Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Golden Shores

Golden Shores

I beckon you, dear reader, to arrive
Upon these golden shores,
More beautiful than Aphrodite;
That Cyprian queen has been exalted
Here where the angles sing.
O, Death, where is thy sting?-
Behold- Ariadne was but shadow and shade
Upon the Grecian moors.
Now she sleeps in rosy grottos which thrive
By the emerald glade.
Leda is wreathed with waterflowers,
And Theseus has ascended with the glorious Athenian bowers.
Endymion plays in a whirlpool of gleaming wells.
And Venus, dreaming,
Makes love to the chime of cathedral bells.
And all of mankind’s citadels
Have been transformed to higher realms.
All the gold of America, Europe and Asia
Have been painted anew upon the sky.
Not that I
Praise the myths of Greece and Rome.
Nor do I laud
The wine-clad brow of Dionysus,
Neither do I wreath with laurel
The lofty head of Egypt’s Osiris;
Rather to aspire to Olympus
In the minds of feeble men
Is but a reflection
Of their desire not to die.
Every poor, afflicted peasant shall wear a princely ring.
Hence The Parthenon has been realized
In the cloisters of The King!

- John Lars Zwerenz
(From Eternal Verse; To Be Published Soon)Collapse this post

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THE HOLY TRINITY »

The Holy Trinity I ascended to a majestic mountain Above the radiant gold of a Cathedral Dome Where at its gilded height, There rose a massive, triumphant, wooden cross Adorned with a purple s...

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THE HOLY TRINITY »

The Holy Trinity I ascended to a majestic mountain Above the radiant gold of a Cathedral Dome Where at its gilded height, There rose a massive, triumphant, wooden cross Adorned with a purple s...

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THE HOLY TRINITY »

The Holy Trinity I ascended to a majestic mountain Above the radiant gold of a Cathedral Dome Where at its gilded height, There rose a massive, triumphant, wooden cross Adorned with a purple s...

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From Songs Of Rapture And Other Poems By John Lars Zwerenz

THE WOOD »

In the sacred wood, where the trees did sway. The clouds swept by the light of Mars. The dew of the dawn had graced the hay. The night was heavy, solemn and still,. And every snow-clad daffodil. Kept ...

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MARY, THE MOTHER OF GOD »

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MARY, THE MOTHER OF GOD »

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MARY, THE MOTHER OF GOD

http://eternalversejlz.blogspot.com/2013/01/mary-mother-of-god.html »

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THE COLOSSAL WOOD »

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THE COLOSSAL WOOD »

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THE COLOSSAL WOOD »

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THE PRIEST »

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THE PRIEST »

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THE PRIEST »

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Excerpts From Eternal Verse By John Lars Zwerenz »

Je Vous Ai Rencontré à Paris Je vous ai rencontré à Paris, Dans une tonnelle par La Seine. Entouré par la rose, le souci, l'iris, Vous avez souri à moi dans. La douce, à la pluie d'automne. Et oscilla...

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Excerpt From Eternal Verse By John Lars Zwerenz

Je Vous Ai Rencontré à Paris (I Met You In Paris) »

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Je Vous Ai Rencontré à Paris (I Met You In Paris) »

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January 8, 2013 (1 photo)

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I WALKED WITH BYRON »

I Walked With Byron I walked with Byron in the regal sun To the chime of his lordly laughter. We spoke of our time on earth as the sea Kissed our ruddy faces with delicious brine. Then soon after He s...

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I WALKED WITH BYRON »

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Friday, January 11, 2013

THE HOLY TRINITY

The Holy Trinity

I ascended to a majestic mountain

Above the radiant gold of a Cathedral Dome

Where at its gilded height,

There rose a massive, triumphant, wooden cross

Adorned with a purple shroud

Which glistened like a diamond in the celestial light.

At the summit of the emerald peak

There was a garden there,

All its dappled blooms swayed in the paradisial air,

Bathed in jasmine, jade, ambers and brown.

In the center of the bower there was a square,

Made of solid marble where rose a fountain.

A violet breeze gently did toss

The quivering lilies, which to my eye seemed meek,

And precious to behold.

And from the zenith of that Court

The Father sat on a throne of humility,

And to His right, eternally begotten,

From the light

Of a clear blue stream,

His Son rejoiced, sharing in His Divinity,

Wearing a simple robe of white,

Adorable beyond all beauty.

And preceding from The Father and His Son,

One with The Godhead, as God is One,

The Holy Spirit received their love

In the form of a well,

In the spirit of a dove.

