Inkpen Poetry Day: "A Goodly Warning"

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"A Goodly Warning"

 by Rachel Heffington

O! Time is a faerie-maid, dark is her dairy laid:

Larders of mem'ry and amethyst lore.

But one kiss from her lips

On your lips as she slips

One cold hand in your pocket will finish the chore.

For her kiss it is sweet

It is death, it is meat

It is sharp as a bone-frost and light as a wheat

In her bed, poppy-reds

glimmer bright as she shreds

All your best years of life into raggedy threads.

O! She picks every purse with a laugh and a curse

but a beggar she stays till the end of no end.

For her girtle is trim

From the breast to the hem;

She must ever stay hungry to eat what you lend.

Never thanks, never smile,

Such small coinage is vile

In pay for the life-years snipped off of a man.

But a kiss for the road

- Age and Slumber your load -

And a red-lipped farewell where your trouble began.

O! Time is a faerie-maid, dark is her dairy laid:

Larders of mem'ry and amethyst lore

But one kiss from her lips

On your lips as she slips

One cold hand in your pocket will finish the chore.

"Pit-Pat Waddle-Pat"

Ever written something in a fit of genius that lasts with you for ages and ages and will probably still run through your head at random till you are old and senile?

"In rubber boots you're free to wade

Through puddle and through creek;

In rubbers you're invincible,

Excepting when they leak."


That's this little quatrain for me. <3

Inkpen Poetry Day: Altar-Gleam

Wow. Haven't seen that title for a while, have you? Well. This poem is just the result of some intense work God has been doing in my personal life, and it was written in a moment of agony and hardly edited so I'm not saying it's wonderful, but it is heart-felt and true, and was my offering to God in that moment of will contending with Divine Will...

"Altar-Gleam"

Oh, Lord, it rends my soul to give

this wish--desire--full away,

Not clinging to a piece of hope;

A piece that says, 'Perhaps someday...'

For now the thing--so frightening clear--

Is to release it dark and full

and keep no sliver-thought of me,

though giving leaves a gaping hole.

Desire--oh, how sharp the spears

of joy that haunt this favorite dream.

But am I Your's enough to push

this treasure toward Your altar's gleam?

The thund'ring toss of straining mind.

The clashing knowledge: this is right.

The heart's own cry: 'Oh, please, not yet!'

The beckon of Your fire bright.

No looking back, no holding on,

I watch my treasure dance in flame.

And then I feel inside my soul

the power of Your tender Name.

I've given what was dearest mine

but just before the wound bleeds free

You staunch the flow and catch my heart

and with Your Lover's arms hold me.

What looks as ash is only just

the dust from which Your plans arise

And though I feel the burning here

I see the mercy in Your eyes.

Inkpen Poetry Day: "Ink-Spatters"

"Ink-Spatters"

By Rachel Heffington

I'm a poetess, an authoress, a gal of story-tell

And I haven't all the fashion of a perfect Southern Belle

And I mayn't be the prettiest or smartest in the land

But I've got a world inside a world inside of my right hand.

Oh I've only got to grasp a pen and all my dreams spill out

Like a tea-pot with an inky-rinky-dinky sort of spout.

I have children by the droves and a husband with a nib

And my baby wears an inky-spotted, blotting-sanded bib.

I am Queen and I am regent, I am rogue and I am cad

And these tumble out my finger-tips onto a paper pad.

Yes I wield enormous power over characters and plot

And my duties: they are many,  and my worries: they're a lot.

But I wouldn't change a bit of it--no, not a single line

For I think that being Authoress is really rather fine.

So I'll keep my ink and paper and my ratchy-scratchy pen

And I'll scribble out my stories till I come upon The End.

A Poem of War

Ever since I first read "Edinburgh After Flodden" in school, I have loved it. The rhythm of William E. Aytoun's poetry fascinated me and I would go about with the lines ringing through my mind all day long. It is not an overly famous poem (at least, not now) but it deserves more recognition than it has yet had. Herein I have presented my favorite bits. You can read the whole of the poem here.

