Poetry

(Picture by Aria)

PART ONE

                                                 I
    THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    And the highwayman came riding—
                      Riding—riding—
    The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
                                                 II
    He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
    A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
    They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
                      His pistol butts a-twinkle,
    His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
                                                 III
    Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
    And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
    He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
                      Bess, the landlord's daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
                                                 IV
    And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
    Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
    But he loved the landlord's daughter,
                      The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
    Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
                                                 V
    "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
    But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
    Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
    Then look for me by moonlight,
                      Watch for me by moonlight,
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
                                                 VI
    He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
    But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
    As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
    And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
                      (Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
    Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.
 
                                        PART TWO
                                                 I
    He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
    And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
    When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
    A red-coat troop came marching—
                      Marching—marching—
    King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.
                                                 II
    They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
    But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
    Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
    There was death at every window;
                      And hell at one dark window;
    For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
                                                 III
    They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
    They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
    "Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
                      She heard the dead man say—
    Look for me by moonlight;
                      Watch for me by moonlight;
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
                                                 IV
    She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
    She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
    They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
    Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
                      Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
    The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
                                                 V
    The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
    Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
    She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
    For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
                      Blank and bare in the moonlight;
    And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .
                                                 VI
        Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
    Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
    Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
    The highwayman came riding,
                      Riding, riding!
    The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
                                                 VII
    Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
    Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
    Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
    Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
                      Her musket shattered the moonlight,
    Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
                                                 VIII
    He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
    Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
    Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
    How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
                      The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
    Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
                                                 IX
    Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
    With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
    Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
    When they shot him down on the highway,
                      Down like a dog on the highway,
    And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
                  *           *           *           *           *           *
                                                 X
    And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
    When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    A highwayman comes riding—
                      Riding—riding—
    A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
                                                 XI
    Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
    He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
    He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
                      Bess, the landlord's daughter,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

                                                       ~Alfred Noyes~

Sometimes I write poetry, but often I read it. I get inspired by it. From Shel Silverstein's "sick" to my absolute favorite "The Highwayman" (above) there is a poem out there for just about everything- every mood. They are wonderful as reading builders for children and have the ability to effect one's soul.

Here I will share some of my favorite, adding them as I find them, and I will post some written by me or for me.  I hope you enjoy!

         Ever Clear

~Christopher Hodapp~ 2002

(Written for me by my loving husband)

Life and love

in a dove

like an angel

from above.

You're beauty's face

with silk's touch

and all the things

I love so much.

I hold you dear

and wish you near

for my love

is ever clear.

You are Loved

~Heather Hodapp~ 2011

When the wind kisses the trees,
then drifts, a light sweet breeze
like your breath upon my cheek
I send a prayer to the creator above
that you keep safe
and know you're loved



More by me:
Secrets
~Heaher Hodapp~
held deep inside the depths of your mind
in a well where none can find
our secrets are
deep, dark, and cold
held inside
'til we're gray and old
we may never tell
but we may let goof those secrets
in our soul.



Angels
~Heaher Hodapp~
good and bad
day and night
let the angels
take their flight
fly to Hell
dark angels
to heaven
flies pure light


She Waits
~Heaher Hodapp~
(A military wife's poem-me)
She waits.
She checks the mail
waits for a call
the sound of a message
any sign at all.

The clock counts
the seconds
the minutes
the hours
the days

She sits
she waits
she wishes
she prays.

She needs words
typed
written
said
she needs proof

Proof he's okay
breathing
alive
thinking
of home

She sits
she waits
she wishes
she prays.


Smile
~Heaher Hodapp~
 (*disclaimer- this is not me or anyone I know, just what flew out of my head years ago)
Swirling in front of the mirrior
with a smile on her face.
Beautiful she is
wrapped in satin and lace.
She's the woman with everything
money can and can't buy.
If everyone only knew
her life is just a lie.
By her dream man
she is nightly abused.
She'll cover it up with make up
you can't even tell she's bruised.
She can not figure out
why she remains here.
She's come to the comnclusion
it's simply out of fear.
She wants to run away
to a far, distant land.
In this place she'll find
on her own two feet she'll stand.
So next you see
this woman in satin and lace,
quite real will be the smile
you see apon her face.


Solemn Kiss (2002)
~Heaher Hodapp~

Your solemn kiss
you're always on the hunt
I do miss
this that I do not want

My dream man
has become reality
I was your biggest fan
then you walked all over me

What once was love
turned to hate
My sweet white dove
turned into my black fate


The Rose (2003)
~Heaher Hodapp~
A relationship is like a rose
how long it last- nobody knows
love can erase an aweful past
love can be yours you'll see at last
to feel that love it makes you sigh
to have it leave you'd rather die
you hope you've found that special rose
'cuz you love and care for the one you chose.


Love (2004)
~Heather Hodapp~
To a friend, I hold out a hand
to help in any way I can.
The North Sar it seems
are my friends to me.
When dark and cold
becomes the night
they can always be
my guiding light.


Good-Bye (2002)
~Heather Hodapp~
My flower has died.
My light has gone out.
My smile is gone.
My fear has come true.
Tonight was the end.
For all is lost.
There i only one thing
I have left to say...
Good-bye. Have a great day.