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Thursday, December 23, 2021

Ruin, Poetry by the Tale Teller Club for the Immersion Project



Immersion Interactive at the Tale Teller Club


Ruin

When sleep won't come
the ghosts appear
they never left
just disappeared
for too short a time
I remember the old days
when you were mine
What fun we had
crazy mad, and glad
to be alive
The goodness died
the fabulous faded
jaded memories
tarnished stories
errors too loud
to quiet in the night
the ghosts walk proud
and we march with them to ruin

© 2020 Tale Teller Club



Poetry by the Tale Teller Club

The Tale Teller Club features poetry and prose via our online virtual magazine as well as our amazing audiobook podcasts.

We have launched a poetry only podcast here

And I have a lot of poems to share with you all so I am very excited!

An introduction to me, editor in chief and general agitator for the publishing side of things here at the Tale Teller Club and the new ground-breaking Immersion concept.



Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, Tale Teller Club Writer



I am thrilled to have founded the project and, with a great deal of financial and creative support from the Future's Venture Foundation, be able to move on to the business side of things.


What does that mean in these difficult times when business and the arts are struggling to work in unison?



Well, I am not alone in predicting a few months in the summer when artists and entrepreneurs will be like wound springs ready to explode with ideas and creativity.


I for one am set to launch and present a new online podcast that will focus on wellbeing and human endeavor through creativity. Check the details here


Humanity can be saved through art and music and I am a tool for change. I risk sounding overly optimistic but someone needs to be. Besides, I have seen the light.







The media online is so very powerful and yet it charges on, unrepentant and unregulated making a mockery of decency.

The changes we have experienced in this year of lockdown mean that we have had to re-evaluate how we engage with the world. But media with a conscience is the only way to make decent societies and happy individuals. A cruel media causes depression and suicide and it cripples intellectual advancement.

The enslavement of the people to the crippling business model is not the answer any of us are seeking, we just think it is because we are consumers and without consumers, the business model fails. We will die naked in robes of regret if we follow this new world order. Greed is a drug.

The Dominartist Project can offer a platform for exchanging intellectual ideas as well as providing entertainment. And we must never let go of that; entertainment is key to good mental health as well as education and enlightenment.

So I will try to be entertaining as well enlightening with the news I share and the articles I write here and on our new blog

Sarnia de la Maré FRSA
Editor

© 2020 Sarnia de la Maré FRSA


The third book of songs of Underneath the Bow transcription.....


'...this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox.org recording by k hand underneath the bow a book of verses by michael field the third book of songs when high zeus first peopled earth as sages say all were children of one birth helpless nurse links doves and bees tended their soft infancies hand to hand they tossed the ball and none smiled to see the play nor stood aside in pride and pleasure of their youthful day then all waxed gray morning accompanies the winter dearth what air they saw befall their neighbors they felt in themselves so lay on life a paul zeus at the confusion smiled and said from hence man by change must be beguiled age with royalties of death childhood sweeter than its breath will be won if we provide generations difference wisely he planned the tiny hand in eld's weak palm found providence and each through influence of things beholden and not born grew mild youths by the old man's side their turbulence to crystal scents saw clarified deer is not the story's truth most manifest had our lives been twined forsooth we had never had one heart by time set a space apart we are bound by such close ties none can tell of either breast the native sigh who try to learn with whom the muse is guest how sovereignly i'm blessed to see and smell the rose of my own youth in thee how pleasant lies my life at rest from dream it's hope expressed before mine eyes me thanks my love to thee doth grow and this is the sign i see the spirit claim thee and do not blame thee nor break intrusive on the holy ground where thou of god art found i watch the fire leap up and do not bring fresh water from the spring to keep it from up flaming higher than my chilled hands require for cherishing i see thy soul turn to her hidden grot and follow not content thou shouldst prefer to be with her the heavenly muse than ever find in me best company so brave my love is grown i joy to find thee sought by some great thought and am content alone to eat life's common fare while thou prepare to be my royal moment's guest live to the best


