Sub Terra Vita Chronicle #17—Two Poems on the Times of Living

Sub Terra Vita

Chronicle #17—Two Poems on the Times of Living

By Tim Krenz

September 21, 2015

Sometimes, we ruin a thing by describing it. And, sometimes, it just takes a poem, to reflect on somethings more important. I leave you with these, two poems or “pories” (not poems, not stories) from a private work of a long-dead pen, and passed forward here. This week's challenge: Find a muse, and let it sing or show or speak in your life, even if for a brief moment. But, all things must pass, of course. Then, let life proceed, for a verse or any form of art, makes life easier to understand, once the art has passed. Try it, and enjoy. I hope only to encourage you.

“Bereave Pory Psalm”, From Alphabet Psalms (collection)

By Pi Kielty (Posthumously)

(Previously unpublished)

Bereave, dear brave and young, few moments, tearing swells, when a'grieving others passing, under death's destined spell. Between those honors for elders gone, living takes a happier rhyme, as poetry's songs.

Those spaces, stay wise, feel vibrant and alive, for enjoy them much, before you grow elders others survive. Lengthen the sun's rise, suspend that new born view, stretch a day, enjoined beauty's worth, for god gave joy, this joyful gift, this holy home earth.

Prize not pride, stay shy lest forget, god loves laughter, for that he begets. He also gave all to all, this mortal moral claim, that we exist to serve others, a human domain. Aware, ye daughters and sons, act love to forgive lest the gift finished done. Any silent pain carried too far, becomes farewell too soon, joys never said, and saddened uncalled.

When leaving your realm, this earth ship womb, others voice loveness, as earth still moves. Too quick to the finish, the gift does expire. Lessons relearned: god deigned peace on earth, his first-last desire. Er'fore take heart, do well, live whole. Act a joyful child's part, on stage live bold, live one for all, before death leaves us cold.

“Ivy in Pory”

By Pi Kielty (Posthumously)

From : Poetrix: The Lost Works of Pi Kielty (Kapheira Press, 2015)

Deeds act a message crossed or crissed, let words like Ivy combine fates blessed. Small whispers, alikened two from none, no fault, no less, lest fall upto sun. Ivy green droops nestled, rastled string, climbing entwined vine in fightful spring. Words, regard, redeem—the quiet trust a lyric sings. Steady time, a fossil wall, brown and bled orange, teared in Ivy green but gleamed, a daring grasp, a phrase—from time receive. Growth the vine higher, a wall of word-honest, and perceive, the stone-stable enduring stage, a worn, washed and wiser life's scenes. Promise. Ivy and stone stay bound and keen. Deceive never more a speck or speech of time. The hour lowering—Ivy's season defined. Bind the rock to word well played, Ivy's joyful friend friendship displayed. Ivy's tear petal fill erosive scars of age worn, wind and rain, a word shown drop-leaf over hurtings frayed. Honor a stone's risk of wordless heed, and all good, all great, all kind, and time, all obey thee, pleased.