The Bowman and the Deer (Angela’s Song)


Doe Portrait V by Marion Rose
Doe Portrait V by Marion Rose

This poem is dedicated to Hastywords,
who taught me the value of true friendship

A bowman knows his craft and his art
The deer only knows its fluttering heart
When the arrow pierces its tender mark
The bowman knows he must give
The deer knows she must part

I never knew of you before we met
Though in my heart you lived
For Love is born in the beating heart
Which the bowman hears and hunts

What once was a sacred mystery
Now lives on the tip of his arrow
But she broke it and lives in the dark
Not daring to hope, so full of sorrow
Distrustful of the bowman’s mark

He knew he could never hold her
Though she cried of lustful hunger
Rather than accept his tender gifts
For of a debt she would never owe
He wanted to tell her, but she said no.

She was locked in battle with her insecurity
But her defiance was all too polished and real
Not wanting to stray, not wanting to feel
Not wanting to falter beneath his loving touch
Denying her heart, for the distance too much

He broke his bow and beheaded his arrows
and blew out candles and laid them to rest
He wanted no shadow to witness
Her struggle, her half-hearted protest
He wanted to protect her dreams and her fears
So she could stop hiding her sweetness
Embrace new love, and cease hiding her tears

She knew she had fallen in impossible love
The kind she would lose and later write of
One heart divided would not much long beat
His arrow lay broken, like his heart  at her feet

So she gathered the pieces, her joy and her bliss;
and offered the bowman her sweet-scented kiss
Then she thrust the arrow deep into his heart
And whispered goodbye as he entered the dark

Beneath Her Radiant Light and Gentle Touch


Dedicated to my Friend

Image
I hear she is so radiant and magnificent that,
like the face of the Sun,
you dare not look at her
for the brilliance with which she shines.

I have not seen her,
but in my dreams comes the vibrant image
of love and warmth nonetheless.

I awaken bathed in a sheen of sweat,
and my eyes burn from
the memory of her dazzling light.

She has the strength of a tender vine
coiling upward around the dying oak
anchoring in place, for the last moments,
something that was once beautiful and majestic.

That is me – once beautiful and majestic
dying beneath her grace and beauty
as she holds me up to her beaming light.

I cannot – I will not surrender life
beneath her radiant light and gentle touch –
even if only in my dreams.

For Nickie


I feared myself alone, quite doomed
For copious amounts I had consumed;
In quantities beyond all measure
Liquid gold and opium treasure.

Indeed, my final days were near,
Perhaps an hour or a year.
But little more I was quite certain;
Put down the lights and draw the curtain!

And as I stepped into the shadow
Having all but lost this battle,
There then appeared before my face –
Herself in pain, yet full of grace,

A certain woman, appearing bright,
And fully bathed in healing light!
For every time her smile shone
My own afflictions seeming gone.

My darkness lifted, as well my pain
Her laughter poured like summer rain!
She rolled on wheels and made such faces
Allowed me in her personal places.

And though her eyes held vivid sadness,
She filled me with unselfish gladness.
While I could only hope she knew
How much of me she had renewed.