Featured Poets: Angmar

I look at you and tingle all over, I don't know why...
The fall of your hair, the way the light falls against your face, entrances me.
When you look my way my breath catches in my throat, when you look at me, my heart gallops like a runaway horse.
There is no reason why, but when I see you, my day brightens. Your smile, the curve of your lips, my heart swells with joy and happiness till it's bursting...
I long to hear your voice, the sound it makes, like swiftly flowing stream over rocks, soothing to my ears. Your laughter like bells and wind through a crystal chandilier, the birds hide in em- barresment for their songs can't compare.
When I see you, I want to take you in my arms, to feel myself held in your's, is a burning heat inside me. Your touch is like a nuclear torch, my insides turn to running wax. My desire and need become an overwhelming, irresistable force, yet I am powerless to act upon it.
My reason tells me you aren't the most beautiful one around, That there are more attractive others, yet they all pale and dim in my eyes next to you. I don't know why, this lapse of reason, but never let it end! My life suddenly so much more vibrant and full, overflowing with boundless joy.
And if you feel the same, my heart yearns and is terrified, that you do, that you don't feel the same for me...
Oh Heavan, Oh Hell on earth, this frightfully powerful emotion! Can anyone else feel what I'm feeling now? The intensity, the sharp- ness of every line of existance? No, Never, for then it would not be mine, ours...

Beyond the broken panes of my window, there passes my love. As I stare out of my cell, the sun passes before me, lingering just out of reach. I am no Icarius, gifted to fly free from this tower...
Just beyond my outstretched fingertips, barely brushing them is my love, my desire, my lust, my need.
Yet in this prison trapped am I. To look and see, to reach out and touch but not hold, never to posses but be possessed by love.
Bound by layers and ropes of chains of soceity, a prisoner of duty and honour. Bound in restraints stronger than those that bind the great Fenris am I.
I long, with all of my beating heart and soul, to reach past these shattered panes, to be with you. Joined love to love, even for just a short while.
Your visage makes my blood boil, my heart beat in a frenzy, the more so because you are forbidden, denied to me.
Only in my sleep, deep within the hidden veils of dreams are we free at last. Deep, deep down into the Lethe I dive to find thee and let the current sweep us away, together.
In all ways, is everything perfect then for us. {I toss and turn in my sleep, as if caught up in the river with you}. Skin so smooth, flesh so warm. Lips against my own, pressing gently and open- ing, so perfect.
I dream of you in my arms, I in your's, an embrace as deep as the sea's of the earth. The secrets, hopes and fears we share then, everything under the sun and moon explored, shared together, no topic left untouched...
And then when our minds, filled with the thoughts, feelings and emotions of the other, intellects locked in an embrace as intricate as a snowflake, we join and become one.
Our passions a fire, a flare, a beacon to all those others on the oceans of love. Binding, twining, tightening into each other, be- coming one, passions so long denied, suppressed freed at last to glory.
Our moans fill the night, ouder than the howls of wolves, our hunger for the other even greater than the starving pack. When we join, it is like the sound of violent thunder, our movements toward fulfill- ment a continueous earthquake and when we reach the peak {hands beneath the sheet, touching myself as you do, tossed and turned in this storm of lovemaking}, the extinction of the universe in a wrenching climax.
Our passions spent, we drift together in that intimate embrace, through the seas of dream, upon the bosum of the Lethe until we fall asleep in each other's arms, is my secret heavan in this cold tower.
Cruel morning awakens me to the hell of my prison fortress that soceity sets me in. For life here without you is hell, only in my dreams do a find a temporary respite from my sentance.
Each day I go about, dull and sluggish, drugged by the drudgery of empty reality. Forbidden, yet desired, needed, like a moth to a flame, a junkie to a fix, you are my addiction, my only passion in life. A fruit seen by one starving, yet forever just beyond reach of straining fingers...
I love you, but can never let you know, never let it show... because soceity says so. I languish in a secret cell, never free, never whole without you. I bleed heart's blood through invisible wounds with out you to staunch them, until I die from the loss.
Nothing left, I carry on an empty life, with only the burning torch of my secret love for you to light my way through life's labrynth.