He reciprocated in kind

To the Father, and through Him, to the Son,

In a wonderful wise.

For He ascended the mount

In the form of a rising stream,

Returning to The Father’s bosom,

As the cherubs circled them,

Each one’s wings glimmering in a diamond beam.

And so goes the infinite merry-go-round,

Made of love alone

And only love.

I walked upon the courtyard beneath cedar trees above,

In a cloister made of stone,

Clad with vine.

And I knelt in praise

As the Heavenly Host

Anointed my brow with wine.

(From Eternal Verse By John Lars Zwerenz)

Thursday, January 10, 2013

MARY, THE MOTHER OF GOD

Mary, The Mother Of God

The scenery of Mary's Court is green, white and gold.
Green are her trees, white is the sun,
And gold is of The Spirit, containing every other hue.
There are brooks which run, of azure blue
Through her forests and her gardens, framed by regal eglantines
And gilded, holy, gleaming moss.
The brooks are of wines,
And gently toss
The reeds which play beneath the cloudless sky.
The Palace of The Virgin
Is heaven to the eye.
Her Kingdom is devoid of everything old,
And pertains to only that which is new.
The glistening gloss
Of the morning dew
Is found in her palatial field
Where her rosy bowers yield
Perfumes of marigolds, daisies and gems.
I met The Mother Of God donning diadems.
Her long, black hair
Is astonishing to behold,
As if all gold
Finds its temple there.
Her crown is studded with immaculate jewels,
Each the reward of a Saint's fidelity.
With a tender love she commands all citadels,
And all the angels glory in her beauty.
All the Saints are in awe of her dusky, Jewish eyes.
Her gazes outshine the bright, celestial skies.
And her skin is fairer than all of heaven's blooms combined.
Her song is that of such a charming sound
That it leaves a man blind
To what is all around.
Her fingertips are of a pearly-white,
And when she roves in her Court, beneath the purple stars of the gleaming night
She smiles at her sons and daughters in that vast and holy square,
Majestic and massive, made of marble and stone.
Her perfumes are of honey, and permeate the midnight air.
She rarely wishes to be alone,
Except for the times she converses with Her Son,
Pacing on the hallowed beach, where the streams
Of violets swirl around her feet
And run
To the tranquil sea, beneath the terrace where the vines meet.
She is often inclined
To find
Her desires
In sacred dreams.
Her passions are those of chaste, refreshing, cooling fires,
Guided by her reason
Endowed beyond the wisdom of every time and place,
Of every world, of every season.
Nothing, no one, save
For God Himself
Possesses such a lovely face
Whose expressions are light, yet sometimes grave,
Grave as in solemn,
For there are many souls she wishes to save.
She frequents earth and purgatory,
And in the latter, where the flames torment and lave
She wipes the sweaty brows
Of the suffering Saints.
And she often allows
Their punishments to cease,
Long before their time,
Ages before their due release.
She often graces the dawn with celestial paints
When cathedral bells chime in the western wood.
And she loves to say
When the consecrated pray
In their cloisters of rapture,
Clad with lindens, willows, yews and birch:
"God Bless The Holy Roman Catholic Church!-
Its eternal truths be praised!"
She cares very much for Jerusalem,
Where she was born and raised,
And she is anxious for Israel to acknowledge her Son.
She opens petals, one by one,
Merely by caressing them in her little garden-close,
In the corner of her spacious Court.
The scent of her beauteous body
Is of an immaculate, dark-red rose.
And the rhapsody of her flowing voice
Is bestowed to transport
The hearts of all the blessed,
Enraptured without a choice,
To the highest realm in heaven, of music, art and rhyme
Where The Magnificat is sung
Beneath the dome of God's Cathedral,
Far beyond the realm of time.

- John Lars Zwerenz

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

THE COLOSSAL WOOD

The Colossal Wood

All phenomena was profoundly understood.
I reclined on a purple divan, overlooking the colossal wood.
In my elegant mansion, more grand
Than Hampton Court,
I looked out upon the dappled, green land,
Upon blandishments
More bejeweled than Baghdad.
I was doused in my mind
With the bright, Baroque canopies
Of an eternal kind,
And lingered in ecstasies
In bated languishments
As the terraces below my room
Caught the blue, Brahman sunlight,
Clad with every marvelous bloom.
I dove into the depths of the most majestic expositions
Of the finest paintings of Van Gogh.
And in those diamond galleries
I found there, high and low
The visual dyes of symphonies
Which carried on the breeze,
Cradling squalls of joyful snow.
And as the radiant chapels took on a mystic glow,
I was struck with visions of still more ecstasies
As my bride returned,
In a long, white dress,
Her exquisite, sable tress
Clad in a braided bow.