NEWS of battle!—news of battle!   Hark! ’tis ringing down the street: And the archways and the pavement   Bear the clang of hurrying feet. News of battle? Who hath brought it?         5   News of triumph? Who should bring Tidings from our noble army,   Greetings from our gallant King? All last night we watched the beacons   Blazing on the hills afar,         10 Each one bearing, as it kindled,   Message of the opened war. All night long the northern streamers   Shot across the trembling sky: Fearful lights, that never beckon         15   Save when kings or heroes die

If that doesn't make you want to give your hand to king and country, you have not a single spark of patriotism.

For they see in battered harness	25
Only one hard-stricken man,
And his weary steed is wounded,
And his cheek is pale and wan.
Spearless hangs a bloody banner
In his weak and drooping hand—

 Such a sad, beautiful description.This poem is full of ringing, poingant sorrow and yet a certain flavor of triumph. Here is one last bit to send you on your way...

“No one failed him! He is keeping	105
Royal state and semblance still;
Knight and noble lie around him,
Cold on Flodden’s fatal hill.
Of the brave and gallant-hearted,
Whom ye sent with prayers away,	110
Not a single man departed
From his monarch yesterday.
Had you seen them, O my masters!
When the night began to fall,
And the English spearmen gathered	115
Round a grim and ghastly wall!

Inkpen Poetry Day: "Carmen Ante Domum"

"Carmen Ante Domum"

(Song Before Home)

 By Rachel Heffington

Home is just over the next green hill

And my journey's last mile before me still--

Home before, and the road behind,

And a balancing moment within my mind...

Home, 'tis so pleasant to know the place

Remembers me still with its homely face.

Home, with her orchards and fields and her lane

Beckoning me with her smiles again.

But the Road, gypsy-mile'd and wild and free,

With echoes and wind-voices calls out to me:

"Remember the paths we have tread, you and I;

The lure of unknown and a clear, open sky!"

Pausing, I stand with the Road at my back,

And stretching before me the dear, homeward track.

A kiss to the journey, a laugh to the wind,

And onward, my heart full of wistfulness send.

Inkpen Poetry Day: "The Conquistador's Lament""

To make you laugh...

"The Conquistador's Lament"

 By Rachel Heffington

"Oh, to have a seniorita

Waiting for me in my casa

As the sun of dear Hispania

Speeds me home-a, fast an' fasta'

And to have the seniorita

say 'twas me her heart was for-a...

I would give all of my galleons

For a girl who I adore-a.

But I'm lone and lorn and wasted

In this colony in Flor'da

With not a single lady

Who would dare to cross the borda'.

I have doubloons by the thousands

And jewels by the score-a,

But I'd throw it in the ocean

For one girl who I'd adore-a.

I would tear my silken waistcoat

And rend my lace cravat-a

And burst my diamond buttons

If I thought 'twould help the matta'

But it's useless-truly useless

For the dreary thing is sure-a:

America has pinned me

And there's no one to adore-a!"

Inkpen Poetry Day: Autumn Landscape

I know you all are bored to death with my raptures over autumn, bored to death over my autumn-inspired poetry, bored to death over it all. But bear with me this one last time and I promise I won't speak of it again....for a week at least. ;) 

"Autumn Landscape"

 By Rachel Heffington

A glimm'ring, golden, vibrant sheen

Upon the leaves once rustling green;

A quick'ning, blood-red, 'passioned glow

Where summer's verdure loved to show;

A dusky, haunting, crimson stain

Dyes every maples in the lane;

A flick'ring orange, dizzying flame

Puts all of spring-time to a shame.

 

Inkpen Poetry Day: "Land Sea"

"Land Sea"

          By Rachel Heffington

The storm--a sea on windy wings

Crashed o'er and o'er the dark'ning wood

And breakers of a pelting rain

Beat senseless on me as I stood.