Walking down the forest trail with you, your hand in mine. Watching all that we can see together in the morning light.
Not you in the physical sense, but your prescense, your ghost.

We meet in the churchyard for our walks. In the back among the longer grasses with it's written stones of people's memories. The cemetary of my memories.

The sunlight is always bright and warm, the scene so calm and peaceful.

There we meet, you walking through the gate, the light shining in your long glossy, black hair, the colours all techicolour, white the clapboards, green of Irish dreams the grasses about your slender feet and your shirt.

Slender your form as you come to me, arms out stretched to take my hands in yours.

A sparkle in your eyes, bright as your smile. I take you in my arms, as warm and sweetly fragrant as the gras about our feet. Your lips are as soft and perfect as my fondess memory of you. For we are in the yard of memories.

Soft, firm, sweetly curved, your body against mine as our arms hold each other tight.

We sometimes meet here when my heart is heavy or troubled. Other times when I am weary and tired of life around me.

Here I come, usually when sleep has claimed me, or perhaps when my mind wanders adrift.

You are fickle, still, even more so in memory than in life. For some- times I wander this yard of memories without you coming to answer my call.

Or only the ghost of your fragrance lingers there and through the far trees I see a glimpse of a shape moving slowly away that might be yours.

Yet many are the times we meet here, embrace then walk along clasping hands and enjoying the surroundings and time together as we once did. It matters not if we speak. Just the ghost of a memory of your prescense with me is enough.

The trophy is still yours, for no one else has been able to touch my heart in the way that you did or as deeply. Maybe because I let no one that close anymore...Perhaps because no one has come along to move me as you once did...

When we walk back to the church, pass by the gates leading into the back, I feel the ghosts of regret and times past stir about me. There we linger beside the posts briefly before walking once more amongst the quite stones.

Yonder is your's, and we stop beside it to gaze into each other's eyes as our fingers squeeze gently before parting the last time.
Atop the monument, a golden cup, my old heart, transfixed by the sun's setting rays.

You turn away and step away toward the stone, a sad smile playing about the corners of your lips as you fade away...
Leaving me alone once more.

Now it is my choice, and I choose to remember thus. The young fresh girl, just into her womanhood. Gentle, kind, sweet, happy and tender. Beautiful, loving, laughing and smiling. A delight in all ways...

Not as we ended, the person who taught me so well how to hate,
never that.
Rather as a good memory, shedding the bad and the ugly until they are lost in the sands of time.

Standing here looking out, bright sunlight coming through the windows.
Haze among the trees, emptiness across the road to them.
The radio, my company, my coffee cup half empty.
Wondering where you are, how you're doing... whether this morning's sun warms you as it does me.
Peace of this morning enfolds and holds me, a gentle stillness to let my mind roam.
No one here to share the magic of the moment but ghosts of memory.
Perhaps that is for the best, to reflect on the past then upon the promise of the future to come.
I miss the sunlight in your (HER) hair, the smell as the brightness warms it and the smooth feel of it against my cheek.
The sun upon your face and feeling of your prescense here beside me.
Warmth in my heart for you, each of you who have along the road of life with me walked a bit.
There is a special place there ... For you.
Our paths did not run together long, yet while it did, joy filled me to overflowing that they did.
Even now after life's turns, the cup in my heart we shared, will never be empty.
For like the sunlight, it lives in memory, moving through and beyond even time itself!

It pains my heart to see one so fair, almost Elvish or at the least Numenorean crying.
Not all tears are evil, some are good. It is right to cry after Death of a loved one.
But do not let the tears linger over long, for it comes to all and is but a passing, from one place to another better one.
Like starting a journey after a stop in a pleasant land, so is the ending of life here.
And it pains my heart to see one so beautiful despair so at a passing. Let it be short and cleansing grief, let joy in and of Life bouy you up again.
Let your smile shine forth like a crystal in the sunlight once again!

