Valentine’s Day with Yeats

A Poet to His Beloved

I bring you with reverent hands

The books of my numberless dreams

White woman that passion has worn

As the tide wear the dove-grey sands,

And with heart more old than the horn

This is brimmed from the pale fire of time:

White woman with numberless dreams,

I bring you my passinate rhyme.

-Yeats

From the sketchjournal in watercolor. Happy Valentines Day! Feb 14, 2008

Grr, crappy scan.

Sketchjournal: Watercolor Trees II and Emily Dickinson

From the sketchjournal in watercolor

Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies! -Emily Dickinson “Nature”

The scan wasn’t as good as I’d hoped and I couldn’t get it cleaned up. Some shadowy color around the edges. I think the scan problems come from the shape of the journal making it hard to scan.

Poetry: Hunting Alice and Kingdom of Monsters and Lost Children

I am no poet.

Or at least, not a good one. Poetry is a funny art form that I’ve never been able to get my head around. I want to use poetry to tell a story without being too obscure or tortured. Most poetry is over my head though, and while I do enjoy dissecting British poetry that is more than 100 years old, I’m generally not a fan of anything contemporary. Such is my lot in life. I think I’m just generally against over-dramatic angst, so most poetry escapes me.

That isn’t to say I haven’t tried my hand at poetry. Seldom, but it happens. In fact, here are two pieces I’ve been willing to share with the general public (and that’s about it). All my other sordid, humiliating attempts are locked away forever in hidden journals and deleted files.

Hunting Alice

In Wonderland, heroes have come
to right the madness, to ruin the fun.

Twas brillig they said of the son
who took the Jabberwock’s head for his own.

Frumious they called the Bandersnatch
who had not for years been on the attack.

And woe is she the Queen of Hearts!
who lost her army and all of her tarts.

When one winsome, silly little child
disturbed our world all sweet and wild.

This is for the Duchess and her kid
when that horrible child turned him into a pig.

For dear old Bill, the Hatter, the Hare!
Even the White Rabbit broke his house in despair.

That wicked, impetuous child of malice!
We’ll have our revenge – tonight we’re hunting Alice! -(c) S.L. Wiegert 2007-2008 All Rights Reserved 

-Hunting Alice was written in October, 2007 when I was trying to decide what theme to have our annual Halloween party. My original idea was to have a screwed up Alice party, but in the end we went with no theme and this poem did not get any use.

Kingdom of Monsters and
Lost Children

little children
in your beds,
figures dancing
in your heads,

ghosts of memories,
dreaming flight
heroes, dragons
fill the night. while you’re sleeping,
safe and sound,
like all the children
in your town

dark things hunt
around your bed
in your closet,
in your head.

wanting, gnashing,
lurking, breathing.
drooling, dripping,
scratching, seething.

little children
you’re not safe.
there are monsters
in every place.

scream for your mother
she’ll never come.
once they have you,
you’re all alone.

-(c) S.L. Wiegert 2005-2008 All Rights Reserved

-This poem was written for a Halloween zine I participated in called Kingdom of Monsters and Lost Children. The poem was inspired by a tabletop roleplaying game called Little Fears