Beat senseless, yet my heart-strings throbbed

When to my soul storm-voices spoke;

Swift passions, deep, their words provoke,

And loud my heart's cry sobbed.

The rain--a wave of sheening grey

Stroked o'er and o'er my quiv'ring heart

And wind-tides with a gentle touch

Soothed dreams the storm had pulled apart.

Soothed dreams, and when the clouds had passed

With murm'ring secrets whispered close

My soul was stilled, as Heaven knows

By shimm'ring peace: a pool amassed. 

Inkpen Poetry Day: Here Runneth the Path of Fairy Feet

You know, I don't think I ever posted the poem that won a contest over at Perfectly Sensible Nonsense blog. :) The theme was something fairy-tale-ish, and my imagination took flight. :) I have always loved the hauntingly beautiful rhythm and rhyme of Tolkein's poetry, and I think something of that sort found its way into my poem.

It was inspired by the fact that I do not believe in fairies...but there are those times of day...those trysts with the gloaming

when I can almost believe in something of the sort.

Do you know the feeling? Anyway, enjoy the poem. Oh yes, and I wanted to announce that I am choosing days of the 15-day challenge to do because some of them don't really have anything to do with writing. (Like today's question about a bucket-list.) I do believe, Carrie, that the over-flowing treasure-chest you mentioned in the comment could be remedied by less frequent posts? (Everyday might be a little much for some people.) Let me know! Perhaps you would all rather this writer do less writing about writing and focus on more writing? :P I think my sentence structure needs help, if that last one was any example. Also, I wanted to urgently remind you of the Merry Auld England Writing Challenge going on right now! I've been working on the prizes, and they are going to be pretty great! I'll try to announce them soon, but I must have entries to have winners, you know. :) Anyway, I have drabbled on long enough and you need a refresher. Please, enjoy the poem below, with my compliments.

"Here Runneth the Path of Fairy Feet"

by Rachel Heffington

Where childhood fancy and twilight meet

Here runneth the path of fairy-feet;

On shadowed road and misty bend

Here coldsome facts of "real life" end,

And the simplest thing on earth would be

To find a dryad 'neath her tree.

She'd comb her locks like shimm'ring ferns

In that hour where the daylight turns.

And you'd never stop to blink your eyes

and say, (Because you're oh, so wise)

"Dryads aren't real--they're quite a myth"

If once you'd been in comp'ny with

A creature like her--lissom fair

With willowy limbs and leafy hair.

Where childhood fancy and twilight meet

Here runneth the path of fairy-feet.

In dusking woods at evenlong

You'll chance to hear an Elven song.

Like beads of dew on honeyed string

The notes, elusive, dip and sing.

And lamps we now call fire-flies

Can one more dazzle in our eyes.

Then we shall learn, as children do,

the things we thought we surely knew.

Fair beings that we'd long forgot

May weave with us a dreamy knot

Content, within this half-light time

To feed us with their storied rhyme.

Where childhood fancy and twilight meet

Here runneth the path of fairy feet

And those who spent the day in bed

Now tip-toe with their soft wings spread

And dance within the brilliant sheen

of moonlight and the summer's green.

The grown-up cares of life must fade

When pondered in that purple glade

Once more we change to half a child

Perfumed with scent of roses wild

And honeysuckle like a crown

That we'd been used to crushing down

Until twilight and fancy met

To tread with us this minuet.

Inkpen Poetry Day, and yet another gift! :)

There is something so satisfying in being so identified as a writer that people see things that make them think of you, buy them, and send them to you with a note that says, "I don't want to spoil the surprise but one of these things reminded me so much of you when I saw it! You'll know which one it is when you open it!" :)

So I opened this package to find a brass stamp and some sealing wax. But not just any brass stamp. A brass stamp that had a feather-pen and an inkwell engraved on the bottom of it. :) *Happiness*

(Here's a link to the self-same seal I was given...the image is copyrighted so I couldn't put it on here. :[ )

Between that lovely "Author's Study" sign and my new brass stamp, I feel like a universally acknowledged Authoress. ;) Now if I could only bend my mind seriously to writing.