‹Watching and waiting
my time will come.
I see and remember,
to hold in crystal
within;
all that is taken
and
corrupted,
by those with no right
and no shame...
nor soul.
Think on it....
and know
it cannot be erased.Š

by J.A. S.

Yes, one with no soul is correct,
you took that from me long ago;
along with many other things.
Yes, it is held in crystal for all time,
never to be forgotten, so cruel silicon.
Remember and think on it,
a time will come, when what is held within
so dearly will be rued.
Speak not of shame and right, nor
of corruption too glibly less your name be
called also.
Wrongs cannot make a right,
only more wrongs.
Think on it.

I wish to realize you,
Not just as a part of a half remembered dream,
a waking memory,
But as a warm person lying beside me in
the early morning's light.
To hear the fluting calls of the morning birds,
rather than the ghostly strings of some dream orchestra.
To dance upon the battlements overlooking the
sea in the eveings lingering rays, instead of moon frosted
hills with the pan pipes lowing...
Walking in Miellikki's woods, warm hand in hand
picnicing beside a cool babbling brook, paying homage
to the gentle spirits of wood and water there.
Instead we walk Posieden's shores in the silvery
light, hearing the ghostly voices of the waves and wind...
and yet not a token of our times remains,
Not even a strand of midnight hair.

It is the morning, and my favourite time to walk.
The Autumn breezes are blowing cool and the day is bright,
the sky so blue...
I will never walk the countryside with you, hand in
hand, enjoying the breezes or sights.
Never sit by the fireplace with my arm around you,
pulling you close against early frosts as we watch the flames dance and leap.
Autumn comes,
And the trees are all ablaze with their Fall colours.
But nothing is left of the blaze of our love but glowing
embers. Which leap up and blaze, consuming themselves,
one at a time; Leaving nothing behind but bitter ashes to be
scattered in the cooling breeze.
No longer a cool Autumn breeze that cools a summer's
evening, but the cold hand of uncaring Winter. Quitely freezing
the hearth's flames quickly out.
The morning's walk is over now, the hearth is cold, cold
as the wind that blows through my emptying heart, the embers
almost gone.
Whence shall I tender another fire? Who's to ever come
to share it's warmth again? Welcome sweet Morpheus to bear me
to the river Lethe when the last ember is extinguished. Then may
I sleep in cold peace.

I still picture you standing by the open window, facing toward the sea in the early morning's light.
Light that shown softly upon the proud face looking out to sea, hoping to see her loved one return...
And I stood below the window, nothing more than a shadow in the early morning light...
For my body rests firmly at the wheel of the ship you vainly wait for.
I stood and looking up, saw you standing tall and proud, with the sun haloing your hair that falls so softly below your shoulders...
While you looked out to sea.
And I weep silently for thee.
Even though I know you to be lost to me forever, I still crave to have you in my arms once more.
Alas, it is not to be, for the distance seperating us is the distance between heaven and hell,
the living and the dead.

My Love

I miss you, in the mornings.
I miss you in the evenings...
And I miss you in the still of the night.
When I'm half awake in the morning,
I roll over to put my arm around you and cup your soft breast. Pulling myself close, right next to you then burying my face in your hair against your neck. Drawing us together, chest and stomach pressed to your back, your bottom and thighs firmly resting in my lap, against my thighs... breathing deeply your scent.

In the evenings, after the day's work is done and I'm trying to go to sleep, I miss you and your prescense. Feeling you snuggle up to my back, your breath warm on my skin. The smooth warmness of your arm over my side, your fingers lightly brushing my chest or waist.

I miss you so much. Lying in bed and your scent is not there, nor the warmth of you next to me. There is nothing to make me laugh or smile now. The ringing of your giggles, the dimple of a smile peeking out reside only in memory my memory now.

No suprized gasp, no quickened breathing answer a sudden inspired kiss after a caress of parted thighs. The silky light smooth caress of long dark hair across hill of belly or valley of thigh to make me quiver or sigh in supine repose. Warm sweet wetness of your mouth against mine, mine against your's greet me here...

I miss your comfort next to me, only the warmth and nearness itself would bring a smile to my lips and happiness to my heart again... Holding you next to me, the night long, is better than any gold in the land and softer too!

