Tag Archives: dog

As Love Often Does

Hey folks, poem today! This also marks the official launch of my substack too (substack.com/samdotson) if you’re interested. I’ll probably be posting poems both here and there, but there may be some extra content thrown that way. Let me know what you think however you’d like! Without further ado…

As Love Often Does

The love in your eyes looked as love often does: 

Golden, and witty, and warm, and pretty.

I have seen a great many things I found to be less beautiful, 

and many fewer that I desired more.

Ice and fire met there like sapphires raining on the sands of old Venus,

a painting in baroque style

so torrid it would threaten to burn.

Ancient pits and wells were far gone from my eyes then,

as were the machinations of myself and other men. 

I hoped one day to live up to that adventurous promise

in the eyes of that hope-filled novice.

Fresh alabaster met the marble of old,

belying youth in the age of soul untold

and love again had moved to take hold.

Atop a lonely mountain,

beside a lonely fountain,

a chance to see my home again.

The love in your eyes looked as love often does.

What Once Was

Hey folks, waiting on my computer to restart, and I figured I’d post a poem I just wrote last night. I hope you enjoy; without further ado…

What Once Was

In truth,

I have taken on that spirit of a most incoherent melancholy.

It feels bucolic, this, an almost romance of a deepening despair.

From what depths then do I dredge these awful, unbegotten things?

~

Blown far off course, 

I find myself wanted and wanting.

Simultaneously unwanted and unchained,

in ungracious and unkempt embrace.

With wind in my sails and yet stagnant,

watching and listening as the phantom breeze delivers old whispers.

~

Blasted Bastarnae,

as I have learned and been enraptured

in your ancient embraces,

I find myself still in somber memories

haunted by wailing spirits and adoring lies.

Would it be that I should be in such a state?

I am fraught with consternation,

with woe that was earned in fire and in blood.

~

What man is this?

What beast?

At once the God of Qart’Hadasht became the Demon of Antioch.

~

And I am afraid.

Witch Trial

Morning, folks. S’pose I can’t sleep; I’d say it’s the perfect time for a haunting melody to drive you mad. I can also say that I’ve not had an especially easy go of it these last couple of months, and I really appreciate everybody who lets me know how excited they are about my new poems. While things certainly will get better, for now I’m finding it somewhat difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I hope you all have a blessed holiday season and may we all find peace in our time. Without further ado…

Witch Trial

Always turned away

with never a question answered,

until again I saw you

with no questions left to answer.

~

Tepid rebuttals

become angry retorts,

and painful things of so many sorts.

~

I looked again upon a forgotten vessel,

sweet image of hair so tussled;

I’d forgotten I had the muscle.

~

Trials that do

simply pass

in untoward recess.

~

Isolate, away, on the outside of a faraday cage:

Trapped by freedom’s vaunted embrace,

I simply could not look you in the face.

~

Never the same,

and forever lame.

I thought to play an uncertain game.

~

Buried now

in the iron maiden,

a lover’s quarrel,

beneath the soil.

Erinnerung

Howdy, folks. Got a new one today about quiet reminders. Not much to say here, but I hope you like it. Without further ado…

Erinnerung

There flows a river,

meandering gently

through one soft and solemn place

where memories and remembrances do meet

in quiet, somber embrace.

~

And in its path

do they twirl and dance,

astonishingly simple

in their great complexity.

~

Simple loves and simple loss

that floats and swirls about the waterline

with little foam

and clear view of gentle stones

that lay about

as old and gentle bones.

~

The leaves of Autumn do fall,

absent chaos of a sea-like squall

as quiet breezes drift along,

carrying notes of one simple, quiet song.

Flitting on Forgotten Wings

Good morning, everyone! I have for you today a piece which I have freshly written, so freshly, in fact, that it still smells of warm ink and the sweat of my hands. Like warm bread, I would hope that you enjoy what I’ve managed to bake up for you today. Without further ado…

Perception of the Mass

To die upon your crossed arms,

a fall from grace so fed by charms

would be so sweet and free from harms.

It would not be

that Pontius Pilate

determines my fate,

for such a thing

now seems so trite.

Willful masters know their place,

looking in the mirror

and finding their face.

Do you not harm,

but simply farm

that sorrow which you carefully guard.

In the eyes of a dog

is reflected one ghastly visage

of one most malevolent demagogue.

Make your choice,

knowing all the while

that what you do

matters to you.