Ian Stewart Black

Modern master of classical poetry

Month: May, 2010

We Called The World Our Own

In the cold, forgotten winds

Of winter where we lay,

The world of men abed by night

And occupied by day.


Time at peace before our eyes,

Alone, we laughed and wept.

Through the day, we chased the sun,

And through the night, we crept.


We walked in endless winter wastes

And scrambled through the trees,

We endured a blizzard’s wrath

And fell into the breeze.


In the cold, forgotten winds

Of winter where we lay,

The world of men, abed by night

And occupied, by day.


We were kings of barren white,

We ruled the land, alone,

Still, I tell the tale of when

We called the world our own.




Something More

I was told of something more

Of ancient, epic lands

Destiny of sword and shield

Of castles steeped in sand

I have dreamt of fated quests

Of dark engaging light

And in dreams of what is not

Have found my place to fight

I have stood with bow in hand

And charged across the mud

I have seen an empire fall

By my own spilling blood

I have stood in victory

And heard the world proclaim,

Light prevailing by my hand,

The echo of my name



As I wake without acclaim

No hero, like before

I ask myself a question,

Is there really nothing more?


A Youth Restored

All I have are simple words,

A ripened eye and swollen heart

Sands of time, within, enshrined

And now, restored to youth, my art


The tide I knew could not be turned,

The crashing waves of time

Alone, I stood to meet their wrath

And yield, afraid, my prime.


Unshakable and firm, you held

And turned the tide of sand

We cast the waves out to the sea

Together, hand in hand


A simple word of what I feel;

The endless tide, retreat

A timeless love for you, alone

With every breath and beat




Illuminating spark of grace

And harbinger of life

Hellish fiend without restraint

The enemy of peace

Philanthropist and vital spring

In measures equal, thief

Both beast and bearing womb of being

In balance, give and take

The element of living fate

So elegant and free

Kingdom, crown, and solemn kin

Devoured in your wrath

Tender, warm and welcome touch

The healing hands of light

Claws and clutches, vile as sin

The savage grasp of woe

You live without a breath, your own

And die without remark

In your wake, both death and life

You, dancer in the dark

You never said goodbye

No sunset song or sonnet

Nor parting kiss goodbye

No midnight mist or moonlight

Nor longing, tender sigh

No glancing back and wishing

Nor ember-flame of faith

No remnant of the fire

Nor sorrow-soaked embrace

No starlit solemn parting

Nor walk beside the waves

No tears of sweet nostalgia

For loving hearts, no graves

You couldn’t stand to soothe me

Or hold me as I cry

And what hurt me most of all

You never said goodbye