Sing to me from the greatest of heights,

Call to me from where thou stands.

Enthroned above all else in my mind.

See I, nothing more than thine beauty,

Reach to thee with outstretched hand.

Come, to me, thou are heaven, and the earth herself combined,

Precious to me above anything else in my life.

Would my heart keep on soaring, Would that I would never land!

Such flight speaks in wind and song to me,

Sight above all else, hovering above the earth!

Alas that the laws of Nature ban

Such endless flight! Else would I soar to thee

On wings ne’er tiring, to seek thee out and find thee!

Though endless I wish this flight may be, When I land,

I shall reach out and join hands with thee.

Earhfaru. © Elizabeth Wherry, April 2013

The Little Boy's Question

This is a sonnet that has been dancing around in my head for some time. Sadly, it appears to have issues on paper, and is not one of my favorites. But, I decided just to get it out there, and maybe come back later to revise it. Until then, enjoy it. It was inspired by a friend when I was talking to her, and she asked me why she's had to go through hell. And it got me thinking about why anyone has to go through hell. So, I wrote this poem in response to that question.

The Little Boy looked around as
If to ask the reason of why he has
To feel. Since innocence can only try
To comprehend pain and purity is nigh
Able of making sense of grief. He
Smiles sadly. Why? The answer, nay key
Lies inside the query. How can you know
Pain’s counterpart without fellow
Pain himself? To know beauty one must have
Unsightliness. So must to know both
Sides of this life’s intimate oath;
Understand both joy and pain, two halves.
And the Little Boy asked Why?
We say so you can live.


The Little Boy’s Question © Elizabeth Wherry, April 2012

Ah....life

Life is so wonderful isn't it? Unfortunately, it's doesn't approve of my attempts to write a sonnet in imabic pentamameter. Bother! See, I love to write free verse, but I also revel in the challenge posed by a format. Because while letting the words just spill onto the page without regard for structure is an envigorating and freeing experience, there is a definite beauty and comfort to structure. We humans live a chaotic life. If you try to tell me your life is calm, having no chaos, I will have two reactions: What cave have you been living in, and what's your secret? And since chaos is such a large and predictable part of our lives, we have a need for structure and order. There is freedom in structure, simply because we don't have it normally. And there is something comforting about it do, because it's reliable. We know what to expect, what to anticipate. The poem with structure may surprise us, but it won't break completely out of its boundaries. It will have 10 syllables in the first line, 7 in the next, then 10 again. We can expect that, and not worry that we have to be looking for shock. Shock is not the purpose of a poem, beauty is. And beauty is more easily attainable when you aren't worried about suprise in the meter, but rather in the words themselves. Because it is the words that mainly present the point, and the words that invoke the emotions and images in the reader. It is important for poetry to have a structure, so that the reader can focus on the meaning and wording of the poem, and not the question of 'why the heck did this just switch from 18 syllables to 2?'

Ignorance and Narcissism

Ignorance and Narcissism

I do not know how anything works.

I do not even know how I work!

But, I beg you to hold me to my word, I intend

To find out. Such ignorance has no place in

Any mind; let alone mine. I mean to remove all ig-

Norance: innocence, no! I would keep my innocence.

But ignorance I will not accept. It is folly to 

Let no knowledge reside in a mind so built

To learn. A folly! A waste! If you can, why not 

Do so? Unless of course you revel in your ideology

Of stupidity. Or perhaps stupidity is too strong

A word. You do not know: you are ignorant. You

Choose not to know: you are stupid. It is idiotic

Not to know what you can; to have such know-

Ledge of our world could have unforeseen needed

Consequence. Perhaps knowing ‘To a Chameleon’

Could save some sadness of a lack of understanding

About the ‘lizard in the august foliage.’ Monroe

Could save your life. Don’t ask me how. I

Do not know. Did I just admit to ignorance?

For shame! My hipocritic musings have struck 

Me down! Humility is not my forte. But

I will live and criticize. Perhaps I should

Take my own words to heart. Though is

That not a bit cliché? I can learn. But

Can I learn from myself? It seems a bit 

Narcisstic to claim I can teach myself

What I do not know. Knowledge cannot

Be imparted if it is not in the possession 

Of the imparter. It makes no sense.

Half the world- nay three over four of it

Refuses to make sense. But that does

Not change my thought on ignorance. But

Why should you listen to me? I am a narcisstic 

Ignorant fool like you. Though I hop you are

Not as narcisstic as me! That would be a

Pitiful thing indeed. I hope to God you are

Not me. I have gone through more: and know

Less than you and her and him. Oh well. It

Seems that I cannot criticize your ignorance. You

Know more than I.

