Tag Archives: Old

Old English-esque poem


Wrote this yesterday. note the extra “E’s” at the end! looks kinda Germanic  which is technically what old English is.

Old English-esque poem

Inneth they come, through the shippes sail

Unfurling curl the waves a


for too long curl the hande

of gott

as we shall pass

I crowne with joy longe laste

Then comme the light of the gott-spake lamp,

we finde the maste


the waves unfurling curl

and stoppe in theyre trakkes

so far and faste the cry behestte to make a sleep.

Be still, friend of mein,

lie fastley in the greave

for in the darkest hour

finde light of daye.

Copyright Golden Star Poetry

Anna and the Silverbirch-dedicated to the many lost trees of Veterans Park



The city cut down the tree from my backyard
and saved the sawed bits to recycle
into money, what with the linnen so scarse, they say
with what else they can convey to me
it “died of a desiese”, they say
like the sick old man
who hangs
on the limbs of the branches
and as he hangs

when the sun’s gold reflects on his bruised cheek

I notice, and then the spirit of the tree says
it wants me to come away,and
show me an older time
the oldest it had been
as shade for two lovers
to share a kiss.
I take the rest of it’s memory
and bind it
carefully, and blistering my painted fingers,

I wrap up it’s contents

with my tears
and it’s own paper.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Sonnet # 6


I don’t know why, but some of my poems have been getting quite gory and gruesome, and I hate it. I am also an official hypocrite now, because I absolutely HATE edgy, jumbled, gory prose.  In fact, I often find myself picking up a New Yorker Magazine  and mocking the tasteless poems they showcase. I think I just want to fit in…oh well. Darn stupid poet-pressure!

Another gory poem coming your way…

Sonnet #6 

The loneliness is stooped upon the grass

A touch of tatter’d longing where was none

And now  the world spins long and light and fast

A thousand moons have shown though be but one.

I whisper to an empty  face that dies

That leaves without goodbye to last alone

Your heart does melt like wax before my eyes

I grasp it’s void of closeness that has grown,

And slip away unnoticed through the cracks

With you to lead my way that spans quite far

I loose myself in blood and blues and blacks

We both are torn from life that leaves it’s scar:

I wake, the morning quiet, still,and warm

And breathe relieving breathes when you ne’er form.


Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet # 5


Sonnet # 5

Around my house and through the valleys deep

The shards of snowy glass that pave the stone

While all that breathes is soundly in their sleep

I measure how the yellow stars have shone.

Whenst I have ‘woken in the break of day

When dawn’s new eye escapes in endless light

A cold beginning that has gone astray

Turn’d now much hotter than the sun is bright.

I see the plains burn up and so the grass

To run, to where? If only I was told

By houses, farms and cities now I pass

And to myself I very chiefly scold

From ice to fire went my world astray

The mountains shiver and burn up, they say.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry



P.S -there is supposed to be a break every two lines but unless I upgrade this blog, I will never be allowed stanzas (boo hoo)


This blackberry darkness turns faery ghost white,

And the dawn shakes the dust off the cold hungry night.

And the demons and goblins and witches agree,

And the moon rising up and the sun setting down,

And the black of the evening comes in with a “BOOM”

And the thousands of eyes coming into the town.

Little lakes leave their poise and their placid overlay,

Stretch out hundreds of years to the rock and the bay.

And I ponder, beside these, on rocks by that pool,

Near a thunderstorm’s clash when the morning is cool

And the summer’s awaiting to pick and be plucked,

Int his vast open world, there the baskets are tucked

And in Summer when hotter the juice of a fruit,

Set to sonnet and music and Zither and Lute

And the blueberries blue, and the blackberries white,

when they crush, when they melt, leave unturned in the light

And in Swarthering winters, they wither and die,

Left to moan in the cabins, to yearn and to cry

But their songs never cease, in the cabins they frost,

And in frozen young Winters the berries are lost.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Office Workday (written in mid-2011)



post 1

Mr. Richardson stood from his chair, put the note on the door, strode down the hallway, and descended the old rickety staircase that led to the main offices. Once on the ground floor, he walked to the meeting room where he held gatherings with the staff members once or twice a week, depending on the amount of issues there were to discuss.

He opened the door, and stepped in.

