Early Poems by Karen Deal (Robinson)
These are poems I wrote in high school and college, before I was married in 1978.
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The Elvish Lover
A lady stood on a castle wall,
Her father's men lay dreaming.
The ripe stars hung as if to fall
And the silver moon was gleaming.
Fair she was but soft she sighed,
Her dark eyes filled with sorrow.
She wore white garlands as a bride
To marry on the morrow.
And as she stood in the starry night,
A lady fair and sad,
She saw below, in the silver light
What she took for a fair young lad.
Never a handsomer man was seen
With his curls gone all astray.
He was clothed in gold and white and green
And his eyes were green gone gray.
"Thou art a lady fair," quoth he,
"And a carefree elf am I,
And if thou'lt come and dance with me
I'll teach thee how to fly."
She sprang with joy from the castle wall,
Too late her father sought her.
He thought her death was in the fall
And mourned his little daughter.
Away she flew beyond the moon;
No poet can discover
Where she danced in bridal shoon
Nor who was her elvish lover.
Fair she was and tall and bright,
His curls flew all astray.
They were clothed in gold and green and white
And their eyes were green gone gray.
Karen Deal (Robinson)
January 10, 1977
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Heirlooms
I sit with my mother and watch the stars,
Vega, Polaris, and Antares,
Remembering the little one
She was, before I had begun.
Beside the sea, in a summer then,
She learned from the mother of a friend:
Casseopeia's a W,
Corona is a C,
Scorpio hangs in the southern sky,
A mighty tail has he.
The Northern Cross is a flying swan,
The Dipper is a bear,
Draco coils about the pole,
And Pegasus is square.
We sit together, my mother with me,
A thousand miles from that fair old sea,
But stars don't change, and there they be,
Out of her childhood and taught to me:
Draco coils about the pole,
And Pegasus is square,
The Northern Cross is a flying swan,
The Dipper is a bear,
Scorpio hangs in the southern sky,
A mighty tail has he.
Casseopeia's a W,
Corona is a C.
Karen Deal (Robinson)
March 17, 1975
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The Land Where the Moon-trees Grow
I stood on the shore of a misty sea,
And the dusk was falling.
A glittering ship to take me away
Came out of the evening.
With the night flowing silently over thy bed,
Hush, go to sleep, my darling,
Off to the land where the moon-trees grow,
And the tall ships sail on stars.
I stood on the bow of the slanting deck
And the white sails gleaming
And we sailed from the mist to the open sea
Where the stars were winking.
With the night flowing silently over thy bed,
Hush, go to sleep, my darling,
Off to the land where the moon-trees grow,
And the tall ships sail on stars.
I stood at last on the shining sands
Where the waves were breaking,
Where the cities were silver and spun from glass
And the flowers singing.
With the night flowing silently over thy bed,
Hush, go to sleep, my darling,
There in the land where the moon-trees grow,
And the tall ships sail on stars.
Perhaps it was only a dream I dreamed
When the dusk was falling,
But my heart becomes touched by a wild desire
When the stars are shining,
With the night flowing silently over thy bed,
Hush, go to sleep, my darling,
To go back to the land where the moon-trees grow,
And the tall ships sail on stars.
Karen Deal (Robinson)
August 12, 1973
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Magic Things
Sing a song of magic things;
Sing a song of bells.
Seen by firelight, golden bells,
Ringing mystic magic spells,
Carved of dragon shells.
Sing a song of magic things;
Sing a song of spoons.
Stained with undeciphered runes,
Changing faces into moons,
Magic mirror spoons.
Sing a song of magic things;
Sing a song of clocks.
Biting time in ticks and tocks,
Heartbeats in a wooden box
Bound with crystal locks.
Sing a song of magic things;
Sing a song of keys.
Iron webs of mysteries,
Sunken towers beneath the seas,
Tantalizing keys.
Sing a song of magic things;
Sing a song of swords.
Taken from magicians' hoards,
Fell with spell and frightful words,
Dreadful demon swords.
Sing a song of magic things;
Sing a song of bones.
Washed by dark seas rank with bones,
Old as time on vulcan cones,
Cold eternal stones.
Sing a song of magic things;
Sing a song of stars.
Demon Algols, soft Izars
Watching us but none of ours,
Wish on wise old stars.
Karen Deal (Robinson)
February 3, 1975
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Mister Rogers
Gentle man with crooked smile,
Teach me magic for a while.
Take me to your neighborhood
Of kings and owls and all things good.
Others say the world can't be
Touched with your simplicity,
But I rejoice to find you, one
Truly gentle gentleman.
Karen Deal (Robinson)
March 29, 1975
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Music
This is the note on the page.
With ladders and scales
And wings and tails,
Polka-dot note on the page.
This is the name of the note.
With A's and B's and varied keys
And ladders and scales
And wings and tails,
Polka-dot note on the page.
This is the place on the string
Where fingers prance
In mindless dance
From A's and B's and varied keys
And ladders and scales
And wings and tails,
And polka-dot notes on the page.
This is the loving bow
That pulls the string,
That makes it sing
Where fingers prance
In mindless dance
From A's and B's and varied keys
And ladders and scales
And wings and tails,
And polka-dot notes on the page.
This is the sound in the ear
To touch the heart
And make it start
To hear the string,
To hear it sing
Where fingers prance
In mindless dance
From A's and B's and varied keys
And ladders and scales
And wings and tails,
And polka-dot notes on the page.
Karen Deal (Robinson)
February 13, 1975
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William Randall
William Randall, William Randall,
Willows don't really cry.
I've seen you laughing on summer evenings
Catching fireflies.
I've seen you shivering, cold and bare,
With the moonlight in your hair,
When the snow lay everywhere
On quiet winter nights.
William Randall, William Randall,
Come and dance with me.
I know you love the North Wind's
Songs of the restless sea.
I've seen you dancing afternoons,
And in the quiet of the moon,
With golden clothes and grassy shone
And your dance was fair to see.
William Randall, William Randall,
Once you were a man.
I still tremble when I feel
Your branches touch my hand,
And though you're lovely as a tree,
Tell me the spell to set you free
And send you running back to me
For willows never ran.
Karen Deal (Robinson)
about 1973
(William Randall was the name I gave to the weeping
willow tree in our backyard. Somehow I got the idea
that it was a man once, and might be a man again one day.)
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copyright 2002 by Karen Deal Robinson
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