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=Vigilo

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DDs and DLDs
The Dream Song of AnonymousThis is based off The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot. It might help to read Eliot's poem first, if you haven't before.

   Shall I stay, then, alone,
When the dawn is straying from the sky
Like a child roaming the sea;
Dare I stay – amidst parades of kings,
The rising revolution
Of tranquil days in silk-spread beds
And colours of mayhem in blacks and reds:
Wind chimes that jingle without judgement
Without affront –
And follow the questioning wind, without answers –
Oh, do answer, "Why not?" and
Let me stay, and dream of a candle you lit.

   On the beaches the men wander alone
Driven speechleThe Dream Song of Anonymous by =Vigilo
ScornHer restless heart cries, Love! I am here to be found,
Everywhere - here - following voices of all in Greece,
Yet from her mouth, there is no sound.

A fair nymph's merry voice once rung from sky to ground,
Until the cerulean-eyed Queen gave it cruel release –
Her restless heart cries, Love! I am here to be found.

And vainly she, swift of wind, silent of voice, follows round
Her beloved, who scorns her with lips of cerise – 
Yet from her mouth there is no sound.

The wind carries her silent lament, for he himself is bound
To one who wears his scornful azure eyes and vain fleece;
Her restless heart cries, Love! I amScorn by =Vigilo
Copperwater: with your face bent to a book. Your fingers have shingled around it, forming a steeple. Sometimes you find we turn into copperwater when we are not looking for it, our bones shiver down to water and russet, and a clamour of ripples travel on ourselves: are you unruffled underneath? Already, we are clumsy, for again, the ripples rush faraway to another set of bones, something rasps, and your bones creak in response, rattling with a sad firm sound. Our eyes are made of the deepest dreams that cause our eyelashes to sweep down. You find, you fear that there is a river in books, with sirens; there is a river goddess who shares her name with theCopperwater by =Vigilo
RiverdrumMany things have been handed to me over years:
a drum full of water, once. I threw it away,
of course, but it returned, again, again,
until I took it under my arms
and called it mine.

My riverdrum is full of water that is full of light,
but it cannot scoop up a brook of stars.

I have two children. They have made
a game of watching the cows below that
walk towards me and never reach me. The first
one to spot the cow closest to me calls out 'Cowherd!'

I have a wife. I lose her like one loses grey hairs –
achingly, and with sadness. Perhaps these hairs
float over the river of oil and water that keeps us
away. Perhaps she lRiverdrum by =Vigilo
DDs and DLDs
Fixed Verse
dialogue of the tidesI.
the tumult,
water.

II.
mercurial steadfast

III.
in seashells, expanses.

IV.
ruthlessly, home.

V.
oceans underfoot – everywhere.

VI.
architect of thirst

VII.
softest,
oldest
endurance

VIII.
windblown light, steeped.

IX.
seabed:
eroded engines.

X.
savage – albatross –

XI.
crag of solace

XII.
looking glass– jungle.

XIII.
perpetually
unearthed.
restless

XIV.
rust, aglow

XV.
contrary,
sanctuary– ?

XVI.
beloved unkempt unknown

XVII.
no pearl: oyster?

XVIII.
artless deep

XIX.
whales, stones –
trembling.

XX.
seeking, you exist.

XXI.
renegade harbour

XXII.
persistence:
abandoned always

dialogue of the tides by =Vigilo
gentlelight was an old thirst
and maddening,
a traveller
who was every
faraway; absent
to the longing
for closeness.
if you slept now
what called to you then
still calls again
in the quiet

and with no sea
to keep it beneath
and no name for it,
you fevered and
fervid listener
bribed the world
with a flood
or faith, or love, or.

you wrote a fable

for the doubt of your body, to overwhelm and settle the thirst
and when your eyes left the dark-blue refuge of sky were you at ease
you who made religion you must have been so tired and so kindgentle by =Vigilo
i advocate the quietsome-
-where in
the hubbub
where I cannot
follow, the deep people have their livingi advocate the quiet by =Vigilo
misericordia  that man is king
and penniless pauper,

 who begs the rivers
and owns the earth.

 Midas begged –
Midas was bestowed –

 carelessly he held,
and lost as endlessly

 a delicate deep
became hollow gold.

 need is easy. the
albatross of compassion runs

 backwards, a river mercurial;
wade ever on, unwavering.misericordia by =Vigilo
Fixed Verse
Free Verse
Free Verse
Mythos Verse
Mythos Verse
Not Verse
100 Nonfiction Books (by Genre)Autobiographies & Memoirs [11]

Andrew Eames:
• The 8.55 to Baghdad
A travel through the Middle East and its history through Agatha Christie’s life, thirty years after her death, curious and interesting.