Chapter One

Slowly, Mr. Richardson walked to his chair. Once he was settled, he stared at the cushy chair in front of him, and glanced at his watch. He was 10 minutes early. Noticing his awkward emotions in that still, silent room, he was glad to find all the staff members shuffle in. He nodded and smiled. People finding their seats, a soft murmur. When everyone was in their places, he cleared his throat and spoke. The discussion was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The strange, monotonous day seemed to have doubled it’s length. The hot, un-air conditioned cubicles and desks were in a foul mood, and everyone was sticking to their seats. Even though  fans were brought in from the basement floor, nothing changed. The faint clacking of typewriters could plainly be heard. Everyone was quiet.

Chapter Three

Though most of the staff was quite tired, some decided to bring in cold drinks to the parched mouths of their brethren workers. The offer was greatly appreciated, and soon, everyone was back to chattering about, doing business on the telephone, and typing up important information. In short, the office had been brought back to life. Mr. Richardson kept an eye on everyone from his perch at the top of the banister. Putting on his spectacles, Mr. Richardson heaved a sigh and went back into his office.

x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x

Not moments later, a cry broke out from the first floor. Mr. Richardson stepped out and called “Hey! What’s going on?!” Immediately he could see what had happened. Betty, one of the best workers in the office, had spilled a cup of scouring hot coffee on her leg. The burn was huge. It was bleeding on the marble floor, and her friend Anna was caring for the wound with a damp cloth . All eyes turned to Mr. Richardson. He looked embarrassed  Suddenly, he blurted “out! Everybody out! ” Then to Anna he said “I’l call the paramedics, no need to worry-  you’re excused.” “and you, Mrs. Adams,” said Mr. Richardson, looking at Betty harshly “be more careful next time”. The damp cloth was abandoned, and Betty’s blood was seeping through. Mr. Richardson picked up the telephone. Looking away from Betty, he dialed Zero, said a few hushed words, and hung up. Betty was kneeling on the floor, weeping.

They both heard the sirens.

Copyright  2013 Golden Star Poetry

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet # 4 (Winter of 1680)


Sonnet #4  (Winter of 1680)

Around the camp of soldiers wide and thin

A voice that whispers through the forest floor

In angst one boy wakes up as it begins

And as he hears it’s sound, it is no more.

A pounding and a thrashing wakes them all

But slow receding as it did before

Again what comes when Fairy Nymphs enthrall

To lift a veil of ignorance and gore

They stand with open arms outstretched to him

The milky pale of skin against the night

The boy does want to kiss the maidens few

But quick as come, they fly away in fright

One boy is still, and shivers in the cold

And waits to see them till he turneth old.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

The Sonnet Project: Sonnet #2


This sonnet, like the last, is quite Shakespearean! I must admit, the sort of ambiguous feel of his sonnets (or at least, to our modern English-speaking tongues) makes them quite enjoyably mysterious (and such is the same with these sonnets which I have composed)! I hope, dear readers, that you will read these poems with great gravity and take the time to decipher their true meanings.

yours sincerely,

-Golden Star Poetry

–and a side note: the reference to salt pillars and looking back on fires refers to a story in the bible in which Lot, a biblical character, and his wife,  are instructed by G-d to not look back at  Sodom and Gomorrah being destroyed, but Lot’s wife disobeys G-d and does look back, turning into a pillar of salt.

Sonnet #2

Your eyes are fading in the sunset rimmed

And ice pervades the pupil that was there

Your hands a stonework long and limm’d

Your face so dark that shadows grab your hair

I try to see beyond the mountain west

And hilly landscape in the golden east

But none can make a home that you like best

No cure can calm this coldness in the least

My arms are pillars in the southern skies

And yours that salt returned, from stone

You had to look but one away what lies

At fire raging vast through the unknown.

I hold you in my hands and see you fall

where went our love that seems not here at all?

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

The Sonnet project: Sonnet #1


Another poem written during the boredom of English class (whilst we read “shall I compare thee to a summers day yet another time)

Sonnet #1

My life becomes a string of changing lights

Inside my house the candle’s endless drip

That keeps me up throughout the breezy nights

And out my door the lake with port and ship

My sight is strewn to look about and wait

To hear the horn of welcome vessle come

And park itself outside the iron gate

With whistle blow and enjine stop it’s hum

My coverlets that tousle I bemoan

And through the wake of autumn’s slow decline

The firs that hoard the needles that they own

The oaks that mourn the loss of greener vine

They don’t become acquainted with the morn

Of noises fallen through the days reborn


Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry