Tag Archives: tragedy

The Courtyard Ghosts – Part Three – From Courtyard Fountain

Part Three of The Courtyard Ghosts is written by our lonely hearted man as he struggles with his feelings and desire to run to her, but knows he cannot, and so struggles to let go…

The Courtyard Ghosts
Part Three
From Courtyard Fountain

Been to the pub tonight,
with Jonas Sapp and Bill,
plenty laughs and drink there,
and many stories, we had our fill.

But here am I in silent hall,
last flagon in my hand,
alone, just left the peaceful stable,
and here I find the blood of man
and that of what I am –

I pray the blood inside my veins
does not betray this pen with wine
that flows within my being,
and opens the secrets of my mind…

But what of that?!

I crave in silent squalor
to let this passion go,
and so eclipse this temporal state
and seek the face I do love so…

Yet I do not know her name –
and tho’ each day I see her,
I find my resolve weak, and lame –
But how I wish to hold her,
imbibe the scent within her hair,
feel her heat and flesh on mine,
thus feel our souls entwined,
ensnared in love’s elixir manifest,
of conscience gone and therein blessed
by lust and love so true…

But sadly this is not my journey,
yet shamefully do I count it so –
that I withdraw to seek forgiveness
within the truth of life I know…

Yet dreams I cannot still…
I see the courtyard and in such fill
the sleeping senses of the day –
the scent of summer lilacs and lavender along my way
through northern woods to get there.
I sing a gypsy song,
and calmly plod old Sam there,
till elm and oak enrobe in throng
and hold that sacred courtyard
where true love lies within,
so pass through lowered boughs of green
and bow my humble soul to them,
as passing through a gateway,
where only Venus holds the gate –
then open into courtyard such
and pray my arrival is not late…
to see her stoic figure
thrust from window’s parapet,
and know her eyes are watching me
as Sam and I to fountain let
our worldly focus go…
He draws of water slowly there,
as if to bide me time,
that I may muster courage and
synch my breath and heart in rhyme
to turn to face her window,
hopeful and afraid the same,
so raise my eyes to meet hers
and in this moment so untame
the passion in my breast piece,
the strength to cure a million woes,
but hold myself behind my smile,
to honor truths that I do know…

She is my catch, my Mary,
my heather on my Scottish hill,
yet her and I may not realize
the passion and the love, the thrill
that so enwraps us,
draws us lost on lonely nights,
yet still we have a silent vow,
sacred as the deepest rights
that bless a man and woman,
grant their hearts to beat as one,
yet temporal truths betray us,
and turn us back alone,
to live the lives we’ve chosen,
to bless the loves around us, dear,
yet know our vow’s unspoken
from the truths that keep our spirits, clear…

And so each day to courtyard’s bliss
I draw dear Sam and I,
to touch true love and spirit real,
and never question why…

To you my love,
my nod –
– goodbye – forever yours…

these thoughts and stubborn murmurings
brought forth to let her go,
yet few more years he struggled on
until his heart could go no more
and she laid down to rest –
his followed hers, upon his own request.


Filed under History, Memory, Poetry, True Love

The Courtyard Ghosts – Part Two – From Parapet Window

Part two of “The Courtyard Ghosts” has been written from the perspective of our lady love, reflecting…

The Courtyard Ghosts
Part Two
From Parapet Window

I know not how the morning came,
to greet my day, defenses down,
where prideful steed, purposed horse,
brought gentle smile on soulful course
to gaze upon my window –

Witnessed spring in daffodils,
midst blossom’s rush and songbird’s rill
my cheek and heart engaged to blush.
But what of this moment then?
When from his horse he let me in…

Yet I in no loveful longing,
still rushed on spirit’s open wing
as if no love I’d ever seen
and he my one, belonging
to my heart’s secret past,
knew all of me and my desire,
within my heart the ripples cast –
thus I could not forget.

My longing so betrayed my state
of home and family and this life’s fate,
that I could never reach for him.
Yet every morning, there I’d sit,
at courtyard window’s parapet,
to see the smile and loving nod,
thus acknowledging this secret love,
so in kindle this desire –
relentless, yet in-actionable.