THE PRIEST

The Priest

I beheld the priest
In the cloister near the cathedral,
In his passionless passion,
Enjoying the gold of his marriage feast.
With Christ as his Bridegroom, the chiming bell
Did grandly knell from the heights of that holy bastion.
He walked with God in the tender wood,
Completely in love with The Trinity and brotherhood.
He wore a glistening vestment
Of purple and white.
And the turquoise firmament,
Cloudless and vibrant,
Was lit with a gleaming, celestial light.
He gazed up at its diamonds, surrounded by blooms
Comprised of chaste petals.
He was well acquainted with the mysteries
Of heaven's citadels,
And his spirit sailed across the seas
Which sighed with rapture to the sun.
He bowed respectfully to a devoted nun
Who was lost in prayer
As she passed him slowly with reverence
In the incense
Scented air.
Wide streams fell from a lofty mountain.
From the court of Mary rose a fountain.
The Spirit of gold struck me from a hill,
As the priest gathered roses and gave the nun a daffodil.
Then I ran to him with a beating heart,
As the sun's sparkling rays did descend and depart
Over the hill, kissing every dahlia, lilac and iris.
Silver-winged finches flew around him with a passionate flame.
And when I asked for his name
He whispered: "Saint Francis."

Je Vous Ai Rencontré à Paris (I Met You In Paris)

Je Vous Ai Rencontré à Paris

Je vous ai rencontré à Paris,
Dans une tonnelle par La Seine.
Entouré par la rose, le souci, l'iris,
Vous avez souri à moi dans
La douce, à la pluie d'automne.
Et oscillant au-dessus de votre crinière brune
Etaient les branches aromatiques de vert Qui a
Frémi dans la lumière du soleil, tendrement, tranquille,
Comme j'ai appartenu au charme visuel De votre esprit
Merveilleux comme
Nous, bras dessus bras dessous,
A Traversé les brises mystiques inaperçues.
Maintenant nous fixons hors sur l'obscurité, le lac
Bleu au-delà de notre château, de sa plus grande tour
Incrustée de joyaux avec chaque gemme, béni avec chaque fleur
Dans le diadème du ciel, dans la suite passionnée
De l'amour heure majestueux et tendre.

I Met You In Paris

I met you in Paris,
In a bower by The Seine.
Surrounded by the rose, the marigold, the iris,
You smiled at me in the soft, autumn rain.
And swaying above your brunette mane
Were the aromatic boughs of green
Which quivered in the sunlight, tenderly, serene,
As I fell into the visual charm
Of your wondrous spirit as we, arm in arm,
Walked through the mystical breezes unseen.
Now we gaze out upon the dark, blue lake
Beyond our castle, from its tallest tower
Bejeweled with every gem, blessed with every flower
In heaven's diadem, in the passionate wake
Of love's majestic, loving hour.

- From Eternal Verse By John Lars Zwerenz
(c) Copyright 2013

Biography

John Lars Zwerenz (1969- ) is an American poet and writer. He is known for his romantic, impressionistic and mystical works. He has published five books of poetry: Selected Poems, Mist And Flame, Visionary Wanderings, Sonnets of Dusk and Dawn and Songs Of Rapture And Other Poems. His fifth book, a novelette, is a controversial and steamy love story entitled "An American Romance". According to Zwerenz, the book is a "purgatorial" work of fiction. It has been published by Penguin this autumn of 2012. The volume includes an appendix and an epilogue, both of which comprise his fifth collection of verse. A new book of Zwerenz's poetry will be focused on the John Lars Zwerenz (1969- ) is an American poet and writer. He is known for his romantic, impressionistic and mystical works. He is the author of five books of poetry and one short novel. Zwerenz's next book of poetry is on the subject of "paradise". It is called "Eternal Verse" and will be published by a major house early in 2013. Zwerenz is a mystical romantic. His writings are deeply spiritual in subject matter and tone. Much of his verse employs transcendental language and is rich in meaning and musicality. He often makes use of classical rhyme and meter in both his poetry and prose. One literary critic compared his poetry to "the labor and results of Rembrandt". Zwerenz owns a B.A. in English from The City University Of New York At Queens College and has traveled extensively throughout The United States and Europe as a kind of "literary wanderer". He holds a rather "bohemian" reputation since his youth. He currently resides in New York City.

R.Canter