Mitch Albom:
• Tuesdays With Morrie
Morrie, a professor of Albom’s, has a disease that causes him to die slowly. They meet, and this is a reflection on the events that followed. Albom knows nothing about Morrie, so why he appears to be telling the tale instead of someone else closer to Morrie is a mystery, but what he tells of Morrie is touching and hopeful.
Ruskin Bond:
• Scenes from a Writer’s Life
Ruskin Bond writes his biography in the style that is so wonderfully distinctive of his, a style that makes all his books worth reading.

Agatha Christie:
• Agatha Christie: an Autobiography
(See also: The 8.55 to Baghdad by Andrew Eames).
Roald Dahl:<100 Nonfiction Books (by Genre) by =Vigilo
PresentsFromSanta: Secret Santa 2011
Once upon a time, there was a lake, laid around with white frost, where winter reigned. It was known in villages some miles away as the Lake of Winter. In further parts, it was simply called the Ice Loch. Swans, ash-coloured, swam there, to guard it from curious travellers. If anyone made their way into the lake, there they disappeared, and were never heard from again. People said that a siren turned it to ice in her anger at being abandoned by one she loved. She swore that only true love could survive the winter of her heart.

Let us walk away from this cold place, towards a boy and a girl. They are in love. I could go on about their love anPresentsFromSanta: Secret Santa 2011 by =Vigilo
On the Poet: zebrazebrazebra.=zebrazebrazebra is everywhere, in the awesome sense that one moment her name will be as a suggester for this or that literature daily deviation, and the next, spearheading the revolution that is her group, #transliterations, but her poetry is one that amazes and (quite often) tongue-ties. Her language bubbles along delightfully to the ear, and her poems are works of exquisite craft that deserve much more attention.

rondo one
I've got mould on my soul, that awful grey-green grubbiness
that comes of living too long--but I've been scrubbing it,
I have: going out when the street lamps are dimmed
and rasping my fingers on the moon.

rondo, On the Poet: zebrazebrazebra. by =Vigilo
On Semicolons by =Vigilo
Not Verse
Project Edit
Thirst of a Poetthe bards have bumblebees in their mouths,

for language is babbling,
a brook in a bowl, joy brimming;
billowing, rippling, surging –
and spilling; sashaying down,
with a swaying sound (oh-so wistful, oh).

language is burbling,
an impish kiss of mouth from mouth;
bewildering, baffling, bemusing –
and tricking; tumbling round,
to touch a fellow Fool and his nought (so wistful, oh),

and disturbs a Poet, who slips
into a dream of a vagabond –
"where are you calling from?" he murmurs,
in his sleep, and the newspaper flutters
with a snore; then rests on his chin (just so, oh),

and language sidles past him up to me,
and places Thirst of a Poet by =Vigilo
The Old God, Savitrॐ भूर्भुव: स्व: तत्सवितुर्वरेण्यं ।
भर्गो देवस्य धीमहि, धीयो यो न: प्रचोदयात् ।।

I.
The wind blew sand into your nonchalant soul,
and your heart coughed. I entered the circle
at night, and I was consumed by fire. I did not
know of you then. I have fracturedThe Old God, Savitr by =Vigilo
Summer WomanWoman, you are my burnt sienna sculpture on Sun-days.

You are hiding my strength in rufous hair
and I feel you: russet-flushed to the touch,
jagged collarbone curving into neck,
easing into shoulders, into breasts;
woman, you are the warmest stone –
you are summery stone
to my water-drenched hands.

Woman in deepest reverie, you are hiding
my strength in pacific oceans of titian;
in running veins. My grasp
slips from skin slopes of sun and stone,

slips from you.

Woman of ragged flint and oil,
in sleep, your wind-kissed stone-neck drifts,
surges into a soft arch in air –

and does not meet ground;
and does not bow.Summer Woman by =Vigilo
Ode to a TrainI am a stop sign. Old and aged, I stand upon earth.
You are a geometric line - tearing away from earth.

I do not know the charm of gentle rust, only peeling paint,
but I have known you and held you dear as my earth.

Desert wind found me, found me weatherworn.
But when water will fall, I will behold earth.

You are patient, for all that you race to and away,
dreaming of quicksilver flight, yet bound to earth.

I am all yellow jealousy for what the ground hears,
the beats you tattoo away, a drummer of the earth.

How must I tempt you away? I have no language, and in vain,
I insist on loving. The sky cherishes bitter, bitter earth.

I amOde to a Train by =Vigilo
Project Edit

Featured

The Pursuit of SolaceNor for this only do I love thee, but
Because Infinity upon thee broods;
And thou art full of whispers and of shadows.
– Stephen Phillips.

