Ian Stewart Black

Modern master of classical poetry

Month: June, 2010

Her heart, her tears and all the world


I know the story of a girl,

Her heart, her tears, and all the world.

A tale I’ve never spoken of,

About a girl who fell in love.


The warmth and hope of open eyes,

Shimmering like summer skies.
A smile that some will never know,

A heart, surrendered, yet aglow.


They say the world was made for this,

The truth of heaven in her kiss.

A young and fragile girl in love,

Sweet and gentle, tender dove.


Her open eyes held no insight,

To what would happen on that night,

When her true love would go astray,

And to her heart, bring disarray.


She wept into the flowing stream,

And with it, bled her only dream.

Her every breath of bliss had died,

And to the sun and moon she cried.


And then, as dusk was drawing near,

She wept one blackened crystal tear,

That fell upon the earth as one,

Ripping through the moon and sun.


A shadow cast, a wicked spell,

Upon their knees as darkness fell,

Tearing through the world of men,

Never to be seen again.


And on that day, when silence fell,

Within a tear, the wrath of hell.

All of man fell to the deep,

One girl, alone, was left to weep.




The Four Virtues


I have seen the stars of midnight,

Fade into the dawn.

Lay abed beneath the skies,

And starlight, wished upon.


I have sailed into the darkness,

The haze of the unknown.

Heard the phantom, silent scream,

And faced the dusk alone.


I have walked the frozen lake,

Of every loving tear.

Time and time, to shed my own,

And every one, sincere.


I have given in to hatred,

And walked its barren land.

Sought redemption in revenge,

And built a house on sand.


I have sought and found my worth,

By trial and by fault.

To know, when all illusion fades,

My virtue is my all.



Will Our Blossoming Subside?

We, the tree, were once apart,

So fragile and alone.

Budding hearts in dormant seeds,

Together, we have grown.


We, the tree, saw summer sun,

And awed the world in spring.

Tempering our fervent roots,

And tending natures, twin.


We, the tree, wore winter winds,

And shed our jewels in fall.

No sparkle left of opulence,

No glamour here at all.


We, the tree, have found our time,

And now we must decide.

Bare, betrothed and yet averse,

Will our blossoming subside?


We, the tree, must spread our seeds,

Our hopes, on where they lie.

Pray they land on fertile ground,

Or yield forever, die.


The Open Sea

I long to be with you again,

Oh, love who calls to me.
My only wish in all the world,
My only love, the open sea.


To raise the anchor from it’s bed,

And swear myself to she.

To bring me that horizon,

To sail the open sea.


To know the ocean’s gentle kiss,

And hear her lullaby.

To know the wrath of the abyss,

Beneath an open, falling sky.


To stand alone among the stars,

And face the crashing waves.

And in the moonlit silence,

Stand victorious and brave.


My map in hand is yet unfilled,

The world is there to see.

But a ship is not a vessel,

On which to sail the open sea.

Nor a key to the horizon.


It is the power to be free.



I have not forgotten,

You, the sullen vulture.

Scavenger of roaming souls –

Who called the mad-clouds home.


When summer skies were blinding –

You bid me run in fear.

The sun, itself, a stranger,

To me, you named it foe.


I remember you, my only friend,

The way you circled overhead.

And when I looked towards the sky –

Your feathers fell like ash.


Did I, in fact, betray you?

When I stepped into the light.

I left behind your noxious love,

But how I miss you now.


Song of Freedom

Heavy, does the lightning strike,
The sky around us, quake.
The night ablaze, thund’rous rage,
And bonds, about to break.

Dancing through the midnight sky,
I name her ‘nightingale’.
Prophesier of liberty,
Eclipser of the veil.

Beyond the overshadowed stars,
Her song calls forth to me,
Her cry of hope, eternal,
The sky, an aviary.

Her voice is that of thunder,
Rolling to the sea.
She is singing to the sky,
Singing to be free.

Ethereal Daubings

I held, renowned, a feathered crown,
A hunger-flame of fame,
And quickly found all thoughts profound,
To my name, lure acclaim.
A sudden blooming from the gloom,
A rising, praising cry,
A name to loom in every room,
A sigh of notice, nigh.
The spur of fame, the joyous blur,
Decreed, alone, to me,
Perhaps absurd, the world concur,
A dream is what I see.



The Hunter



Pale, hushed and haunting.

Spectral, hunter and howl.

Sole as the frostbitten sunrise.

Dusk in the blizzard.

Silver, and silent as the moon.