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

The Fine Line Between

 This is a poem I wrote, which isn't dedicated to anyone, but it was inspired by a heart-to-heart talk with someone, who felt this way about someone, though not me. Enjoy. :)

Such a fate seems a blessing, yet almost a curse

That every time I see you

The hate that I desire to keep

Somehow morphs into inexpressible desire

I hate you. I cannot deny it. But when

Did hate walk so thin a line

Between abhorrence and sheer ecstasy?

Alas I cannot deign to know

What changed my thought towards you.

I would to call it fate, perhaps. A god?

Some god to curse my mind with what threatens to overflow it!

Some thought perhaps that pushed me over that line

I didn’t know was so slim dividing odium and worship?

Or maybe just coming to realize, that

Not all is as it seems. Cliché though the phrase may be,

It seems to strike a heart-string. Maybe I didn’t know

Enough of who you are? A wordless plea to nameless

Gods has been denied. Wordless I say, though to give it words would

Be to ask ‘Why?’

Why am I doomed to love the man I deem my enemy?

Why am I destined to retain some fantastical thought of love?

And towards the one I rather would despise than

Have to damn my heart to him. Ah!

What have the heavens against me? What have the skies

Foretold? My destiny intertwined with his? Or

Am I ruined to walk a different path? My heart

Has gone in two, no six, no eight! Different places

And I cannot choose which piece to follow. The piece

That follows my hateful thought to you? Or the piece

That loves you? Perhaps the piece

With a little bit of both? Perchance I follow the piece

Calling to just leave and never come back. Or the piece

Telling me to just abandon thought altogether. Or the piece

Telling me I could just think all day, trapped in my poet’s mind. Mayhap the piece

To follow would be the one saying ‘Wait, just wait. Let fate decide.’ Conceivably the piece

Comes next would be all previous put together. It is the last, and so it says:

Hate, yet love him. They both walk a thin line. Leave yet stay, distance yourself, yet stay

As close as you can. Think and think, write down your damnable thoughts trapped

Inside your mind. No, don’t. Just wait and let the thrice-damned gods

Do what they will. Ah! Mystification! Thou seems

To be my cousin, no! my sister! No! my brother! No!

My mother, father, sire! Captor of my mind, why can’t you

Simply let me go?

Oh please! Just release me! I beg of you to permit me to escape

The insanity that is my mind. Alas it appears I am trapped.

So I will ponder my fate, and beg that you

Would accept what olive branch I can give. Since I am

Doomed to love you, at least would you forgive what I cannot help,

And grant what I cannot ask.

Gallantry

A poem dedicated to two very brave people I know:

Lost, lost, and I am lost

In a world that prompts us to ask why?

We, him and I, are misplaced in the wood

I say lost, yet lost is a witful bantered synonym

For what could be called to conceal

What we must from whom we must.

We have vanished from others view,

Cannot be found except by those who know

Where we are. The rest, hostile to our wishes

Can ask where we are, Ha! They

Cannot find us. We are invisible.

What a plan gone wrong. Now found

Out and imprisoned. Again must

We ask the question ‘why?’

Some seem to think we have no minds

With which to employ our thought and opinion

Over who should have the right

To decide whether we live, die, breath and gasp.

Who we love, why we love, what

Right have they to say we do not know

Our own thoughts and our religion?

We are more than what they say. We are human.

Why does the regime seem to think

It has all the power? Humans are humans

And that will not change; no matter how you abuse

And beat us. You may try, but we will not reject

Nor forget our humanity, our personhood. Take what you

Will. We are the young, with bravery worthy of Godric.

You may decide we cannot live, but what have you over the power

Of divinity? We are embedded with valor from Valinor,

Men of Numenor, Hobbits of the Shire.

We have a task we will fulfill, and

A gallantry you cannot quench.

Gallantry © Elizabeth Wherry, April 2012



On Looking Outside A Window

The man with sandy hair and cheerful eyes, turns his back to me

'Come, why argue, debate and banter? Look at all there is to see!'

He grins and gazes out upon a majestic view

Seen through clear invisibility, and each time it is different.

Once we looked out and saw a blockage of red brick buildings.

Again we looked and saw instead skyscrapers sleek and tall.

Once more we gazed and saw green meadows stretching to

Mountains blue with flowers of all colors littering upon the green.

One last time we venutred to turn our eyes outside through that clear door.

Now the flowers and green are gone; summer and spring's no more.

Yea, in its stead we look to see, winter's hand so strong.

The field is white with hints of black, the mountains are grey and long.

One lone wolf wanders by, a lonesome howl he cries.

One lone falcon flies by, a freezing chill he sighs.

Yet I am safe and warm, inside looking out. The Man, he laughs;

'Come love,' he said. 'We can look and sigh or marvel upon the beauty

Some Being set upon this earth. Come my dear, I love you.' He took my hand

And led me away, and I; my heart is spent. Yet not in vain.

I have given it away to him I love and we can gaze together.

