Part V: Eyes Of Saxe Blue

A callous tempest spoiled the summit

Angst hurtled with the horrid deluge

The Thessalian spawn braved to sit

On Issachar’s claim shorn of refuge

Doused and willful, he endlessly mused

O’er the better garden’s avowal

His cape of purple stained wits confused

Lone, imbued in the clouds’ betrayal

The prince’s rumination called halt

Upon the swift thuds of irate hooves

He turned cold eyes to flicks of cobalt

A striking knight—the silhouette proves!

Hellas’ poster child stood self-assured

Head-on towards a salient liege

The cavalier pulled the reins like mured,

Alighted and idled for a siege

The son of Greece saw Eyes of Saxe Blue

Eyes that bear the majesty of skies

Tinged with dismal ash that looked untrue,

And sure-footed sheen unlit by dyes!

Fear made of indigo and sulfur

Respect conceived by saintly repute

That—and more—struck the royal dreamer

And his soul settled for no dispute

Eyes of Saxe Blue, King of the North spoke:

“My garden’s emotions reached mine ear—

Not a favor will your charm provoke

For she’s too good for you, Greek who’s queer.”

The prince replied, “Oh King, with respect,

Beauty’s given to untested wills

Of those vernix-wrapped, in retrospect…

Love, too, blossoms for one of no-frills.”

“Well-said,” conceded the King. “What prince

Whose own son won’t be his by a name!”

The prince countered, “Jephunneh did mince

But his and mine—solely name’s the same.”

The King concluded, “Prince of the North—

A sagacious son I’ve found by heart!

Mine Eyes of Saxe Blue, from this day forth,

Ne’er can see you and my child apart!”

Part IV: Castles Within

Pursuit’s yonks may fleetingly elapse

Like greased thunderbolts to eager spires

But the Hellene warrior’s hymn maps

His Achilles’ heel: the garden’s tires!

His spine against her digits of greens

War-torn flesh reveling such caress

Would their aspired exchange fashion means?

For sight ain’t speech in an urbane dress…

His ōidē of relish tersely ceased

As a voice wafted through the airstream

An exemplar of an aural feast,

Font’s like a fair maiden of esteem

None espied! Is it his greensward’s voice?

“Aye, my beloved,” breathed the garden

While pines bared an accrual of joys,

Hellas’ Prince flaunted smiles beyond ken

Who won’t proudly beam while listening?

The Grecian hero grinned all the more…

Her voice—the herald of timeless spring—

The red-breasted robin of amor!

Frail mind! Relive the impossible!

Princely thoughts went flummoxed by delight

Yenned, far-flung hopes were then feasible

Love’s exhilarated—dream’s in sight!

To embrace the mount as a princess

And build his heartstrings out of her touch

Were the heir’s castles within, no less,

Which emblazoned his claymore-life’s clutch

The stunning garden’s castle within

Was to swathe him with her foliage

Of impassioned stalks, both thick and thin,

That loved him from gashes to peerage

By words’ gift, both shared soulful castles

Which appeared like but ain’t in vapor

Their staunch commitment amidst hassles—

Envoy to spheres of lifelong fervor…

The prince asked, “My castle within’s you—

What encumbrance thwarts me from thy realm?”

The garden sighed, “The Eyes of Saxe Blue—

His blessing’s my mortality’s helm.”

 

*Consider it “further inspiration”. I’ll write ’til the story of the prince and his garden is done. I’m naming it FASCINATION WITH A BETTER GARDEN series. Unlock the mystery!

Beauty Has Eyes (Sequel to A Better Garden; Part III)

The son of Hellenes, o’er Caiphas,

Tarried to feel Sycaminum’s air;

Such allure’s too momentous to pass—

Atop his better garden of flair

‘Tis been donkey’s years of pure Sundays

But mem’ry held his spirit’s daybreak

‘Stood pensive with fervidness ablaze

His return’s rationale—he can’t fake

He regarded her core knew that she’s

Too lovely for an ancient front line;

Her fealty’s lustrous—such break to seize

The verdure’s as lithe as a feline

Roses of Sharon ‘neath April’s sun

Blush at his gaze like English heathers

Yahmus in sight! A rivalry done!

A spellbinder with time in fetters

Magnificence shewed as natural

The Qishon below can’t bar his stare

Boundless scenery that’s surreal

Splendidness apt for a prince’s lair

The crowned bonce yielded to sheer wonder

Like the awed mount cedes to her headland

Dreamt of twice, ‘braced once—‘til forever!

Why let marvel go as grains of sand?

The galley’s heedful of his feelings

But is his much-loved garden sentient?

Is she conscious? Does her sight have wings?

Aye! Beauty perceives; beauty’s poignant!

The garden’s being springs from her soul

A life unmatched by northwestern gales

Sentry to the Plain of Jezreel’s hole

Castles in Spain? The mount never fails!

Beauty has eyes to see Hellas’ heart—

His devotion found on robust ground;

She’s a witness to his doting part

Eagerly heeding his heartbeat’s sound

As sharp as his inchoate saber,

Her mind’s vision cognizes hope’s wrack;

Beauty has eyes to see he loves her—

And, unstintingly, she loves him back.

Hellas’ Prince (Prequel to A Better Garden; Part I)

Neither by descent nor by sinew

Was his pate’s claim to the diadem;

The Powers’ snort was his Waterloo,

A brusque nod’s his lineage’s stem

‘Trod Thessaly’s battleground of life

Where spaces are theaters to war

Dust hardened the prince’s core of strife:

Warrior’s pluck—Orion’s shield star!

An armor of scars he proudly wore

Wounds that sneered through his fiasco’s lours

Grimace in a bit lip that talks score

‘Bred by sword, harassed by jaded hours

A pair of royal boots made of clay

Made a thousand footfalls—ne’er shadowed

‘Dons the ethereal words he’d say,

A half-done cutlass and his throne’s load

His ‘vowed vulnerable buoyancy—

Imbued in oubliettes’ muck and stench

Scrape raised by prayers his knees fancy

A soul to hoist—Lord’s presence must drench

Mêlées ne’er halt nor his entreaties

Endless warfare, pursuant desires

Weedy feuds are gauntlet grabs for peace,

Yearnings are acres of ardent fires

Odysseus cruising Poseidon’s sea

Ain’t the menschen’s verve similitude;

Bequeathed with constancy of the free,

Mayhem forms a fleeting interlude

Existence amidst pillars seem grand

But what’s splendor if bereft of heart?

Aches have decamped; affections doth stand

Yet his pining and hub stay apart…

Though monarchial dreams took a detour

And visors succumbed to goo-goo eyes,

Love’s a shade reared midmost of the moor—

Passion for none’s shriv’ling sacrifice

If fondness burgeons on a garden,

He deemed, then amor’s favored by chance;

If such garden’s a demoiselle then,

Would the Great Waters hand sweet parlance?

 

*Writing “A Better Garden” inspired me to write a prequel and a sequel to the poem. I hope you like them.