Dance of the Sun

Dance of the sun is an anthology of poems.  The first Dance is available from Amazon Books.

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Dance of the Sun -  Words of the Mirage

Jerome Brooke

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.

                    Jerome Brooke

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                  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.

                          Jerome Brooke

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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.

                                                       Jerome Brooke

Jerome Brooke  was born in Evansville, Indiana in 1949.

He is the editor of the Isles of Myst Review.  He has written

Our Lady of Silk and many other collections of poetry.  They

are available from Amazon Books.

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