The Literary Bumpkin's Blog

PARDON by Jezreel Madsa Pardon  if I have flirted with the summer, basked in its nourishing heat; left you sick and dying— cold in the winter— my love  so unsatisfying. Pardon me, please if I went out home dancing with the breeze. . . while you're alone calming the tremor your feeble knees,  you groan wishing, longing, yearning a lil' while  of the rarest visit of my spring. Oh, Pardon me, I beg for the days  I failed to keep you nourished and bud . . . for failing to cheer  when you're deeply most sad. I should've  tucked you by the sweetest  blanket of my love. I am sorry, babe! :'(

You freshly make yesterdays anew each visit of the summer day.  I missed our yesterdays,  much I do of our today,  and I will be missing  them somehow,  someday— when no future  left for us  but all are yesterdays.  — Jezreel in his Oldest Age before death

pain gets relief in making other people feel the same

am just here hiding  behind your veil am only seen when your asleep  I exist  only when you leave  how we often see each other in unseen distance,. , we've been together ain't just nobody  knows however I got my beam  from you if perchance people don't know I imitate you in many ways your light your kindness towards fowls animals and trees  thanks for dressing me up with your trying light am happy here this gloomy corner right away from their sight I fellowship with  the night. -- Jezreel, "Moon's Letter to the Sun" 

Never let me go. . . Hold me not the way the yesterday's clouds kept the rain.

HE WAS THERE by Jezreel Madsa His shadow stood an inch at face feeling the mood the breath of her flesh He watched her knelt as pallid tulips wilt all her angst and sobs life and death-- in her HE FELT. She was a broken pipe of yesterday's dirge an ash of the burnin' bridge-- of fate's hard-hearted promises.  Yet her beam and pain were the strokes of his pen the shadow poet her beholder and friend. . . How he wrote the stars upon her sulky sable scars Turned her barren glee a glorious summer day!  He drew the breath of his lines down from very lung of her soul. He was her unseen poet. 

Dear Lord, Un-enough is eternity to ever fully Thank Thee. Wanting is the best of our lives to perfectly paint the kindness-- that you grace to us each waking moment, each passing day, Lord. You are my bestfriend--you absolutely know the deepest angst and fear, the saddest lines to people I cannot tell. You know the most secret joy I have had of which to the best of people I conceal. Let all be gone, and be carried off the winds. forgotten. Let life be uglier  and let our tears be the river to which the waterlily of your grace be our sail to carry us still. only keep thyself near I am all too good and satisfied to be with you. . . May this day of my birth Be commemorated with no alien thoughts to entertain. A moment spent with you  is better than anyone, better than air, better than life. You've never been ashamed of me.

PAPERBOAT By Jezreel Madsa Heavy were the  sweats and sighs of the roughest wind the paperboat paddles the waves of time how fair the night watcheth the ebbs and flows by mustard faith the lonely vessel saileth how astonished the gaze of the stars that blinketh not; felt were the jingles of the moon hushed in silver light that night that night-- that very night! alas, the storm cometh in horrendous sight!  row harder and deeper! plunge it half ne'er surrender the canoe of love the watered layer kept breaking weaker and poorer   ocean tears why'd me  sinkest and drown? all of mine pieces are parting me down. 'til the summer days betide and all the aching waves subside the wet-papered boat nay in blue water float . . . SOON in drier land the hopeful keel will yonder kiss the ground.

MORE THAN. by Jezreel Madsa I want you more  than—the sweetest accolades that drop from men their honeyed lips I want you more than—the most delicate dainties, more than—the best wines of Solomon's courts more than—the kisses of the roses more than—the hugs of many children I want you, dear, far better than—the songs of the birds better than—the restless twinkling of the stars, more than the rarest streams in the desert more than shelter, more than raiment In this earthly pilgrimage, you are more than everything. more than fame, more than air, more than life. second to Christ— the superlative of everything.

KEEP HER, I BEG by Jezreel Madsa the air of winter sighs moistened by future anxious fears-'tis drawin' nigh as the cloud sobs in tears knees on the hard earth kissed as the broken soul  laments its cracking  piece 'til all his deep parted pleas on windless wings FLY! up in the gracious ears of the Most High "Oh, if it'd be Thy will . . ." he pleads—please! keep her still in a fallen world where sadness  dwell . . . from evil company from an evil one— the depraved "I" in me. But if Thou willest otherwise, Your Divine Decree— Holy and Wise: Oh, Let Thy arms be mine to keep her; and let her heart be Thine FOREVER.