I long to jump with both feet back into Puddleby Lane, but my mind is filled with gardening...thus the only thing I have been in the right frame of mind to write are nonsensical, funny ditties about veggies. Seriously. Witness the latest fruits of my labor (no pun intended) below:

"An Okra Insult"

By Rachel Heffington

My wrath is on thee, Okra,

I would dearly love to choke ya'

If you hadn't quite so many little hairs.

For they always make me itch

In a manner fiery which

Isn't pleasant when the heat of summer flares.

Oh, you have a pretty blossom

But your smell is like a possum

And when cooked you make a gorgeous, slimy brew.

And you prick and itch my arms

With your ticklish, burning charms

Till I'd gladly run your vital system through.

You bring lots of money, though

From the the people who don't know

All the evil secrets hidden in your heart.

And I sell you at our stand

Though you bite and sting your hand--

We're a partnership....I guess that is a start?

See? A little clever, I guess....in a vegetable-y way. :P

Inkpen Poetry Day: Awaken the Dawn

Hello everyone! Sorry it's been awhile since I've posted. Life has been crazy since wisdom-teeth and now my graduation coming up tomorrow. I've written the speech, and I think it's a pretty good one. :) At least passable if not *good*. After I deliver it, I will post it on here for you guys to read and tell me what you think. :) Anyway, this morning was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. So beautiful it gave me a queer ache and almost made me want to cry.

And when I get that queer ache, it means a poem is coming on. And it just so happened that the past few times I've read a Psalm before bed, I always seem to come across the phrase "I will awaken

the dawn". And since I actually was awake to watch the awakening of the dawn this morning, a poem grew out of it, so here it is! :) Enjoy! (photo is courtesy of Google images. :)

"Awaken the Dawn"

By Rachel Heffington

The east began blushing behind the trees

While the moon hung over the lea

And the velvet of night turned to sapphire hue

Like the blue of a newborn sea.

No breeze cared to move the whispering leaves

But they whispered themselves alone

And the first rays of sun kissed the cool of the morn

Before mounting the aerial throne.

The dew-spangled grass glittered pure and unspoilt

As if hundreds of diamonds were strewn,

Or like dozens of tears had been carefully dropped

From the pearlescent eyes of the moon.

Blue shadows hung shyly beneath the boughs

Of the emerald, sylvan-king;

The ancient pine swayed and held his court

With the swallows on the wing.

With a glorious, final shout of gold

The sun was now enthroned

While the world rejoiced like a sinner saved

That the night's dark was atoned.

Inkpen Poetry Day: "Nellie MacGuire"

"Nellie MacGuire"

By Rachel Heffington

Each little room in our house is so nice
But the nicest of all, full of woodsmoke and spice,
Is the kitchen--we almost don't dare to come in
So we walk on our tip-toes and stick out our chins
And peep `round the oven, just hoping to see
That Nellie MacGuire is taking her tea.
Her hair's shiny brown and her cheeks fairly glow
And when she is happy she'll give us some dough.
But if we peep in when her apron is tied
(With a big, fiercesome knot sticking out at the side)
Then she squawks like a hen with a new brood of eggs
And she thumps bread like carpenters thumping in pegs.
And if we are daring and step on the floor
Nell counts up to three and she counts up to four.
Then she purses her lips with a "look at you" face
And sends us off packing right out of the place.
But of course we come back and creep `round by the door
And we see the spice rack full of bakery lore,
The pantry shelves laden with bread light as silk
And the dairy with cheeses and butter and milk.
The fireplace gleaming, the huge iron pot,
And the tea-kettle that sings a song when it's hot.
The cab'net with china-blue flowers and white,
The medicine for when we're sick in the night.
And next to the window with sun streaming through
Holding tea-cup with flowers, some white and some blue,
Sits Nellie MacGuire with apron undone
And we knew now's the time we can start having fun.

