Mero's Mumblings

[Bruder Cuzzen]

Quasi,
Your work is truly beautiful,you must carry a big stick to keep the women from ravaging you.

[Sibling Chatty]

Nah, he's safe.

I'm too far away, and too slow!!

[Bruder Cuzzen]

RE: last post :

[The Meromorph]

Thanks for your appreciation, guys...

[The Meromorph]

It was a gift of a rose
Long-stemmed
Thornless
Deep green leaves curling slowly
     as they dried.

And a vibrant bloom
Close-furled with secrets
Rich and red
So heavy it seemed to float
     within the room.

Reverently I lifted it
and smelled
sweet hot furry silkiness
and light astringent growing green.

I learned to dance, inside that rose.

"It is a hot-house rose." they said
"It doesn't smell."

Sweetloves, I have smelled a rose.
And you should learn to dance

© Brian Henderson
December 1992

[The Meromorph]

John Helson

Casual friendship,
a few opinions shared.
Idle chatter
in a busy day.

It should have been easy.


An oasis of do it right
in a sea of do it somehow.

An air of quiet competence,
a sometimes help in need,
and a sharp and gentle wit.

It should have been easy.


It was just a year of sitting
in the next cubicle over.
It was just a 'Hi',
a smile,
a shared look.
Just day to day stuff.

It should have been easy
to say goodbye.

© Brian Henderson
January 1991

[Opsa]

Man, you really write wonderful poetry. 

I apologize for not keeping up until now. This is well worth reading. I love poetry. That last one really noodged my heart.

[The Meromorph]

Thank you, Opas.
I found that one at work a few days ago, when I was clearing out an old leather 'notepad folder'. I'd forgotten all about it...
John was in a really bad auto accident and was in a semi-permanent serious back-brace thing and still all twisted up and in pain. And he was just coping with it. He had to retire, and we threw him a small retirement bash at work, so I wrote that for him. He was kinda stunned and taken aback - "Nobody ever wrote poetry about me, before."
His son (who also worked there), later told me he had it framed on his wall, and his wife used to cry a little whenever she read it. It has me in tears, too.

[The Meromorph]

For Sierra

There used to be Sierras
just behind my house
in California

But they were nothing like you.
They used to hide themselves
in the smog,
Until, one day the wind...

They had good bones,
those mountains,
Strong and tall
and showing through.

Lho, nyen, and lu,
Like a true Shambhala warrior,
Well grounded in the flavor of the earth,
Clear eyes of snow and heaven,
Shoulders brushed with green.

And tender,
You could bruise them with a word
And they would bleed for years.

Good bones,
those mountains,
And achingly beautiful
when they smiled.

Ah, now I understand.

Hi, Sierra.

© Brian Henderson
December 1992

[Swatopluk]

I can only admire people that can do serious poetry of their own.
I am limited to parody and semi-funny things. Anything serious is not even worth the trash can.
Fortunately (for the world) I know that and leave it to others that can do better.
Carry On!

[anthrobabe]

I can only admire people that can do serious poetry of their own.
I am limited to parody and semi-funny things. Anything serious is not even worth the trash can.
Fortunately (for the world) I know that and leave it to others that can do better.
Carry On!

ummmm might I say that Dear Mero has shown his "hottie" status--- so
I bet if you post some more of your "stuff" too Swato you'll be a "hottie" also.
I dare you....

really- the poetry is very nice Mero

[Swatopluk]

I just realized that my post above could be misleading. The "only" is strictly aimed at "admire" not at "people". I am able to admire non-poets but my options towards true poets are limited to admiration because imitation* is out of the question.

*apart from parodying

[The Meromorph]

This one's actually a song, to a melody very similar to The Water Is Wide [traditional]


The Tears of Whales

For twenty years, I sailed the sea,
Where winds are mighty, wild and free,
And now I dwell upon this land,
My lovely lady gave her hand.

        Then tell me why the whales do cry,
        Their salty tears that build the sea.
        Oh tell me why the whales do cry,
        Then go to sleep, and let me be.

This land is broad, and growing green,
Deep snows of winter rarely seen.
Our winds are warm, our air is clear,
No word of war, no thing to fear.

        Then tell me why the whales do cry,
        Their salty tears that build the sea.
        Oh tell me why the whales do cry,
        Then go to sleep, and let me be.

Each starlit night, I feel the sea,
Its tireless waves reminding me,
How glad I am that I can say,
I am at home, and home to stay.

        Then tell me why the whales do cry,
        Their salty tears that build the sea.
        Oh tell me why the whales do cry,
        Then go to sleep, and let me be.


For all my life, I will not tell,
The dreadful secret I know well,
For I know why the whales do cry,
They weep for us, they sing goodbye.

© Brian Henderson
October 2007

[ivor]

That's awesome.

[The Meromorph]

Celeste

She is ancient
As a weed-webbed rock
Turning around me in the sun.
She is distant
As the sights I see
Before each day's reality
Begins to run.

                                                           Hard-edged
                                                           From touching too much.
                                                           Too long,
                                                            And loving stillness.

                 Clear eyes
                 Inside are aching misty distances
                 And the high desert
                 And the wind
                 And I.

     She is easy fingered,
     Thin-hipped, dark-eyed
     And tasting of forever.
     She weaves dreams in amber
     And my heart in gold
     And the high desert
     And the wind
     And I.

© Brian Henderson
August1985