Cristovau's Creations

Like ravens flying towards the midnight moon

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:23:19 +0000

Like ravens flying towards the midnight moon,
Your dusky hair unfurls within my mind
Transfixing me to languish and to swoon.
Upon your raven hair, my hand would wind.
As fireflies your honey eyes do flash
To freeze my hastening, and unreleased
Within this still, my heart doth beat and thrash.
A lion’s passion fills this timid beast.
The roses in your lips are buds too sweet
For mortal men to touch e’en tenderly,
Yet flowers oft are made far more complete.
When pressed upon, they open fragrantly.
Your hair and eyes and lips remain remiss,
If you deny my hand, my glance, my kiss.

The cloud-filled sky compares well with my mind

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:16:30 +0000

The cloud-filled sky compares well with my mind
That wishes bright days but finds some obstruction,
A flaw so distant, but also so unkind
That all else sours hence from its induction.
The cheer-drunk lad would overlook this want
And wanton wanders on to further gain.
The grouse-mad pedant takes the darkening taunt
For proof apparent he should yet complain.
So why must I then spoil my grin to glare
Without the recourse to an ounce of joy?
Must once known pleasure drive forth my despair
with dreams that sustained aiding to annoy?
The dulling clouds obscure the light above,
As distance rends me from the light of love.

Is it but negligence to bow to grace

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:11:41 +0000

Is it but negligence to bow to grace,
When grace be mixed with skill and duty, too?
Should one be honored past the others’ due?
Which gift has brought this lady to this place?
Oh, fools embark upon this idle chase,
To separate one talent from the few;
It’s many numerous pigments makes a hue,
One step may not ll up a dance hall’s space!
Thus for the grace that guides this dancer’s moves
And skillful art which teaching still improves
Into duty, Gonzaga’s ever staunch,
So by his hand King Brion gladly proves
As with a smile Anna, his Queen, approves
That all may hear; Maria is a maunche.

I’d be thinking if there were time for thoughts

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:09:57 +0000

I’d be thinking if there were time for thoughts
The rushing blood dances as seedlings erupt
The world’s gone botany mad and spring green
Blossom and flower rise up to sunbeam arms
In this dizzying, heady, pollen-heavy air
Where is time for thinking? Why make plans?
Muddy thought flows though toes and bubbles
Waiting to feed into this years stalks
When sweat and blood spills into the fields
Could not thought, heart and mindful soul?
When this is the work we do, our labors
feed our world and fertilize the seasons.
The earth takes the mind, dreams and regret
Thus might we produce a benefit yet.

I find such beauty in the cadence of your laugh

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:05:35 +0000

I find such beauty in the cadence of your laugh
That I smile myself with warmer hidden graces.
Though we travel through graceless, darkening places,
There’s a newer light aglow upon this path.
Look out on those once sweet, now fiercer faces
That approach when melancholy runs amok.
Despised anew this sweet, beloved flock
Whose loving hand no longer holds love’s traces.
Yet who’d abandon those who still held stock
In the valiant hope of love amending?
How could one turn away from tender tending;
What gardener ends when faced with weed or rock?
Though our dalliances lay ever pending,
Laugh, my friend, there is no ending.

Look to thy hand for speed in just defense

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:01:19 +0000

Look to thy hand for speed in just defense
When honor calls thee into clash of arms.
Before a foe can strike or raise alarms
The quickest grip knows well to pay expense.
Look to thy hand for strength to mete out aid
When tasks before the close of day loom vast.
Until the deeds and needs have all been passed
The able grip holds up and won’t be swayed.
Look to thy hand for proof of all thy worth
When speed and strength alone have no degree.
Within thy hands lies an academy
That matches truth with all the force on earth.
So, for Provost, who more than is his sword,
By our hands, We King and Queen do make him lord.

Whene’re I curse the gods that did allow

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 17:57:37 +0000

Whene’re I curse the gods that did allow
Your eyes to shine and make men surely yield
To love’s firm collar worn with fervent vow
That’s sighed on lips sweet passion pressed and sealed,
Then spills my soul, thus flowing from my eyes,
Where oft you set my spirit all ablaze,
Displaying here the truth which underlies
How on myself my own dire curse now preys.
Were men to know some beauty holds misuse
As you revealed your glancing eyes’ design
Should they still invite smiles or seek excuse,
Forswear that beauty others call divine.
Oh no, you’d see the tale would still unfold
For men forsake their sense when they see gold.

From fiercest lovers we desire some peace

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 17:52:50 +0000

FROM fiercest lovers we desire some peace,
Since that conclusion never could comply
While gaining passions, love won’t yet increase,
His truth to heat will yield and soon run dry:
Yet thou, hides fire in modesty’s disguise
To course forth pawns before a demure jewel,
Turn compromises into fast allies,
Thy fleeting foe revised to a tool.
Thus fiercely gain you lovers’ own consent
Unbeknownst to shake from puppets’ string
While showing them a gaze full innocent
These victims fall upon thy lover’s sting.
So many know, but few survive that see,
The truth of burning love scars them and me.

Oh, no! Here’s the pea-brain who cannot sew

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 17:49:04 +0000

Oh no, here’s the pea-
brain who cannot sew
Oh no, he can’t sew
His seams and his tears
cause such a show
Oh no, he can’t sew
See his hairy behind
Cause his tunic’s not so low
Oh no, he can’t sew

(to the tune of “Hey ho, to the Greenwood” by Byrd)
Hey ho, to the green-
wood now let us go.
Sing heave and ho,
Andthere shall we find
both buck and doe.
Sing heave and ho.
The hart and hind
and the little pretty rowe.
Sing heave and ho.

There is more grace in thy small dainty path

cristovau — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 17:41:54 +0000

There is more grace in thy small dainty path
Than heav’n placed in trembling mortal frame.
Would I be lithe as all my whispering breath
Thy heart incite; press’d mutterings create flame.
As tremulous fire might dance on through the night
To fill this hall with glances all aglow
Midst revels, balls and dances of delight
None match this flare, the brilliance you bestow.
In shadow here, my clumsy feet aside
Will take no step, nor trip, nor fool, nor prance
And but for beaming I would not abide
When negligence in skill stills my lame dance.
Despite my fear of loss, or of defeat,
Your favor moves me, so I gain my feet.