This poem was somewhat inspired by my siblings. I'd be Nellie MacGuire, the slightly moody, but good-hearted cook. And the children in the poem would, of course, be the younger three: Benjamin, Abby, and Grace. :) I thought it turned out to be a rather cozy, Christopher Robin-ish poem. What do you think? -Rachel

Inkpen Poetry Day: "The Front Porch"

Mmmmm...it's a typical summer evening in the countryside. The farmer is harvesting his wheat across the field and a golden haze hangs above the tree-tops from the chaff. The setting sun drops behind the trees as if to apologize for it's brilliancy during the day and relieves the air with a goodnight kiss of pearly light.
It would seem the perfect time to write something....after all, what is more essentially American than this picture? Isn't it the ideal companion to inspiration? One would think so. And yet I am content to revel in the beauty, the poetry, the gorgeousness of this land without trying to water it down with my fallible words. :)

"The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows His handiwork.
Day unto day utters speech,
And night unto night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard.
Their line has gone out through all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.

In them He has set a tabernacle for the sun,
Which is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,
And rejoices like a strong man to run its race.
Its rising is from one end of heaven,
And its circuit to the other end..."
(Psalm 19:1-6a)

That says it all so well that I will not go on about this evening. :) However, I did want to share a poem with you that I wrote, and ask you what you think of it:

"The Front Porch"
Rachel Heffington

Sittin' on the front porch
Swingin', swingin',
Sittin' on the front porch in years gone by.
Sittin' on the front porch
Swingin', swingin',
Till we guess our toes will touch the sky.

Sittin' on the front porch
Singin', singin',
List'nin' to the whippoorwill's lonely cry.
Sittin' on the front porch
Singin', singin'
Weavin' dreams together, just you and I.

Sittin' on the front porch
Bells are ringin',
Weddin' bells ringin' like the swallows fly.
Sittin' on the front porch
Ringin', ringin',
Heart so full that I almost cry.

Sittin' on the front porch
Clingin', clingin',
Clingin' to a mem'ry--our last goodbye.
Sittin' on the front porch
Clingin', clingin'
Clingin' to a love that'll never die.

So what do you think? Is the last verse too melancholy, or is it poignant? I couldn't decide myself, and as I was thinking about sending this poem off to a magazine, I wanted another opinion. :D -Rachel
p.s. Sorry for lack of pretty photos in these past few posts. Blogger won't let me upload pictures, and it won't let me get off italic! *arghhh!* But I guess it's okay. Italic just seems to indicate "This is IMPORTANT!!!" when it isn't really that important! :P

Inkpen Poetry Day: "Nature's Palette"

"Nature's Palette"

By Rachel Heffington

Green and blue together,

bit of grass and sky

emerald trees beside a stream

to tempt the passerby.

Green and gold together,

royal buttercup

waving by the roadside

with sweet face lifted up.

Green and pink together

heart-depths of the rose

trembling and blushing

to feel green leaves so close.

Green and brown together

fields and leaves and earth.

Tell me, Lord how did You

think to contemplate their worth?

Inkpen Poetry Day: "Tis Sweetest in the Spring"

"Tis Sweetest in the Spring"
By Rachel Heffington

The farmers wives are scouring
their farmhouse kitchen floors
The bold, brisk lads are happy-eyed
and whistle out of doors.

The dairy-maids churn butter
Into little golden pats
and squirt the streams of pearly milk
to sleek soft-footed cats.

The red-cheeked children play beneath
the pear trees caught in bloom
And to and from the hidden hives
the striped bees zip and zoom.

The farmer with the sober horse
plows furrows in the field,
counting, with a cautious eye,
how well the earth will yield.

The breezes whisper to the rose
that clambers on the well
And drops into it's blushing ear
dreams lovers yearn to tell.

The sunbeams dance within the brook
and dimple in the shade
The grass is greening on the lea
and in the forest glade.

