u/AnthonyHoban

The Carnelian Star
by Anthony Hoban


Carnelian child captured from afar,
Jasper peaks left seeking your star—
Fern green eyes like forests at night.
Mossen gaze opened wide with delight:
Though Hoodoo echoes coveted thy light.

Such envy would pluck your ember from on high—
Deny all sight thy crimson sky.
What folly, what crime, thy rose-red chime
Sparkling alone for jealousy to bind,
Leaving only empty flax fields to find;

No more twilight dancing flame,
No tender voice to speak thy name—
Just another firefly trapped in a jar,
Forgotten on a trickster's shelf of stars—
Mountain searching for where you are:

Jasper eyes traced your space by memory,
Loving your scars as they’d loved thee;
Night's little star—lost, still heavenly.
Glimmering orange glow where none could see,
Save gravity, turning jade key.

Where moss-vines tipped and tapped a tiny jar,
Once for hope and twice more for star;
Thrice, the jar cracked, love for every scar,
Candlelight rising from cold granite floor—
Carnelian star flown through gemstone doors:

Home, where no gaze may grip thy flame,
No jar again thy ruby tame.
No cavern echo shall bind thy name;
Jasper's wish to free Dawn’s Star:
Carnelian, forever loved from afar.

The Carnelian Star
by Anthony Hoban

Carnelian child captured from afar,
Jasper peaks left seeking your star—
Fern green eyes like forests at night.
Mossen gaze opened wide with delight:
Though hoodoo echoes coveted thy light.

Such envy would pluck your ember from on high—
Deny all sight thy crimson sky.
What folly, what crime, thy rose-red chime
Sparkling alone for jealousy to bind,
Leaving only empty flax fields to find;

No more twilight dancing flame,
No tender voice to speak thy name—
Just another firefly trapped in a jar,
Forgotten on a trickster's shelf of stars—
Mountain searching for where you are:

Jasper eyes traced your space by memory,
Loving your scars as they’d loved thee;
Night's little star—lost, still heavenly.
Glimmering orange glow where none could see,
Save gravity, turning jade key.

Where moss-vines tipped and tapped a tiny jar,
Once for hope and twice more for star;
Thrice, the jar cracked, love for every scar,
Candlelight rising from grey Rocky floor—
Carnelian star flown through gemstone doors:

Home, where no gaze may grip thy flame,
No jar again thy ruby tame.
No cavern echo shall bind thy name;
Jasper's wish to free Dawn’s Star:
Carnelian, forever loved from afar.

States of Matter
by Anthony Hoban

Snow, pure by design.
Ice—negative by nature.
Wine stays positive.

*

Fresh carton cracked eggs—
Cheese omelet unbothered,
Oiled pan indifferent.

*

Big Kaiju—Haiku...
Godzilla speaks Japanese,
King Kong Banana.

States of Matter
by Anthony Hoban

Snow, pure by design.
Ice—negative by nature.
Wine stays positive.

*

Fresh carton cracked eggs—
Cheese omelet unbothered,
Oiled pan indifferent.

*

Big Kaiju—Haiku...
Godzilla speaks Japanese,
King Kong Banana.

A Ghost of Nova Scotia
by Anthony Hoban

Yearning for Scotian home’s coastal symphony—
Wind-shorn, storm-torn, caught between blood, brine, and bay,
Sleeper swept to granite cliffs—adrift, astray;
Revenant reeling, fiddler ghost freed;
Another alabaster stone skipped to sea—

Spun past harbour clams, steady in armoured shells,
Halifax Fusiliers salute fierce ocean swells;
Noon’s gunpowder gusts battling brackish knells—
Crystal white crests charging stone citadels,
Brimstone breeze soared to Louisbourg town bell...

Proud eyes, stout hearts here, Capers stubborn sheen:
The Cabot Trail’s loop, one destination—
New Scotland shores: sights Highland revelation.
Where fortress guards march—musket blades gleam;
Weathered walls, powder-shorn, shattered bones lean—

Still, fiddles fire foot-tapping tunes—
Gaelic troubadours of bent bow, spoon, and loom;
Iron ore and jet coal left now to loam...
Instead, sawed yarns of ships and spent steel mills,
Men of the deep singing, worn picks long stilled:

Where Glace Bay welcomes with salt-sweet seaweed stench;
Fog and hot fries wait steaming on Sydney Pier bench...
Where tuxedoed gulls squawk their winged wrench—
Stomp their webbed feet. Shriek Acadian claim;
Those Atlantic-shoal eagles of thieving fame.

Such French-fed songbirds flee—exit stage right,
Dockside tavern melodies flown from sight...
String music clinging to fiddle-ghosts’ flight,
Crocheted bow drawn ’cross isles’ emerald night.

Where a warm smile weaves with a familial tease—
Embroidered memories seeking home’s salt breeze,
Mother to morn like hearth-steeped tea.
In red-gold thread—her stitch through me—
Breton-borne shore-stone returns—soul sewn to sea.

Fin

A Ghost of Nova Scotia
by Anthony Hoban

Yearning for Scotian home’s coastal symphony—
Wind-shorn, storm-torn, caught between blood, brine, and bay,
Sleeper swept to granite cliffs—adrift, astray;
Revenant reeling, fiddler ghost freed;
Another alabaster stone skipped to sea—

Spun past harbour clams, steady in armoured shells,
Halifax Fusiliers salute fierce ocean swells;
Noon’s gunpowder gusts battling brackish knells—
Crystal white crests charging stone citadels,
Brimstone breeze soared to Louisbourg town bell...

