dread falls on me should this knot you untie,
So next your fingers will be served, but softer hands persist,
To still that sweet rope that embraces your wrists,
Just as your breasts and body keep my hands from other hips,
And likewise your smile can stay my own lips.
I cherish ev’ry inch of you, and ev’ry word there since,
So last come your lips, which I savour like mints.
And now you kiss my insides, and can taste my every dish,
Your words are inside me, so why not your lips?
The future and your body now reside inside of this.
If I mistook fate, I ask “what did I miss?”