And with a joyous burst of song
the robin red-breasts sing,
the tune in every beating heart:
"Tis sweetest in the Spring!"

"Lady Bella"

I decided to try my hand at writing a bit of a dramatic, sad poem in the style of Tennyson or any of those other great men who had their heyday in the Victorian Era. People were so sentimental back then and verily hungered for anything to make them weep! :) So anyway, here is my poem: Lady Bella (I couldn't manage to leave it entirely hopeless ;)

"Lady Bella"

By Rachel Heffington

Bella Rose, the beauty of the land
Steps softly o'er the hills of sand
Beside the raging, dark'ning sea
And calls her Love in anguished tones
That echo through the maze of stones
And shiver back to me.

Six years sweet Bella Rose has tread
This shore, though all vow He is dead.
By daylight Bella Rose is tame
But nightly roams the beach with tears,
Her voice haunting the one who hears,
Repeating her Love's name.

Her dark hair tumbles loose and free
Bejewelled with the spray of sea;
Her cheeks are rose, her eyes speak hope.
Her voice as sweet as fairy-harp
Is broken now with sorrow sharp
And rings against the slope.

"My Love! My Love! Where canst thou be?
Dost not thou love thy fair Lady?
Come hither, for my heart is sore!"
She calls and waits for his return
With eyes of hope and love that burn,
And treads the lonely shore.

Inkpen Poetry Day: "Lament for Anna's...Mouseling"

Hee-hee! I found this poem in the annals of the blog I share with my sister, Sarah. I am in the habit of writing poems for all sorts of family occasions, and this occasion in particular demanded an apology poem, because my cat ate some of my sister Anna's baby mice! :( But it was funny at the same time! ;) So without further ado, here is my "Lament for Anna's...Mouseling"! :)

"Lament For Anna's...Mouseling"
By Rachel Heffington

"Your protege- a little mouse

Was not safe- even in your house.

A dark, designing beast (my cat)

Has killed your pet and that is that.

I blushed, I sighed, I dropped a tear

When first I did this story hear-

It cuts my heart like sharpest knife

To think my cat just took a life!

I did not do it, (this I know)

But I am sorry even so.

I do not know psychology ;)

So please take my apology.

And I will give a freezing shoulder

To my cat- least she grow bolder."

-Your humble sister: Rachel Heffington

What do you think? Is it a sufficient apology for the tragedy? ;)

Inkpen Poetry Day: "Before a Storm"

Sometimes I try to make up new rhyme patterns to use in my poetry. I don't always fall in love with the particular pattern, but it's fun writing in a different style now and then. Here's the latest one! :)

"Before a Storm"
By Rachel Heffington

The thunderheads are mustering
In ranks across the fields
With iron-colored shields
And oft the wind is blustering.

A wild gust, like battle-cry
Without a voice, is tossed
And in the tempest lost.
Roars forth and shakes the low'ring sky.

The poplars bend in flutt'ring dread
Of dancing to the psalm
Writ in the fearful calm
By minstrel-clouds with pens of lead.

Then with a final howling blast
The gale-solider bends
And from his hand sends
Fleet rain-fledged arrows at last.

Inkpen Poetry Day: When The Holly's In The Red

“When The Holly’s In the Red”
By Rachel H.

When the holly’s in the red
And the pine is in the green,
When the mornings all are frosty,
In a brilliant silver sheen
Then I love to go a’ walking
Rambling here and there, quite slow,
Plucking greenery and berries;
Wishing for a Christmas snow

When the holly’s in the red
And the pine is in the green
Then my heart is singing blithely
In agreement with the scene.
And I bring a bit of color
To my home from out-of-doors:
Sprays of pine and sprigs of holly
Glimpse of Yuletide during chores.

When the holly’s in the red
And the pine is in the green
I read novels by the fire-
Sweetest setting I have seen-
And the woodsy fragrance follows
As I make my way to bed;
When the pine is in the green
And the holly’s in the red.