The Poetry of Jerome Brooke

Mel BrakE Press announces the publication, the poetry of Jerome Brooke.

Jerome Brooke lives in Thailand. He has written
Our Lady of Silk and many other books, available
from Amazon Books.


The Poetry of Jerome Brooke

High Priestess

Goddess of Jade, Lee Sun, cruel messenger of death,

Behold your servant.

Your maiden sings the pleas, promises of your city,

Offerings, she brings.



Bali, Isle of the Lost, fair land of the Lady,

Remembers the Goddess.

Bali, of the sea of storms, dark with gales,

Sends your priestess.



Angel of Death, the High Priestess dances,

Turning in her silk;

Servant of the Temple, covered in black robes,

Black cloth of Bali.

Prince of Mindanao

Prince of Mindanao, splendid in bronze,

Marching, so young, so pure.

Vassals bow before your horse, the warband,

Does salute you, bright in azure.



Gold and silver, robes of silk, gleaming bronze,

Vassals before you bow.

Girls beg for mere copper coins, peasants mutter,

Reap as you sow.



Bring the fire, young and immortal, dear one,

Prince of the lie.

Your arms will surely weaken, false friends,

You too will die.



Prince of Shades, see your lady, at your feet,

Captive of seeming.

Beauty she sees, a god among us, love gazes,

Love pure, fleeting.



Love below you, eyes of a peasant,

Girl in rags, low of the land.

Hate, envy, pity, all weave the web,

Pass on with your band.


War Leader

Through the waste marched the warriors,

Silent was the band.

In the swift, hot wind, were seen the men,

Quiet in the sand.



Gold, red gold, at their feet, gems,

Cast far, far away.

Swords no longer shone, as on parade,

Dull this fearful day.



My prince looked, saw this lost line,

Lost, dead on this dark day.

Men of the Queen, lost by fate,

Found where they fell, and lay.

The Barren Waste



Mount, ride my Prince, son of our Queen,

Lead us to Gold.

Pale is the horse, the dim white horse,

That I now do hold.



Our Queen sent us here, to Cebu,

Most cruel land.

Here we stand, awaiting her command,

Take my hand.



Now you will be lost, silent and pale,

Son of the Queen.

Lead us to Cebu, Land of Gold,

Never to be seen.

Sea



Ador, Lady with the dark, fatal eyes,

Sing now of the swift, troubled seas.



Weep no longer for the black river,

Flowing down to the distant waves.



Sail through the distant mist,

Mist of time, mist of dying souls.

c 2010 Jerome Brooke