With these words, I try to stumble through to you, some of the ways I miss you. These words are said to you with warm affectionate love, which have never been said before or thought of about any other. your warm friendly lover.

I sit here, me guts in a twirl,
And I wonders, "What da Hell am I doing here?"
Well it's too late now.
I've paid my money and it's way past midterm...
It's the final now and I think my mind is going to blow a fuze...
Who wants to take the Bloody Final? (certainly not ME!)
Me hands are shaken, Me joints frozen and my chewing gum's mangled.
I'm so nervous, that I'd rather be a cat in the dog pound!
Oh well,
What the Hell,
I might as well go in there and ace the bloody thing!

Dark of hair and body, willowy thin and supple,
My Faerie Princess.
Always in flight, always fighting, on an unending journey, continueing an endless battle,
My Faerie Princess.
Struggling against nothing, eternally searching for the elusive unicorn evermore,
My Faerie Princess.
Never a moment more than to be held by a mortal man's hands before flying away as the great swans call you forth again,
My Faerie Princess.
Unqeunchable, resolute, unyeilding, never vanquished, yet ever fighting, always voyaging,
My Faerie Princess.
Onward you go, no need of astrolobe and sextant, with compass card forgotten, ever in search, ever questing,
My Faerie Pricess.
Clothed in mists, clothed in moonbeams, clothed in fairest silks, Thou Art Most Beautiful,
A fragrance fresh, an aroma pure as a Spring wooldland after a rain,
My Faerie Princess.
Eyes that are bewitchingly bright, eyes that delight, eyes that catch the imagination,
My Faerie Princess.
That this mortal body wearies, that this mind grows slow, my feet no longer run fleetly with your over the grassy vales in search of the unicorn, Fare thee well,
Fare thee well...
Upon thy journey, with thine battles thou can never loose, yet never win,
Fare thee well,
My Faerie Princess.

The Wheel of time has turned
and come full circle.
That which has been sown has
come from seed to harvest ripeness.
What has been bought must
now be paid for.
Oaths foresworn are due to be
fulfilled and justice wrought for wrongs done.
Now is the time for a season in Hell,
for that sometimes is the due.
I had hoped that it would not come
to this, for like you said;
'It reminds me of a painful part o
f my past that I've put behind me.'
Yet what happens if you can't put
the past behind you?
Where ever I turn, the sign you
hung across my shoulders cannot be lifted off.
Despite the time long past for
it to be gone.
Why should you profit and benefit
from all that soceity offers,
When you were as guilty as I?
From the sweat wrung from my brows,
the pain and suffering wrenched out of me at every turn...
I come to you now and ask for just compensation.
The time for me to hand over to you
the sign you once gave me is here.
Now is the time for you to carry the
sign for the rest of your life as I carry it.
What will be the sign you carry,
the price you pay or the sentance you must write?

The air is hot, filled with salt.
I can hear the surf coughing against
the shore.
Seagulls argue, wheel and dive,
Clouds pass by, the teacher drones,
on and on...
Like the sound of a plane flying far, far away.
You sit in a desk and sweat, in the sultry sea air.
Desks squeak.
Feet shuffle across the sandy floor,
and through the door across the hall and out the window,
A ship slips slowly past,
like this dull class.

Bright eyes look my way, let me look into
the depths of joyfulness and love.
Eyes the colour of spring grass, the first
growing thing seen upon winter's hillside.
Hair the colour of antique oak, so dark
and so rich, mellow and soft.
A smile as bright as a winter sun on a
cloudless day, yet warm and soft as a kitten's fur.
Lips softer than silk and sweet as cherries,
who wouldn't wish to feast upon such a delicy?
Small yet exquisitely perfect as a crystal
work or snowflake.
So gentle thy hand, so great they heart -
courageous and standfast of spirit.
Thou art what is best of woman, loving and
kind, gentle yet firm.
You are hope, joy, light, charity and good-
ness all rolled into one.
Who's name is Seleta.

