Poetic Interlude XI

Gentle Reader, this week’s poetry turns back to when I was first in love. Enjoy.

St. George

I’ll slay the beasts that growl within,
A psychotropic knight,
And I’ll become your next of kin,
And soothe the serpent’s bite.
Oh, I’ll remove your clothes and sin
And find what Milton lost:
A little love, a little skin:
A little Pentecost.


Shall we venture, you and I,
Linger where Earth brushes Sky,
Imbibe the echoes of perfume
And build a bonfire on the beach?

There is no candle within reach,
There is no mirror in this room,
Yet there’s a flicker in my eye,
Reflected in those tears you cry.


No ruby, no incense, no oil, no gold
Could purchase the shine, nor the sparkle of eye,
Nor the way that your tresses unbearably lie
In memory’s coffers, for when I am old.

To capture the shine and the sparkle of eye,
No sapphire or sable would ever suffice;
Nor amphora of wine, whatever the price,
As sure as your lips will undoubtedly lie.

No sapphire or sable, whatever the price,
Is as sound an investment as that I pursue,
And when that investment I fiscally rue,
No amphora of wine could ever suffice.

O, Groundless Investment! O, Blessed Revenue!
(The gleam of your smile, the glint of your sigh)
No, no one but Midas was wealthy as I,
And he did as I will, and fiscally rue.

The gleam of your smile, the glint of your sigh
Are more than such wretches as I can afford,
Though pearls and silver mount up in my hoard
And no one but Midas was wealthy as I.


©2013 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved

About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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