HUSH by Ivan Laurenciano HUSH I sang of your beauty,  Told tales of your splendor,  Said I was spellbound,  But of my sonnets, you want none  So I'll hush; keep quiet,  Saying nothing no more,  As you wish,  I'll let it be  Though these lungs are aching sore  For to cease of telling,  My fervid devotion to you,  Is a halt to my breathing;  Drawing breath but not exhaling  I'll shut my lips for good;  Arresting these torrents,  Of feelings left unsaid,  Hoping soon they would ebb,  But may I ask myself,  When my breath runs out,  And when all this is over,  Am I willing and ready to be sober?

JEALOUS by Jezreel Madsa I am jealous of the sky I really am. night and day Storm or ease Every waking moment it always sneaks through your smile behind his un-shy  clouds a mile. I envy him  since he can feel  the scent of your skin and you,  reciprocating. . breathing in  the unseen  endearment of his wind. 

REMEMBER WORLD REMEMBER BY KHADIJA RUPA When a fresh new leaf splits, in a season it was meannt to live whole, when a new branch breaks, in a phase it was supposed to bear sweet berries, when a bud withers, exactly when it was to bloom into a vibrant flower, when the strongest root detaces and it can no longer nourish its undeveloped parts, remember world, remember, a tree like that isn't dead; it lives death by living its life. Sometimes death isn't what happens when living comes to an end; sometimes death is-- living, too.

THE TRIUNE MOON IN BLISS by Jezreel Madsa a tenebrous tint it shrouds the heaven’s blue yonder face  a bleak theatre stage for the triune moon  to beam their growing age How a spectator the ninety suns in grace in mirth  they clap and dance— clasping their ray upon the wilted rose  those winter trying days—  ere no more its awful piercing blows. how the artistry bright the gracious Divine playwright  penned this wondrous play ere the glossy dawn of eternity. how loving has He been!  splash in face a rainbow tinge  such a pallid crescent beam glows in dark undeserving. . .

SONG by Christina Rossetti When I am dead, my dearest Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows  I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember And haply may forget.

IT WASN'T by Jezreel Madsa it wasn't the pinning of  the stars upon the  ebony carpet of the firmament made this poet to write it wasn't the chirps and tweets the birds that bids  the daylight break in silent hum the  poet wakes neither the ivory kisses of the rain  slid down the slope a sulky cheek in pain— bled such ink down his morose pen nor was the valley low, dear still less the mountains high it wasnt natures without— or nature within — compels a song a poet sing it was simply you— not the hands that kiss not the lips that touch not the mouth  that breathes nor the heart that hugs simply you it was.

SAPHO Christina Rossetti I sigh at day-dawn, and I sigh When the dull day is passing by. I sigh at evening, and again I sigh when night brings sleep to men. Oh! it were better far to die Than thus for ever mourn and sigh, And in death’s dreamless sleep to be Unconscious that none weep for me; Eased from my weight of heaviness, Forgetful of forgetfulness,             10 Resting from pain and care and sorrow Through the long night that knows no morrow; Living unloved, to die unknown, Unwept, untended and alone

WHAT AM I WITHOUT THEE? What am I without thee? A starless moon that bathes its sky in an inky gloom?  a lonesome home a saddest song — Dumbest a melody of its own! What am I without thee?  But a wearied lark, in a world afar, a broken wing, a multiverse of war!— How it flaps and flies. . .  Alas, how it sobs and dies! Oh, What am I without thee? but a nightingale might in a leafless tree a harp untuned in  crowded highways a hymn unsung a tear uncried a heart unloved and a death undied. What am I without Thee but a fish swum  in the thirst-stricken desert a bird flown against the  the waves a glorious mirth in elegy a sensefool lines of rhapsody. Without Thee, I am a What.

A jumbled earth, a world, a life to me you are— upon you I inhabit  and breathe;  In me— you beat and you live. Each crack you feel— I ache inside Each air you sigh— I sob and die. For you are not just my earth— but the very anagram  of it.

I Miss you . . . for your childlike,innocent chuckles for your fifth-grader stories,  nursery rhymes and those endless emotional  adventures. I miss you for your three-week old poems cat-forgiving deeds, orange-worded verse.  and cute-endearing mess. I miss you . . . for your verbatim exposition for your honest dishonesty  bold humility,  and grace-coated  negativity I miss you, etcetera.

too bright a silver moon in a starless sky of the eve night after night it grasps and witnesses — of the nightfall— each lonely hush and sighs. how hath the night pants for the presence of the moon than it does with the sun. suffice is the night to live in a handful of the crescent light— than it would to the ray of daylight where the night is veiled with its beam and it dies. — Jezreel