On the Music of Fear

Fear chokes believing~
And whilst it works its murderous deeds,
It sings a ballad of lost love
and unfaithful lovers
in the promise of current and future
love's end.

Each time Fear's song begins,
pain and anguish and hidden feelings
Float along the staves of air
and plot each note
along the way.

Fear is the world's greatest composer
Its love song is its masterpiece--
touching the hearer in the deepest part of his soul--
leaving the child in frozen awe,
the woman in heightened tears,
and the man in certain skepticism.

Yes, it weaves its melody
through mountains and valleys,
through cities and countryside,
it walks on the ocean and dances in the street
and rubs its hands in gleeful anticipation
at the birth of new unknowns.
~Joie Versaer Dantia

On Waiting

Winter, yearning for the sun
  Wades through ice and storm
With frost-bitten toes, but not
  Without reason;
Waiting for life, for flowers, for
  Water to move and caress
         Once again.
Waiting for lovers to see
      Light and beauty,
        To feel
Warmth and breeze
        To taste the dew
        To smell the freshness of the air.
To know love, and to know it well.
        To seek,
        To believe,
        To hope.
Oh, to hope and to dream
And to awaken in reality shaped as that dream.
         To kiss a butterfly's wing
and to soak up a field of flowers
         To run,
         To dance.

To be free.  To be free.

To taste the sweetness of love.
To drink in endless intimacy.
To know--Not to think--But to know.
~Joie Versaer Dantia

On Listening

Their spirits swam round me in deafening silence,
And I begged, I begged to break free.
Striving and searching and wailing and creeping
In realms that are hidden, unseen.
Confusion, confusion of time and of place
And of mind and of soul that combine
In thinking and hating and loving and seeking
In entrance of realms without time.
And I, oft alone, watch reality fight
Against cold, crying realms for desire.
But none seem to see or believe what I know
Of the spirits, silent, on fire.
~Joie Versaer Dantia

On First Kisses

I remember the first snow of winter:
A dusting on the ground and a knock at my window
Asking to come in and to show his love to me.
To kiss my cheek, my nose, my lips,
To hold me through the gloaming of moon and sun.
To admire the way I express myself.
To relax as I sing a prelude of love to him.
He came, and did, and went,
And promised to come again soon.
From the moment he went,
I could think of none else
But the gentle falling of snow,
The tap at my window,
And I wait, I wait for his return;
I wait again for ecstasy.
~Joie Versaer Dantia

"Are you afraid...?"

"'Are you afraid to hold my wounded hand?' he asked.  'It's so ugly.'
'It is so beautiful,' she disagreed.
He held out his gentle hand.  She placed her little hand in his and was surprised to find that when his hand had closed around her own he had a healthy grip.
'Your hand is firm and strong.  God did not leave it broken long,' she said.
'He never does,' he answered."
~Calvin Miller

On Fear and Night

Sometimes Fear tries to get in bed with me after the setting of the sun.  I would much rather share my bed with Hope, Joy, or Peace, but Fear is often too persistent to ignore.  He climbs in my bed even when I tell him no, and he cuddles up to me until I sleep.  And when he persists, I wish I had someone real to hold me; someone to kick Fear out of bed and protect me from its intentions of rape.
~Joie Versaer Dantia

On Faradror

He's a critic

     and a lover,

         A traverser from all sides,

A dissonant journeyman,

     striking chords of tension and beauty

         with each plodded step.

He fears desire,

     yet glows with passion.

He fears exposure,

     yet yearns to be free:

He's a beautiful man

     imprisoned within the

Confusing confines of contradiction.
~Joie Versaer Dantia

Dear Readers

Hello, Dear Readers. If you happen upon my blog with the hopes of finding an earth-shattering poet or writer, you have come to the wrong place. I am none such person. However, I will attempt to give you a snap shot of my heart and soul, as it occasionally pours out with inkblots and scribbles. I wish to remain anonymous, as hearts and souls tend to be much more appealing without a name attached. However, if you must needs have a pen name, you may attribute these thoughts and poems to the name Joie Versaer Dantia which means "the abundant overflowing of joy and fresh air." And although, my heart (and therefore my writings) does not always reflect an abundance of joy; my soul, on the other hand, does, and will always remind my heart to breathe in as much joy and fresh air as is humanly possible.