Does not lord Apollo sing? More eternal than man ever could,
our blueeyed Phoebus knows the scorn of loving one, alone
and not with two hearts, but his head cannot fathom lyre sorrow.
Behold running Daphne, once bore this lord's young love,
now, immortal laurel, knows his desire, leaving, would
only lend to his golden youth, unlike the silver age of earth.

So find you a lad with halting speech, a lady of blushing earth.
For Idas, for Marpessa, time did as it might, may and could,
but neverThe Pursuit of Solacein Fixed Verse, Mythos Verse
18 Comments
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CoppersmithI caught a sun gold.

Trembling old in my cupped palm, quiet copper,
as my rage on our queen, for so crippling me.  

And how too did I rail –
against you, Cyprian beloved?

Understand: I grow too old
for bows and arrows, Eros.Coppersmithin DDs and DLDs, Mythos Verse
88 Comments
More Like This
Summer WomanWoman, you are my burnt sienna sculpture on Sun-days.

You are hiding my strength in rufous hair
and I feel you: russet-flushed to the touch,
jagged collarbone curving into neck,
easing into shoulders, into breasts;
woman, you are the warmest stone –
you are summery stone
to my water-drenched hands.

Woman in deepest reverie, you are hiding
my strength in pacific oceans of titian;
in running veins. My grasp
slips from skin slopes of sun and stone,

slips from you.

Woman of ragged flint and oil,
in sleep, your wind-kissed stone-neck drifts,
surges into a soft arch in air –

and does not meet ground;
and does not bow.Summer Womanin Free Verse, Project Edit
41 Comments
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Thirst of a Poetthe bards have bumblebees in their mouths,

for language is babbling,
a brook in a bowl, joy brimming;
billowing, rippling, surging –
and spilling; sashaying down,
with a swaying sound (oh-so wistful, oh).

language is burbling,
an impish kiss of mouth from mouth;
bewildering, baffling, bemusing –
and tricking; tumbling round,
to touch a fellow Fool and his nought (so wistful, oh),

and disturbs a Poet, who slips
into a dream of a vagabond –
"where are you calling from?" he murmurs,
in his sleep, and the newspaper flutters
with a snore; then rests on his chin (just so, oh),

and language sidles past him up to me,
and places Thirst of a Poetin Free Verse, Project Edit
48 Comments
More Like This
The Old God, Savitrॐ भूर्भुव: स्व: तत्सवितुर्वरेण्यं ।
भर्गो देवस्य धीमहि, धीयो यो न: प्रचोदयात् ।।

I.
The wind blew sand into your nonchalant soul,
and your heart coughed. I entered the circle
at night, and I was consumed by fire. I did not
know of you then. I have fracturedThe Old God, Savitrin Mythos Verse, Project Edit
42 Comments
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The Dream Song of AnonymousThis is based off The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot. It might help to read Eliot's poem first, if you haven't before.

   Shall I stay, then, alone,
When the dawn is straying from the sky
Like a child roaming the sea;
Dare I stay – amidst parades of kings,
The rising revolution
Of tranquil days in silk-spread beds
And colours of mayhem in blacks and reds:
Wind chimes that jingle without judgement
Without affront –
And follow the questioning wind, without answers –
Oh, do answer, "Why not?" and
Let me stay, and dream of a candle you lit.

   On the beaches the men wander alone
Driven speechleThe Dream Song of Anonymousin DDs and DLDs
147 Comments
More Like This
On Ariadnethe loom of lust:
In the heart of your ears,
and till your outstretched feet
the spinner of mad red has corrupted,
her fingers like dragonflies threading
bark and twined grass into your hair
around your sure wrists, your angled feet
'this is love, my shining bride-to be,' you whisper,
and disappear with her among billowing black sails.

the abandonment of Ariadne:
He wooed you in a labyrinth of spinners,
and wed you in black sails, beneath jealous skies.
'Sleep and tomorrow you shall be Queen of Athens,'
Ariadne, sleep, tomorrow the sun will shine,
and the sea will ebb sympathetic away from
these deserted sands.

the death, or descent:
Spin,On Ariadnein DDs and DLDs, Mythos Verse
75 Comments
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:iconmeikahidenori:
`meikahidenori Apr 1, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
you have a very beautiful way with words love :)
Reply
:iconvigilo:
=Vigilo Apr 1, 2013  Student Writer
Glad you think so - thanks so much for the lovely words and the watch! Hope I don't disappoint. :dummy:
Reply
:iconpdulceruth:
~pdulceruth Oct 23, 2012
love it! :reading:
Reply
:iconvigilo:
=Vigilo Oct 23, 2012  Student Writer
Thank you, love! :heart:
Reply
:iconpdulceruth:
~pdulceruth Oct 30, 2012
:smooch:
Reply
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