Like a deer with a hunter's arrow thru her-
heart, wounded yet still leaping to escape...-
A rabbit quivering in fear at the hound's- baying.-
When there is no longer hunter or hound in the forest.-
Why then are thee still in the midst of so many unpleasant memories?-
Letting thyself be wounded and hunted by the past?

Spunky, spunky, bouncing along form one thing to the next.
Dark hair trailing behind in the breeze, astride a faithful friend,
Looking toward the distant horizon's suprises,
(Deep green eyes of lucky jade, look my way!)
troubled only briefly by the path's occassional bogs.
Lithe and spry, as resilent as a rapier and as sharp in wit,
Valient as a Paladin, yet as prone to mortality in ways like us all.
With a spirit like a flame, dancing happily in a breeze.
Beautiful and as desireable as the flame, and just as dangerous, especially to the foolish or careless.
Dark and exotic as the gypsy women, with all of their cunning and magic,
Gentle as rabbit fur, harder than stone.
This mystery of a woman know as,
Morgan of Morguhn.

But when love is gone from life, it is like unto a blind man in a room full of beautiful paintings.
All tell him how marvelous they are, and he can feel that something is indeed there, but it is devoid of all meaning.
Has Love gone from life? Is one about to be struck blind?
Pray NO! Let not such beauty fade from life...
But should love leave life, all these things pale and become eriee.
For nothing is more bright, beautiful and as valuable than Love!

Few things are brighter than a clear Spring morning.
Nor the greens of grass and trees fresher or more beautiful to behold.
The clear deep blue of a Spring sky has no rival, not the lingering colours of a Summer sunset, or the bright hard blue of a Winter's day.
Birds are a wing all a sing, weaving new houses and frolicking on the warm winds.
Swarms of butterflies and bees kissing all the flowering blooms, drinking deep of the free nectar.
Ah, such is the beauty of a Spring morning.

Trust. How much of life revolves around the word?

There can be no true love without Trust. Without Trust, there is only chaos. Love is trust, a trust of the highest degree. It is a sharing, given evenly between people.

Hope, hope for the future, a better tomorrow is also a part of trust. What part of life is not built upon Trust? Friendships, business, law and justice all rest upon the foundation of trust.

When there is no Trust, there can be nothing else lasting... Without trust, there is no solid foundation for anything to arise from.

I have seen what come from love without trust and all of the horrors that come from that. The slow degradation, destruction and enslavement of a soul.

Or what happens when a people no longer trust their goverment.

With the death of trust come the death of life itself. There is no greater crime committed by a mortal than the abuse and or betrayel of such a Trust. No wound is deeper, no hurt more grievious than the taking and willful destruction of trust given in love.

A person unworthy of trust is a person unworthy of life.

When there is Trust, anything becomes possiable. There is no fear too great to be shared, no shame too deep to be overcome. No secret too dark, though understanding may be far down the road, but acceptance is there at the doorway.

Love is about trusting. Trusting someone else with your heart, your mind and your body. You let them into your life and share with them all that you treasure and hold dear. Give them a part of your soul and hold a part of their's.

Trust them deeply enough to hold them close and let them share your body with the physical part of love. The emotional part, they hold your heart in their hands, those things which are your strengths and weaknesses. In your soul, you have placed your trust in them to treat well your hopes and fears, the future and all it holds for the two of you.

You have no fears if you love and are truely loved in return. For there is no place for fears to take root and grow. No rejections, just acceptance, understanding, both given and taken.

One can have no greater friend or deeper trust than that of a love, for ultimately all of the universe depends upon this.

Yet, when such a trust is betrayed, no words are adequate, no discription of the shattered and vaccumous void left where trust once dwelt can ever fully tell the tale.

After such and event, one is never whole and fully healed, nor recovered completely. Something precious and irreplaceable has been taken away, a rape of innocence and more. Forever beyond reach or redemption.

Death of trust is the death of all. Belief, hope and wisdom. The price, the death of trust, is in the end retribution, cold, hard and final. Nothing else will suffice. Think carefully and look into yourself and others and place your trust and love most carefully less it is lost.

