Ian Stewart Black

Modern master of classical poetry

Month: August, 2011

Caitlin’s Sonnet

Were I imparted with a hundred lives
To fabricate and flourish as I wish,
To see my every darkest dreaming thrive
And clamber, time and time, from death’s abyss.
Were I to stare into the fading sun
And watch it signal for the end of days,
My steady heart would not become undone
But rather, more than ever, set ablaze.
Yet I was granted but a single life,
A solitary story to unfold;
And I have sought a treasure worth my strife,
A bounty in excess of common gold.
Were I accorded all of heaven’s charms,
I’d spurn the last to hold you in my arms.

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The Widow And The Sea

A meaner tempest rages there
Than any vessel stands to see;
A stalemate set in burning wrath
Between The Widow and The Sea.
A bitter tide is crawling in,
Its fingers clutching at the sand.
The Widow’s eyes, relentlessly,
Enthralled in some forgotten land.

She watches as the sun subsides
Beyond the farthest idle shore;
The daylight, dying fruitlessly,
She’s seen a hundred times or more.
Every lonely sun that rises
Burns the feeling from her soul,
Each day that yields itself to night:
By Neptune’s hunger, swallowed whole.

A whispered sorrow on the wind
Is met by her, without a sound.
Her weary, silver eyes, inert,
Upon the place where love was drowned.
Her hope was lost unto the waves
And so, forever, shall it be:
In silent wrath, a tempest roars
Between The Widow and The Sea.

Tristan’s Repose

Relent! Be still, oh thunderous heart,
For I am wearied of your cry.
I am worn and I am laden –
With your talk of ‘Her and I’.
May I not dream without her name
Amid the starlight and the stream?
May I not close my eyes and seek –
To end avail of her regime?
Relent! Be still, oh thunderous heart,
And let my soul be set at peace;
This wretched art entitled ‘love’
Shall be erased from me, and cease.