Ian Stewart Black

Modern master of classical poetry

Month: February, 2010

Flower for all seasons

A flower for all seasons,

In an autumn world.

Vivid in the drawing dusk,

When the strongest light does fade.


An ever bolder violet,

Ever more aglow.

Dancing in the bitter torrent,

Still, she withers not.


Weeping rose against the night,

Tender as the dawn.

Tears, laden as the veil,

Her shelter from the stars.


Flourishing for all to see,

Herald of the light.

Archetype of graceful beauty,

In bloom, always, alone.


Countless, now, are those,

Uplifted by her joy.

To find a warmth within her presence,

And carry on, renewed.


Still, she has not respite,

From her earthly woes.

Her beauty offered forth to all,

But lost to herself.



It’s been said

Are there yet words to speak my heart,

Or have they all run dry?

From poets, through the ages, striving,

To the same end as I.

Is there a way to tell my sorrow,

As if I am the first,

And not another fledgling poet,

Claiming my heart ‘cursed’.

Oh, to be a pioneer,

And not some modern wave,

To craft my words as if anew,

And take them to my grave.

It is my wish to tell the world,

In timeless, tender verse,

Of how you are the highest angel,

Without language, traversed.

If there’s a way to have it known,

The beauty which you bring,

Without some classic reference,

To roses, light or spring.

Then it lays not within my grasp,

Although I clutch at straws.

I fail to speak of how I weep,

And suffer at your loss.

I possess no way to conjure,

A language of my own,

And form an image of your beauty,

Charged to I, alone.

Some great poet, I must be,

To fall upon cliché.

To turn to methods, tried and tested,

When I don’t know what to say.

In all truth, I have no option,

But to say as those before.

My love is the end of life,

And shall, forever, soar.

So if I say you are an angel,

Or name you as my rose.

If I declare my love ‘eternal’,

As I did so long ago.

If I adorn your name with grace,

Or say you light the sky.

If I proclaim our souls as one,

And, without you, I die.

Know the reason is sincere,

That every word is true.

In all the ages of creation,

Never beauty, such as you.


Maiden of the sea

In a sea of sorrows passed,

Stands a cliff, adorned with she.

My ever silent, weeping maiden,

Waits, alone, for me.

Her angelic figure, still,

Waters, without rest below.

Above her and the sullen sea,

A sky that bleeds in woe.

The bleak horizon, all she knows,

The torment of the sea.

In that land of mourning gales,

No soul alive but thee.

Thou, my watchful, widowed spirit,

Ever lost to grief,

Who casts her gaze of hopeful dreams,

Into the waves, beneath.

Shall find no end to your lament,

And nor shall you find me.

I lie beside your abject tears,

At the bottom of the sea.

In my now redundant heart,

My love still burns, sincere.

Never to be changed by time,

These lonely, lifeless years.

I cannot rest in death, deprived,

Of the one that I hold dear.

In a sea of sorrows, passed,

Augmented by your tears.

Beholding your distress each day,

Your grief, unveiled anew.

Through all the ages of this world,

No mortal heart, more true.

My angel waits, forlorn, in vain,

For ever more, for me.

In silent sorrow, weeping maiden,

And victim of the sea.


My heart is a rose

Waiting for the light of day-

Once more, to blossom




Her eyes are a light

That call me forth to heaven,

Where my angel waits




Her kiss, at a price

Your soul to her, forever,

Willingly, I pay




This love is a sea

That knows no bounds or island,

That will never rest




Fall was our demise

Tearing of one heart in two,

Summer, rise again




We were the order

She, the sun, and I, the moon,

Now, forever night

The Box

Never more a sunrise,

And never more a song.

Never more a spark of hope,

The light of day has gone.

The ancient seal, now broken,

The only ward in place,

And now, without it’s shelter,

The night pursues our race.

Stalking from the shadows,

When once, we knew but light.

Hunting prey among the angels,

And killing for delight.

Blackness coats the sea and sky,

Horizons fierce ablaze.

For ever more an endless night,

To meet our final days.

In the dark, the howling beasts,

The feasting of the vile,

The last we see against the night,

The devil’s scarlet smile.

And in the sky, among the smoke,

Of slaughtered, burning towns,

Demon’s soar, eagle eyed,

And snatch their prey, aground.

There is no time to mourn our fate,

No pause to free our tears.

Nor is there a single hope,

To lay to rest our fears.

Our final hour has fallen,

As timeless evil knocks.

This endless nightmare brought to life,

By the all corrupting Box.

The call

Some fallen angel cast below,

Or demon risen forth.

A sacred curse to any man,

Blessed by your refrain.

How many nights of silence,  

Ruptured by your song?

How many home-bound vessels,

Lured onto the rocks?

Fate must follow where you lie,

And where you serenade.

Shattered ships and bodies, still,

The remnants of your snare.

Many heroes lost at sea,

And by your chant, enthralled.

Their hearts awoken by your grace,

Their lives, the only cost.

No storm or swelling ocean,

Nor glory in defeat,

A victim of the siren,

Singing them to sleep.

Their dream, one of sorrow,

Of beauty in the night.

Of all the hope they ever had,

Lost unto the call.