Upon the hill I sit, and watch from the window sill.
The fat yellow moon, drifting slowly above the far hill.
I feel the cold East breeze brushing past me as I sit and stare,
Thinking of things long past, present and future yet to come.
I wait, not knowing what to do,
Feeling Time slow around me...
Is it a Voice from the Eldar days that I hear from afar?
Calling out to me, to watch the stars, or to look upon the ever changing sea?
Or to listen to the old poet's ballards of mighty deeds and days long gone by?
I sit and shiver as the Voice caresses my mind, slowly fading into the nothingness from which it came.
And I am left sitting on the window sill, upon the hill, watching the cold white moon as he sinks behind the far hills.

The arm grows tired, the feet grow weary, the sense of duty is long gone.
The sun is early in the East, the mist is along the ground and the pines are standing quite.
Young is the day and I am old, the sun burns the mists away, yet it still persists for me.
Now even the mind is weary, that which was always eager and excited before.
I hear the wild geese calling once again, those which called long ago, Now call again.
With the geese I hear the gulls, White of wing and light of air, and with them the calling of the Sea.
The Sea! The Sea! How I long to see the Sea! Alittle of the weariness falls away, but too far to go, too far to go to see the Sea, Oh too weary to see the Sea...
Many a day was it that I traveled far from the Sea. Over stony hill and grass green meadow, through forest old and thick of gloomy pines and ancient oaks. Besides rolling rivers and babbling brooks, that gurgle over the stones of time.
I have built high towers of stone and delved the caverns deep, under the tall mountains...
I have played flutes, harps, viols and
My hand has known and loved the sword...
But now the hand grows tired and the legs weary of travel. I wish to feel the beaches of home, beneath the bright stars and hear the waves upon the silver sands, to smell the Sea scent upon the airs and to feel my youth once again......
The pines are thick and tall, and I've lost my way back to the sundering Seas and the sandy beaches of my home.

I sit across the table from you and see so much in you.

The thick dark mane of your hair, falling like smoke down to your shoulders. Glints of silver like molten mercury tracing through the dark rolling waves, highlighting that dark cascade.

Long delicate lines, fragile the sculpture sitting there. The slender gazelle's neck running up under the dark waves to the high planes of your cheeks.

Full lips, straight and thoughtful...

Yet it is your eyes that draw mine. That warm shade of brown, I could name some of my favourite things, syrup - sweet and flavourful, smooth bourbon or fine Irish Mist held in clear crystal, amber or smokey topaz jewels.

Lost in some private space, somewhere that is familair in my own mind. Where pains, worries, doubts, regrets and personal hells reside. A place where I've yet to go with you or you with me...

Taking your hands, pulling you to your feet, folding my arms around you. Burying my face in your hair, your cheek resting on my chest. Smelling your fragrance, warm and soft and sweet as some exotic incense, your hair and skin.

Trying to give you some of my warmth, confidence in your abilities, support and love. It's there, the nectur of my essence waiting for you the humming bird to rest there and partake of it.

Showers

Raindrops falling down
On the world washing it out
Bringing freshness and
Vivid colours, Golden sun
Bright green grass, blue skies

Sunlight

Sunlight shining down
On dark green leaves beside me
As I sit and wait

Sunbeams

Sunlight shining down
In golden shafts around me
As I sit and wait,
Softly warming the air and ground
Urging me to sleep

Landscapes

Mountains and valleys
Alike in the setting sun,
But diffrent to us

Man

Mountains and valleys
Alike in the setting sun
But like Man, diffrent
Rising proud, high and defiant
Sometimes in Darkness

You

Sweet longing for you
In lightning and thunders high,
On ground and salt seas
In caves dark and mountains bright
At home and afar

River

River waters flow
Between crooked muddy banks
Slowly in the night

Sea

Sea waters rolling
Rising, falling and swirling
Splashing against me

Squal

Blowing wind
Hard gusting, swirling slashing
Falling white rain drops
Lightning flashing about you
The angry seas pounding

Seppeku Poem

Life is but a dream,
Falling star across the sky,
Death the awakening