So the seasons came and went,
before one word was ever spent,
no touch, no kiss, no ravaged throes…
and I in hesitation –
And so the courtyard trees did grow,
with harvest’s reaping by spring’s hand sewn,
the window cornice stained by rain
and years of aging left in vain
to memories’ sole recall.

Until I now – in feeble age,
no longer rise again to gaze
upon the courtyard, there below.
And in my heart I know,
that I have loved, yet touched you not,
your eyes and smile and nod have taught
my soul the truest meaning,
that love is love, lest regret,
my heart stirs hard from this parapet,
and joyous has the longing been.
For pain in missing our love’s chance
was supplanted by a smile and glance,
and then a nod goodbye –

farewell my love, goodbye…

for this her last recount,
to silent room and window’s light,
as knowing soon her soul, in flight,
will gaze there nevermore.

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Filed under Memory, Poetry, True Love

The Courtyard Ghosts – Part One – The Pen

“The Courtyard Ghosts” is a poem written about the blessing and tragedy of unmanifested true love.
It is written in four parts, each from a unique perspective. Part One “The Pen” is written from the honest perspective of the pen through which such poetry as this makes its way onto paper.

The Courtyard Ghosts
Part One
The Pen

In ancient town unknown to most,
there stands a memory of two, as ghosts –
Their souls and story unknown,
but some recall the truth that runs
across a courtyard there.
This witless pen can tell no tale beyond what fingers imagine,
so forgive this indulgent trial to tell just what might have happened…

She of distant travels had found a home and love there,
blessed by family, friendship, love, and locks of flowing hair.
Her soul of sun warmed everyone,
regardless of their stage in life,
behind it though she held the secrets
of pain and loss and certain strife.

From courtyard’s bedroom window,
she drew each morning in,
by summer’s sweetest nectar,
or winter’s storm and howling din…

then him…

T’was spring amidst the daffodils
and cherry blossom’s blush,
he came on horseback laughing tall,
amidst a wave of friends and thrush.
At courtyard fountain, such horses pause
to drink and force a kind repose,
there allow the man to take it in,
and her, there twixt the shutter throws.

His heart in instant stuttered,
tho’ sun waxed warm upon his face,
the kind wind drew her hair back,
her eyes on his in golden grace…
there time stood still…

Until –
“Come on!”, the lads implored him,
“Your wife and home await!”

As quickly as the moment came,
was gone, yet time remained
affixed upon the two there,
and within each heart, their eyes ingrained.

T’was summer ere he came again
to the courtyard fountain to rest his horse,
his motive tho’ was driven
by her haunting memory, of course….
Yet as he turned to parapet’s window,
fear and desire, side by side,
his heart rejoiced in quite nod,
to her at window’s perch, shutters wide.

Again the moment quickly passed,
each flushed in heart’s sweet current,
afraid to say, afraid to reach,
yet lost to moment purest,
so knowing love may never win the moment…

Yet seasons dropped to weeks, then days,
through which he came to pass there by –
each morning, season’s freezing, burning,
one moment each in manifest light,
then simply nod, “goodbye”…

Years flew by as autumn leaves disperse before first winter’s storm –
until the shutters sealed with age, and he alas could ride no more.

Their secret love, unmanifest,
was secret too for those thereby –
the blacksmith and the mason,
respectfully watched each day – to sigh
a sad lament,
when together at dusk their day’s work spent –
found great regret and such remorse,
and sorely cried when life’s long course
drew curtains on this lover’s play…

So by commission of their trust,
they chose “immortal” plans for such –
The mason’s hands were old and strong,
and so with love and stone and song
cast her there, eternal bust,
with wind raised hair and eye of love
to look upon the courtyard square…
The blacksmith stained in sooty mire,
with forearm, bronze and hammer’s fire
placed him on a prideful steed,
to look up toward the parapet
with smiling eye and heartfelt need,
to nod and then ride on…

Forgiveness, please, I beg of thee,
this pen knows not of love or need –
but sees and feels and so in reels
in all this ink romantic…

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Filed under History, Memory, Poetry, True Love