I am off to the recording studio to record this for my next single. Expect something a bit different in the tradition of a protest song.
Books, Poetry, lyrics, Illustrations, and Articles by author Sarnia de la Maré
LitBits Audiobooks
Poetry by Sarnia de la Mare, Live Readings at the Tale Teller Club #lyrics #safehaven
I am off to the recording studio to record this for my next single. Expect something a bit different in the tradition of a protest song.
Safe Haven, A Poem by Sarnia de la Mare, song by Tale Teller Club
Safe Haven
Your hate they can feel
Goes way deep inside
And they can’t shake the feeling
That they’re going to die
The children are marching
Their Journey through Hell
Your hate hits their cheeks
And they die where they fell
Toy soldiers are melting
Dolls’ faces are breaking
This world that you’re making
Keeps taking and taking
Little pink hearts
Keep beating and beating
For love and safe haven
They’re waiting and waiting
Little girl singers
Little boy drummers
Your stealing their winters
Erasing their summers
Under the rubble
Of your toxic hate
The blood of the babies
Seeps under the gate
The gate of a home
Once filled with love
Where angels come down
To take them above
A place filled with doves
that you’ll never dwell
Cos all the warmongers
Are Going to Hell
© 2024 Sarnia de la Mare
Episodes with text
New Shoes and Virginity Lost by the Marchioness of Dorchester 1650 #livepoetry #lust #love #passion
Marchioness of Dorchester (circa 1650)
One day, twas June as I recall
A hue of morning dew
clung to my very form,
with all its secrets anew,
The virgin in me hovered,
though to her I felt distain
I wanted more than I dare say
Dear reader, I longed for play.
A gentleman,
Bold in his doublet and hose,
Caught sight of mine shoe,
So shapely and new.
His strengthening ardor rose,
I saw his longing face
So showed some lace
A shocking
Stocking!
With all its promise of pleasure.
Perhaps,
a new,
adventure.
Entranced by mine ankle so delicate and rare,
His eyes,
like bees to nectar,
lingered there.
I, demure and coy, feigned innocence well,
Yet mischief danced within his spell.
With a subtle lift of skirts, I did reveal
A glimpse calf, for passion's steal.
The gentleman's breath hitched,
pulse quickened pace,
As if Cupid himself had aimed true with ardor's grace.
He longed to touch that ankle.
Oh to kiss its curve,
To unravel the mystery it did preserve.
And so the virgin, her so doomed,
As the gent, up knee and calf then went
To a place I remember,
So divine
A place of plunder unconfined.
©2024 Sarnia de la maré FRSA
https://author.amazon.com/profile
Here are some links for you guys to access the ebook versions, free on Kindle Plus.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CKY44J26?ref_=cm_sw_r_cp_ud_dp_JXE5PMPX9AM5AC5FDX76
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW1NHQ5G?ref_=cm_sw_r_cp_ud_dp_CX7HY0V9QQXG33M6NJDC
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW1FVTQR?ref_=cm_sw_r_cp_ud_dp_RSACFX8AEVP97B3PDPQ4
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW1HTMNV?ref_=cm_sw_r_cp_ud_dp_4X0QBFTJRQ85BKBVG6AH
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW19RHLC?ref_=cm_sw_r_cp_ud_dp_MK9MJY5HKHGCDQS8FQF0
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CW1JLLGP?ref_=cm_sw_r_cp_ud_dp_NHF8SAF9EB917X3K12E9
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CTHQMZ96?ref_=cm_sw_r_cp_ud_dp_JJ5XEGDWPDX9AT1E5G38
The Prisoner by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA for Tale Teller Club Publishing
The Prisoner
Beneath the moon's unworldly glow,
Near the tombs where shadows grow,
A tall dark man with heart of woe,
Kneels by a grave, his tears now flow.
Beside the tombstone, a weeping form,
She too sits a life to mourn
Angered still her troubled storm,
For a love once vibrant lays forlorn.
He the lover forever missed,
In cold marble his name is etched.
Whispers longing, his grief endures,
A mournful tale throughout the years.
His sorry words the silence breaks.
"I miss you still," he softly speaks,
A spirit presence, love forsakes,
As the night in mournful quiet takes.
"I've lingered, Samuel, in this abyss,
The pain of parting, your ghostly kiss.
Lovers’ chains, an eternal twist,
In a lonely realm where time persists.”
He wavers now, disbelief takes hold,
For she is here, a dream unfolds.
A hand, ethereal, in forgiveness, bold,
Through veils of sorrow, their tale is told.
"I never meant you harm" he pleads,
His hand through hers as it recedes
Words unspoken, like dormant seeds,
In the crying graves where ghosts do feed
"Forgive me, Eleanor, I beg you please”
The cursed lover falls to his knees
Her fire of love burned through his heart
Twas him who plays the spectral’s part
A chill coursed through, as their hands entwined,
In the moonlit graveyard, so divine.
"I love you, Eleanor," a whispered whine,
A moment shared in the night's confine.
The mist retreats, the dawn holds sway.
As his ghostly figure fades away,
Lovers lost in the moon’s display,
For she is the prisoner of the day.
©2023 Sarnia de la Mare
Popular Posts
-
A Sonnet for Donald Trump by the Quillmatic Bardinator Upon the grand stage power's tempests brew, A man of gold and bluster t...