archeron thou must not leave me though tis a mournful land through which i travel i will but guide thee hand in hand to mysteries thou must in art unravel when thou a little way art gone air the grove's steep descent darkening can grieve thee thou backward to the sweet stars shall be sent while i plot on to acheron


it was deep april and the mourn shakespeare was born the world was on us pressing sore my love and i took hands and swore against the world to be poets and lovers evermore to laugh and dream on latha's shore to sing to charon in his boat heartening the timid souls afloat of judgment never to take heed but to those fast locked souls to speed who never from apollo fled who spent no hour among the dead continually with them to dwell indifferent to heaven and hell


ties men ideos


apollo and the muses taught thee not thy mighty strain enchantment to the mind thralling the heart by spell of holy fears awful thou saltest aaron's sacred grant and the eternal goddess well inclined hath given these songs for the dull life of tears


there comes a change in her breath a change that saith she is breathing in her sleep breathing breathing and yet so low o life at ebb o life at flow her life her breath


a girl her soul a deep wave pearl dim lucent of all lovely mysteries a face flowered for heart's ease a browse grace soft as seas seen through faint forest trees a mouth the lips apart like aspen leaflets trembling in the breeze from her tempestuous heart such and our souls so knit i leave a page half writ the work begun will be to heaven's conception done if she come to it


our myrtle is in flower behold love's power the glorious stamens crowded force unfurled cirque beyond cirque at breathing bee-like and harmonious work the rose patched petals backward curled falling away to let fecundity have perfect play o flower dear to the eyes of aphrodite rise as she at once to bear audacious bliss and bit us near your prodigal delicious hemisphere where thousand kisses breed the kiss that fills the room with langer of an acid dark perfume forsaking have you seen the olives at set of sun how their fiery maize that tossed him his sparkles snatched his rays becomes a region of limitless grays dead bow on bow for lack of the sun love this is how living would be if thy life were run leave me not thou a prayer she lies asleep i watching do not dare pray for her dole or bliss give the sweet face whatever being there thou needs must kiss


sweetbriar in rose so sweet all sweet the body as the shire sweet senses and the spirit sweet as those for me the fragrance of a whole sweet briar beside the rose


metroome praxilla stream and pool mine is the eddying foam and the broken current thine the serene flowing tide the unshattered rhythm light touches me on the surface with glints of sunshine dives in thy bosom disclosing a mystic river ruffling the wind takes the crest of my waves resurgent stretches his pinions at poise on thy even ripples what is my song but the tumult of chafing forces what is thy silence beloved but enchanted music


metrooom praxelia eyes sweet of my poet how sweet are the eyes the eyelids open as clear to the sun as the flowers of tide honeyed the light they secure in their shaded amber filling the scents with the desire to inhale their fragrance linger and feast at their brink as at brink of roses power in silence one though i sing high and chaunt above her praising my girl it were not right to reckon her the poorer lover she does not love me less for her royal jeweled speechlessness she is the sapphire she the light the music in the pearl two not from pert birds we learn the springtide from open sky what speaks to us closer than far distances that hide in woods what is more dear than a cherry bow bees feeding near in the soft crawford blooms lo i am fed and honored thus


three she has the star's own pulse it's throbbing is a quick light she is a dove my soul draws to its breast her sobbing is for the warm dark there in the heat of her wings i would not care my close housed bird should take her flight to magnify our love


daybreak shall there ever be a mourn i might breathe beside her and yet choose to wake forlorn and yet choose to wake in death eros while my love has breath i will breathe beside her


constancy i am pure i am pure i am pure i love her with this seasons with the winds as the stars worship as an enemies shudder in secret for the sun as bees buzz round an open flower in all kinds my love is perfect and in each she finds herself the goal then why intent to tease and rob her delicate spirit of its ease hastes she to arrange me with inconstant minds if she should die if i were left at large on earth without her i on earth the same quick mortal with a thousand cries her spell she fears would break and i confront the charge as sorrowing and as careless of my frame as christ intact before the infidel end of the third book of songs...'