Ian Stewart Black

Modern master of classical poetry

Month: September, 2010

Where Spirits Coalesce


Beyond the blackened raven-gate,

As dusk has spread and swollen into night.

Where silhouettes are triplicate,

And out of reach of nightfall-frozen light.

Upon the bridge of life and death,

The midnight sky and lake are my abyss.

Upon the bridge of reckoning,

I find myself where spirits coalesce.


I see shadows in the darkness,

And lights amid the woodland gleam, surreal.

I am a wraith upon the earth,

Perceiving silhouettes, ethereal.

Upon my ears, a feathered cry,

From some forsaken shade into the night.

An echo, piercing, in the still,

As shadows sway beneath the new moon light.


But in the dawn, when all is clear,

And through the blackness, morning sun cascades.

I bathe in soft rose-light and see,

A beast is but a beauty in the shade.

Above a new horizon line,

The darkened souls that, in the night, had screamed.

Now flutter softly in the light,

As birds that flock in watercolour dreams.




Thirteen years: A Requiem


Falling through the mist of spectral eyes

When sun blessed columns crumble down,

As tombstones standing for the brave and wise

Swim deeper still through time and drown.

The wolf river chases down its prey

Beneath a Mississippi sky,

To swallow all of grace and beauty

There are millions, still, who cry.

An angel fell beneath the waves

To leave his voice, a silhouette,

He lived and died, the form of grace

And I will not forget.



In The Face Of The Unknown

There is a scratching at my door.
I know not why it chose me, or what it beckons for.
And I may open to a kitten, pining with it’s paw.
Or usher in the lions, to lacerate with tooth and claw.
So I dare not move, but listen
                       – For the scratching at my door.

There is a letter on my chair.
I know not where it came from, or why it settles there.
I may open to a fortune, to one I long have loved.
Or find inside but bitterness, and only pain to speak of.
So I turn my head to shelter
                       – From the letter on my chair.

There is light upon my window.
I know not why it dazzles, or gratifies me so.
I may stare, content, for ever, with blissful, open eyes.
Just to let its beauty blind me, as a common fool, not I.
And so I dwell amid the darkness, clinging to my soul.
Shadowed from the beauty
                       – Of the light upon my window.


Only To Dream

The sun is but a flame,
A spark of burning life.
A candle of the sky
And herald of the dawn.
A lake is but a pool.
A valley of water.
A mist that never was.
A rain that soon will be.
Wealth is but a notion,
A silken robe of dust.
A golden trail of fools
And perfume on a rose.
To dream is something more,
A wisdom of your soul.
A place of manic truth.
To dream is to be free.


On Lavender Lane

On Lavender Lane, you entranced my eyes
And set my heart to flight.
You made me a fool when I’d once been so wise,
There was no escaping my plight.
On Lavender Lane, the sun on your back,
You moved with a dancer’s grace.
As all things around you had faded to black,
As all I could see was your face.
On Lavender Lane, you took my hand
And gave me sweet embrace,
My love held me firm as words turned to sand
And I neither knew season nor place.
On Lavender Lane, I was no longer shy,
But taken by silent bliss.
On Lavender Lane, we said our goodbyes
And we parted with a kiss.



I had spoken ‘love’ before you,
And I had often been amazed.
My heart was carried on my sleeve,
And I, upon my dreams.
But on this day, you stole my breath,
And I could only stand and stare.
My hazel-olive eyes in tears,
And yours, so full of hope.
I would have sworn before today,
That love was strengthened over time.
But just one look had stilled my heart,
And in that breath, I knew.
I had wandered all my life,
To find a love worth dying for.
But in your eyes was something more,
I will live, my girl, for you.