The Bugle Boy

It’s been two weeks since my last post.  Although I haven’t been entirely busy, I have been devoting almost all of my writing time exclusively to my novel.  I would say there will be very few prose posts in the near future because I’ll mainly be focusing on that.  I’ll try to churn out some poetry or opinion pieces in the meantime.  I have written some new short stories I’ve sent to magazines or submitted for contests, so hopefully it goes well.  Always hopeful.  For the time being, here’s a poem that is a few years old with quite a complex rhyming and syllable scheme.

 I am the Bugle boy-
Hear my lonesome tune ring,
While Sirens dance and prance and sing,
Becoming jealous of my song.
They tear away my eyes-
Replacing them with deep mirrors-
Then laugh and jeer and make sweet fun,
With eyes or no, my song’s not done.

My tune is writ and full-
I no longer see light of day,
But still I mumble, tap and hum,
And play my horn without the sun.
And though they are not near-
Filled with dread are the Sirens’ ears,
They come and cut me, wrench my pain;
Still, they cannot cease me.

My crimson brass is stout-
I have been playing since the dawn.
My blood has left my veins alone:
Heart beating through my bugle tone.
Night comes in so nimble-
Bugle sounds with need of cymbals-
To crash along through dark, so that
Moonlight reflects my mirrors.

I am the Bugle boy-
My song is nearly gone.
The time has come, I’ve been withdrawn,
For there are other tunes to play.
He is the Bugle boy,
Arrived with new, embracing morn.
While my bugle, for now, is done,
Another bugle just begun.

-B.W. Gladney


5 thoughts on “The Bugle Boy

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