Hold Dear the Amaranthine Dream

When I went out to my garden this October morning, there was only one rose left. It seemed anxious and afraid to be suddenly on its own, and cold. It also seemed to be asking a desperate question.
And so this poem. It uses the random “challenge words” that we writers at the Bardic Circle in Second Life choose at the end of each of our weekly gatherings. This week he words were: “Beyond, Amaranthine, Sunbeam, Whisper, Fragile”

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Last Words of the King of Summer

King of Summer sunflower with crownThis is the poem that won me the honor of the 2012 Poet Laureate title in the Elf Circle group in the virtual world of Second Life. Every year the 1,900 members choose their Poet Laureate by voting their favorite poems in a Bardic Competition, as in the days of old. This poem was inspired by a dying sunflower I saw bowing at the end of autumn to approaching winter.

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The Lonely Snowman

The snowman had his first real date,

He waited long, he waited late;

She never came, and O he felt

His snowman heart begin to melt.

The Spirit of Giving

And now, an original holiday poem and machinima for any of you who think that the frenzy of Christmas has swallowed up the Spirit of Giving. LOL


by Bay Sweetwater

The Spirit of Giving blinked wide his three eyes,
His antennas twitched, wild in distress.
His hackles reared up in gold spikes on his back.
He wailed, “I’m done with this mess.”

On his couch, he’d been napping, a much-needed rest,
When the TV awoke him mid-snore
“Give her for New Year’s what you didn’t at Christmas.”
“No!” shrieked the Spirit, “no more!”

“The Yuletide frenzy’s already too much,
If they’re adding New Year’s, I quit!
He packed a small suitcase and slipped out the back.
“What else can I do? I can’t take it!”

“Everyone’s buying, but nobody’s giving,
Even I can’t find Giving anymore!”
He wiped at the tears on his brown furry snout,
“Who needs me, with malls full of stores?”

Eyes clouded with tears, the poor Spirit stumbled,
He’d tripped over some kind of root.
He stared as it wiggled, then he saw with a start,
What he thought was a root was a boot!

And tapping that boot was the Mother of Creation,
Frowning at him in dismay
“I’ve got six babies waiting for the precious Gift of Life;
I can’t give it, if you go away.”

The Spirit was awed by his Mother’s harsh words.
He stammered and begged for forgiveness,
“Mama, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have quit,
“But Giving’s turned into a business!”

“Nonsense!” she cried. “Giving’s doing quite well;
We talked this morning at breakfast.
You’re just looking for him in all the wrong places.
Dear Spirit, you really have vexed us.

“Why are you looking for Giving in stores?
Or in silly TV commercials?
Why look in the faces of holiday salesmen?
They’re giving just whatever sells!

“Look in a sunrise, look in a tree;
Look in the faces of children;
Knock on the blue door at the bottom of your heart.
Giving is usually in.

“Make him hot chocolate, befriend and inspire him;
You’re his muse, dear Spirit, all said.
Weave him a scarf out of wishes and love songs,
And a hat full of dreams for his head.”

Gone Autumn

My most popular autumn poem. A man falls in love; the woman moves away. She leaves only a mysterious note on her door that she has “Gone Autumn.” Her note hints she might come back “some sunny day in June,” but he doesn’t wait; he goes after her. I made a video of this poem, which is embedded below the poem here.

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