Proud eyes, stout hearts here, Capers stubborn sheen:
The Cabot Trail’s loop, one destination—
New Scotland shores: sights Highland revelation.
Where fortress guards march—musket blades gleam;
Weathered walls, powder-shorn, shattered bones lean—

Still, fiddles fire foot-tapping tunes—
Gaelic troubadours of bent bow, spoon, and loom;
Iron ore and jet coal left now to loam...
Instead, sawed yarns of ships and spent steel mills,
Men of the deep singing, worn picks long stilled:

Where Glace Bay welcomes with salt-sweet seaweed stench;
Fog and hot fries wait steaming on Sydney Pier bench...
Where tuxedoed gulls squawk their winged wrench—
Stomp their webbed feet. Shriek Acadian claim;
Those Atlantic-shoal eagles of thieving fame.

Such French-fed songbirds flee—exit stage right,
Dockside tavern melodies flown from sight...
String music clinging to fiddle-ghosts’ flight,
Crocheted bow drawn ’cross isles’ emerald night.

Where a warm smile weaves with a familial tease—
Embroidered memories seeking home’s salt breeze,
Mother to morn like hearth-steeped tea.
In red-gold thread—her stitch through me—
Breton-borne pearlstone returned—soul sewn to sea.

Fin

Ariel's Lament
by Anthony Hoban

What breeze brought you near,
Sails wet through Siren's salt tears—
Fog. Fate. Sunk stone sheer?
Zephyr’s kiss or Skipper’s steer,
Mermaid mists still calling clear.

Ariel's Lament
by Anthony Hoban

What breeze brought you near,
Sails wet through Siren's salt tears—
Fog. Fate. Sunk stone sheer?
Zephyr’s kiss or Skipper’s steer,
Mermaid mists still calling clear.

Of Tea and Time
by Two Tired Seconds

Chronos, if kettle-cracked time god he be—
Brews bitter-black leaves too weak a tea—
I won't raise yunomi nor tepid joy,
To praise some clockmaker’s wound, ticking noise:
All music that matters he’d destroy.

Yet one sweet-tea still wanders free,
No springs to break or winding key—
Ferrous chains bear no grip on me,
Roman spears ring round tomb and bone—
I'll bend not before The Tea-Titan's throne:

Hours dissolve alongside divinity—
Minutes infusing into infinity,
Seconds steeped in serenity;
Forever, embracing eternity—
Every moment—movement's memory.

Of Tea and Time
by Two Tired Seconds

Chronos, if kettle-cracked time god he be—
Brews bitter-black leaves too weak a tea—
I won't raise yunomi nor tepid joy,
To praise some clockmaker’s wound, ticking noise:
All music that matters he’d destroy.

Yet one sweet-tea still wanders free,
No springs to break or winding key—
Ferrous chains bear no grip on me,
Roman spears ring round tomb and bone—
I'll bend not before The Tea-Titan's throne:

Hours dissolve alongside divinity—
Minutes infusing into infinity,
Seconds steeped in serenity;
Forever, embracing eternity—
Every moment—movement's memory.

Cartography of the Damned
by Anthony Hoban

Sanity's iron loadstone spins askew—
Mind stitched taut with a trickster's glue,
Needle points North but the map's untrue—
Sextant swaying within wine's sacred trance,
Horizon glass cracking, this ark's last chance;

Left pondering if skies shall again be riven,
Will some oceans drown, others forgiven?
Towers locked tight—bars satin-lined,
Debtors' prisons sees bankers blind—
Tempest rains drowning those credit declined.

Where Lucifer plays with life’s poker chips—
Heavenly hosts drinking yet failing to tip;
Michael folding aces like morning bread—
Dead man’s hand holding only crumbs and dread,
Lilith left sweeping where fish once fed;

Her gardens left burning—deserts bone dry—
Riverbanks rising whilst quarters lie,
What interest small change to lose the sky?
Where dollars signs flash in lenders eyes,
Swindlers safely hiss whilst serpents sigh—

I scream that Heaven and Hell both tax desire—
Stockbrokers and saints surely conspired,
Pennies smelt green upon earthen pyre—
Cold copper shackles, chaining fate to fire.

Neon gods pandering to the absurd,
TV or tablet—commandments unheard.
Blossomed beds traded for sheer dress-up dolls,
Aluminum Apples sold out in discount malls—

Where science fled screaming down Sodom halls,
Crystal screens placed high atop Babel walls.
Black Friday sales pitch promising mankind,
Sugarcane treats to sweeten Abel's crime—
Mammon found still working aisle twelve—overtime.

Wall Street wolves bidding meek sheep fall in line,
Slaughterhouse clean, their billed gates wire-lined.
Always another left to take the fall,
Yet fibre-optics promised for one and all:

O'Hell, please cure me of this fell knowing—
Heaven surely cursed me with its bestowing?
Sapphire-forged screens sold sure as gold,
Fresh truths, marked down—moulding unsold...

Suddenly fate's right hand finds my mirror—
Fist splintering glass—eyes never clearer,
Eyes left burning blue, NorthStar guiding true,
I'd lead with love, lest loveless lies break you.

Knowing, God damns both drug and drink—
Hell, rather daring you to run and think,
Now pass over those pink pills that've numbed so far;
Perhaps parley instead with a Morningstar:

Letting the Dawnstar greet you, journey yonder—
Ponder thorned paths, let your compass wander,
Till snipping Devil's strings and Seraph wings—
Saunter sideways, step through Sonder's rings...

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1p344a0/comment/nq3av9k/?context=3
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1p1yzrc/comment/nq4j8gd/?context=3