Ignorance and Narcissism © Elizabeth Wherry, April 2012

Concupiscence

Concupiscence

Would that I could give the seven stones a name

Would that I could write to make my words more plain

For you cannot even try to comprehend

What I mean to on your mind impend.

Stop! Before you speak my words aloud

Ponder what they mean. For I have endowed

Them with a curse or magic spell. They could be as harmless

As pennies in a wishing well. They could be completely senseless

Rhythm. Needless to say; it matters not.

Just be heedful of what leaves your mouth. Since with one word can one be shot

Mind what or when you speak my words; since the pen indeed is mightier than the sword.

Or so at least I say in my intelligent mind; containing such a hoard

Of these weapons. Intelligent! Nay! I beg to differ.

Read into Adam’s Curse. I am fervor-

Ous, but instead and also concupiscent. I prefer to deny

Intelligence; to claim instead my 

Humanity. It is after all far more precious and easier lost.

Concupiscence is Adam’s curse that I am damned with. Most

Accept this, save such few saints who strive to reject

Humanity’s Curse. Sin, it cannot be denied, is a net

That we all save two have been ensnared inside of. Some

Can throw off some of the ropes inside. Such a gift. None

Can claim to be better; since all of us are sinners.

This is a curse that for all of us hinders

Our moving onto betterment. Perhaps it could be

A blessing to help us as well. Sin can help us to see

How frail and weak we are. God! Help us not to

Damn ourselves to hell. None of us can say who

Goes where. We all sin. We are equal. We are the same.

Concupiscence © Elizabeth Wherry, April 2012

Love

A poem inspired by looking at the people in life who say that they are 'in love' because of a crush, yet fail to realize that true love requires sacrifice, not a few fluttering heart beats, because of some crush. Enjoy!

They sing and smile, with the superficial

Reality they claim is love. Do they know

What real love is? They deign

The crushes and winks, with a few of

Stolen kisses to be love. But do they know

That love wakes up every morning

Puts on a smile and forgives

Each snapping word and frown

Sure to be sent that day.

True love goes through hell and back,

Comes out scathed, bruised, battered, beaten

And would do it all again. Love lets go

If the other asks and realizes life is hell,

Yet goes on anyway. Love catches the crap

That’s thrown; willingly understanding and accepts.

Love looks at the person crying, gives them all

And stays, even after the ‘damn you’ is thrown.

Love is perfect and Broken. Beautiful and Beaten.

Love is there. And heaven and hell may war and kiss

But love will stay the same.

Love is all and more. When they understand

And accept, perhaps they can realize

The truth and stop recognizing the rock for the

Diamond.

Love © Elizabeth Wherry, 2012

On Endless Witty Banter

A poem dedicated and inspired by someone I view as a close friend, and who is a fellow poet, one I enjoy speaking to, and anticipate our meetings, since we do have a habit of speaking in circulous wistful, witty banter, that sometimes does seem to be endless! You know who you are...

On Endless Wistful Witty Banter

We could speak for days, you and I.

Since we have, it seems a knack

For speaking in circles, and none

Of yet can interpret what we say. Save

You and I, for we speak the same lone

Language of poetry and rhythm.

The others, they stand by to ask ‘what

We mean to say. Could we please

Just get to the point?’ The Point?

Why-ever would one do that? Half my

Fun in life comes from what we say and sing.

For you, I cannot speak what you would say,

But my heart would tell me you enjoy it as much.

After all, to banter back and forth is more

Challenging than to sit and confer the weather.

The romance of such oratory is lost on those who

Lack it in their blood. I’m sorry for them.

They cannot realize what they are missing. You and I

Can see the beauty in an untrimmed lawn of grass

And recognize it to put it into words. They, they see a

Mess of tall green weeds, needing to be controlled. But us?

We see the wild, woodland beauty, coming home to

Its place besieged by city streets. Such is how

Our poets’ minds seem to turn, not to the cold

Dark dismal facts, but to what could be.

The Romance hidden in a blade of grass, the written

Or spoken word holds certain magick unattainable

To those who question our sanity. We can see the enchantment

Contained in the simple avowal. And let them call

Us insane, we do not diverge their thoughts; for they

Are true. We are wild and passionate, crazy to some.

Leave them to call us what they will. You and I

Can continue with our bantering wit. And let

The magickal lexis of our thought

Consume us. We can live and love.

Let the others lie, we will soar to higher heights.

On Endless, Wistful, Witty Banter © Elizabeth Wherry, March 2012