On Looking Outside A Window (C) Elizabeth Wherry 2012

Beauty, Truth and Lies

You have something to hide behind

A mask none can pierce thorough

A tale beyond what anyone knows

A secret unbound by lust.

Your mind is a nightmare that

Most, if not all would avoid

Insanity blinds on the brink

The weakest part of you.

Madness breeds a twist upon

What you claim is reality. And

Sometimes I just have to wonder

Whether you even know what reality

Actually is. You live inside

A fantasy, a deluded fairytale.

Normality sees a prince riding up

On a white horse to sweep away

A princess in jewels; to save her life.

You? You see a princess, no a

Beggar! Ride up on a grey mule.

And why? To rescue not the knight

In-armour-shining. No, to save

The flaming, fuming dragon. What

Happened to the beauty and love we

Came to know? Now the classic takes

The evil to make it holy. And such

Is deigned to be good. And beautiful.

Such lies! Beauty is not the knight

Presenting the damsel with a black rotten rose.

Beauty is when the knight rescues the

Princess from the evil, firey worm.

Beauty is when the man-played-hero

Gives the lady a pure white rose.

Beauty is seeing the dragon defeated;

The hag put back in place.

Beauty will come when the innocent love

Of simple classic truth comes back

To fight the lies attempting to pass as

Good. When love is love and no longer

Lustful hate. When all the lies

Can go to hell and hate be damned.

When we can look and see truth and beauty

Before our eyes without a mask to hide

Behind. When all the lies can go to hell. Then,

We can see beauty and truth. And know it

To be good. The you may, perhaps begin to

Comprehend the truth that is reality.


Beauty, Truth and Lies. (C) Elizabeth Wherry, 2012

There's a twinkle in your eyes with

 A look that bespeaks madness and of

 A brilliance unmatched by any other.

 Crazy, yet so beautiful.

 There's a sound in your voice

... As if you are plotting

 A prank filled with laughter.

 Something about your body

 Says "I am up to fun." And

 Your posture warns, "watch out

 For that one." For me this keeps

 

My laughter going, makes my

 Heart beat fast. Maybe I'm not

 In love with you, but it will be hard

 Not to fall. Since every laugh and smile

 Makes my life somehow better. I am

 Hard-pressed not to deign you

 Highest in my sphere.

 But even if I manage to keep my heart

 As mine. I'll stay as close as you'll

 Allow. And count your words as mine.

 A nameless radom creation. (C) Elizabeth Wherry, 2012

Whenever the urge strikes me, I am notorious for writing poetry. Not very good poetry half the time, but poetry all the same. Here is something I wrote a while back, and while it's not great, it's decent.

Too true to know

Too true to follow

Farther than I can ever comprehend

I see but a glimpse

And am awed by the silver

Of a snatch of beauty, incomprehensible

I yearn to touch, to feel, to see

You who are above all things

Wond'rous You are and I cannot see You yet

But somehow the glimpses

Through this life dark and drear

Send a sense of purpose

Through each smile, laugh and sigh

Through rain and sunshine, love and life

I can find a glimpse, a snatch

Of Your beauty and your love

And through these sighs of life I find

A reason to wait and Hope,

To see You and love You, face to face

In eternity.

When Love Finds Me

I'm waiting. Hopefully, perhaps a bit impatiently, but still waiting. 'What are you waiting for, and Who?' you ask. I answer with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart. I'm waiting for love, I await my Prince Charming.
I firmly believe that there is true romance still in our world today, and chivalry is still alive too. I am living in what some might call an ideal world, a fantasy. But my fantasy is hinged to real life.
'What is your fantasy world like? What is it like living in a fairy tale? What do you see when you look into your heart?' I see love.
I am loved. Already. My Prince Charming has not come yet, but I am still loved by someone better…my Maker and Redeemer. There is a future for me, with a Prince Charming and love. But that love will be the fulfillment of my Lover's promise now, 'I will never forget you.' When my knight-in-shining-armor comes, he will be any earthly fulfillment of my God's promise.
People tell me 'there is no such thing, no such person, as a knight, and as a Prince nowdays, why bother waiting. Why do you wait for what will never come?' Because I hope. I have met Prince Charmings and knights-in-shining-armor, and I have seen them sweep a Princess, a damsel-in-distress, off her feet into love. They have been friends of mine, true Princes and true Princesses, and their joy is real. They hoped, they waited, and love found them.
Love does not come swiftly, but it does come softly. Patience builds the heart, prepares it, nurtures it, so that when it is time, it is the best it can be.
The Prince destined for me will be handsome, charming and polite. He will be funny, a lover of life and a learner. In short, he will be perfect. Why should I set my eyes on an impossible goal? The perfect man is unachievable, after all, he will be human. So why should I wait for something that will never come?
Because I believe that the Lord has someone picked out for me, me alone, and when he comes, he will be what fills the gap in my heart and shows me the way to heaven. He won't be perfect, but he will be perfect for me.
Some of you may have read The Fairy Tales retold series by Regina Doman. If you haven't, read them, they are great. This story is inspired by Waking Rose, the 3rd in the series. Enjoy.