What D’ye Lack?
September 21, 2008 by admin · Leave a Comment
Horsedung and woodsmoke are sharp upon the morning air,
And criers’ calls are all but lost within the babble of the throng at start of day.
The mongers and the traders and the craftsmen must with lusty voices
Vie to catch the traveler’s eye.
What d’ye lack?
Come hither - spy these melons, ripe and firm –
Salt fish for sale - Fresh buns –
Here, my lords and ladies —
Here bright glass, fine leathers, rare and well-
wrought wares to grace the hall
Or homely hearthside service do –
Here’s iron and steel, here’s brooms and pots;
Here jewels, and baubles, ribbands colorful and gay
With which to honor and to enter the festivity.
What d’ye lack?
Here’s victuals and drink, here song and sport –
Here be the very prodigy of humankind,
the marvels of an age
Alive and dancing in their revelry.
Draw near - and view the drollery of fools and fops,
Of maids and gallants, and of simple folk
Amidst the stalls and shops that spring up in our
British Brigadoon.
Come nigh - and join the play of spirits loosed
In woodland fantasy.
Come buy - come try your luck –
Come, Traveler, to the Faire.
What d’ye lack?
‘Tis here. There is a rich supply
Available - and at such price
As you may well afford - or no –
No matter - come –
And drink the sights and sounds
And feed the soul on Dionysian revelry.
Diana G.B.Young
In Memory of 9-11 (A Poem)
September 10, 2008 by admin · Leave a Comment
I was on a different coast.
I couldn’t smell the fire.
The voice upon the radio,
said the situation’s dire.
I sat there stunned in silence,
and listened to the news.
The family’s that were torn apart,
The passengers and crews.
I went inside, turned on the tube,
And watched with eyes a teared.
Then to my utter horror
Another plane appeared.
And to the smoke and rubble
Heroes made their way.
Because it was the thing to do
Not for glory nor for pay.
The Twins were wounded mortally,
yet tried to stand up tall.
The Giants then began to moan
And finally to fall.
Thousands of candles burning bright,
Suddenly lost their flame.
A terrible injustice,
No matter who’s to blame.
So on this day I ask you.
Remember how they hit.
Swear to the fallens’ memory
We never shall forget.
-Steve (Myth & Magic)
Poem: A Child Drew Near
May 16, 2008 by The Crier · Leave a Comment
As I sat down
upon the straw.
A child drew near.
T’was not that tall.
Eyes that were
an Azure Blue
long straight hair
of golden hue.
Though she appeared
young as a song.
The eyes said wisdom
of life quite long.
She whispered softly
In my ear
“What is this faire
that you hold dear?”
What do I say?
It means so much.
The words I want,
I can not touch.
Some say family
but thats not right
been used so much
that now it’s trite.
“Faire to me,
or so it seems.
Is the ability
To touch our dreams”
She smiled at me
then walked away
and as she left
I heard her say.
“Men dream to be heros,
Both old and new.
But heros are just dreamers
who make their dreams come true.”
“All enter into this life
without a master plan
but the purity of the Dream
is the measure of the man.”
Then as I pondered
with all my might
the child, she faded
from my sight.
