Welcome to YOUR POESY

All poems remain copyright of the Poet. Be among the Baconian Poets and send me yours to add.

boxHistory to his memory, poesy to his imagination, and philosophy to his reason—Advancement of Learning., bk ii.

Poesy,Quot; is a part of learning in measure of words for the most part restrained, but in all other points extremely licensed, and doth truly refer to the imagination—Adv., bk ii.
Quot; in philosophy the mind is bound to things; in poesy it is released from that bond, and wanders forth, and feigns what it pleases. That this is so anyone may see, who seeks ever so simply and without subtlety into the origins of intellectual impressions—Intellectual Globe.

Tribute to Master Bacon
By Lochithea, 2004

That thou hast caged mine heart with sugared words,
Then thou alone ribs of steel shouldst lend;
But since the sky borrows of the earth and droops not,
This breath bloweth a trumpet, to thy sleeping ear.
Could I weep thy death from mine eyes,
Hide thee in smiles, and stay the winds that gods bloweth;
I shalt bow stubborn leaves to play when no breeze sighs,
And thy lips shalt let words go by, and language endeth.
Unfold thyself to me; cancel thy winking jewels,
Should they reveal these porches of death;
Conduct mine hands within thine whispery snooze,
To rip from Death’s creaky spine thy cobwebbed breathe.
Be calm good wind; blow not a word away
Lest my boasts behold man to subscribe in silence.

Poem 1

Colin Craig Wolfe
104 Linden Ave
Haddonfield NJ 08033lecolin@yahoo.com

SEASON'S CHEER

It'll be frost up the chimney this year,
my dear,
a burning of romance amazing such loving, such passion, I'm abashed, my dear
how glibly our freezer is phrasing!
let it out on the air, it'll waft through the town and cloud up and ice up and come falling down a forest of frost for the hearth,
my dear,
like our love can go - to the blazing!

Poem 2

Rudolf Zaras

Copyright 1985 Zaras
zarasian@earthlink.net

SONNET 8
AVE AVIS

Oh juicy bird of paradise,
So seasoned bright perfumed;
The swan doth her gliding,
While grace cloaks her plume.
You speak to me with the flutter of
your eyes,
And your brows so noble and wise;
How nature conspired your alary guise,
Ere peacocks envy and despise.
– look! look! my lovely one
Come hither close and hear;
My gust of verse in euphony,
Hope nestle in the bosom of your ear.
Alas my rhapsody and bird call,
Have served me to no avail;
With what shall I entice you,
Thee whom the angels hail?
What whistles are three I have not blown?
What honey blossoms grown?
The four winds bring a message,
From me your love has flown.

Poem 3

G. Allen

Copyright 2008
The Athanor

An Ode to ShakeSpeare

I am a pen of many minds, but who can guess which ones to find,
Marlowes, Jonsons, Bacons be, Oxford, Lord Strange, maybe Dee?
Not the Doctor, this can't be! I don't believe he wrote did he?
What of Raleigh? What a pen! Words, words, words his one true friend,

Secret codes so true concealed, surely now to be revealed?
School of Night I hear you cry - Walsingham? He was a spy!
You haven't mentioned good Queen Bess?
Ah, the Virgin - you must jest?

Some say Fletcher, Beaumonts key, and Hilliard to paint that tree,
So very small he must make it fit, a face to paint but what mind was it?
Florio's first fruits did he taste, Daniel, Donne and
Spenser not forgot in haste

A mighty pen, pure genius they say, for it has caused so much dismay,
Hoffman, Dodd and many more have searched to find this man for sure,
But who oh who can the great man be?
William ShakeSpear, I honour thee.