Friday, September 13, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
THE COURTYARD (3:06) - John Lars Zwerenz / Published on Sep 4, 2013 The Courtyard (3:06) - John Lars Zwerenz / From the upcoming album "A Lavender Sound" (C) Copyright 2013 / Recorded at Paradise Studio, U.S.A. / All Words & Music by John Lars Zwerenz / Produced by John Lars Zwerenz / "A LAVENDER SOUND by John Lars Zwerenz" To Be Released Worldwide on CD Baby 2013 Category Music License Standard YouTube License
Monday, September 2, 2013
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
You wore a ruffled, snowy dress...
YOU WORE A RUFFLED, SNOWY DRESS...
You wore a ruffled, snowy dress,
And the cool September breeze
Serenaded your every tress
With songs of sacred ecstasies.
The fountains and the courtyard below
Glittered like diamonds where a brook did flow,
As I kissed you on a terrace of white,
Beneath towers aglow
In the autumn light.
Later we roved among bowers in the night,
And a lovely refrain, wedded with the rain
Brought raptures from the skies above.
We walked upon furrows of sallow grain,
Dappled with roses, quivering with dew.
Then in the fields we confessed our love,
And all I knew was in the world was you.
~ John Lars Zwerenz (C) Copyright 2013
Saturday, August 10, 2013
THE BOWERS
THE BOWERS
An archway of roses
That leads to the bowers
Redolently discloses
Scents of the flowers.
The immaculate ever-present light
Of the eternal, infinite, beatific sight
Is wherever we gaze
On our romantic walks.
Through the meadows
Which amaze,
Where our silent talks
Take place on furrows
Of yellow stalks,
Where the honeyed breezes graze
Through the garden and the square,
Where your mane and its glaze
Of raven, rosy hair
Accentuates the black brows of your eyes,
And your sunny, sable lashes,
You ravish me as vines do, climbing to the skies
Of our bastion by the sea,
Around the window sashes.
And all the fields in their resplendency
With their carmine blooms blushing
By the silver brook, singing, sighing, rushing
Are but perfumed sanctuaries to profess our love,
Beneath the cloudless, star-bejeweled heights
Which bless us from above,
Fulfilling our dreams,
As the courtyard gleams
Come the mountainous nights.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
Thursday, August 1, 2013
MY BRIDE by John Lars Zwerenz {Excerpt from "Breath," a new book of poems to be published this year.}
MY BRIDE
I am in reality from beyond the
grave.
I rove among the cool, green
fields
Where grasses autumn breezes
lave,
Living for the potions a fall
day yields.
I care not for the changing time
of year.
I know nothing of pain,
confusion or fear.
White billows race above the vast,
dappled grove,
The courtyard and the manor, the
lagoon and the cove.
I await my bride in a black,
ornate carriage,
In the center of the spacious
square.
She arrives with the sable look
of marriage,
In her dusky eyes, in her raven
hair.
We wander to the wild glades,
In the swirling gusts of
October’s air,
Kissing in the dusk of mahogany
shades,
Of ardors eternal, of passions
fair.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
John Lars Zwerenz
Bibliography:
SELECTED POEMS (2011)
MIST AND FLAME (2011)
VISIONARY WANDERINGS (2012)
SONNETS OF DUSK AND DAWN (2012)
ETERNAL VERSE (2013)
A LADY FAIR AND OTHER POEMS (2013)
For book descriptions and pricing go to: http://www.amazon.com/John-Lars-Zwerenz/e/B007RHXDLM
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
The Queen by John Zwerenz / Author Bio
THE QUEEN
I roved among the fields and
furrows.
I was tan in the sun of the
golden day.
At the end of my trail, at the
edge of the meadows,
I found a blue pond, enclosed
with hay.
Tall, yellow reeds wavered and
swayed,
And perfumed the wafting,
summer breeze
Which sailed like honey through the
linden trees,
Blessing the courtyard there
where I stayed.
Suddenly a queen ascended from
the rosy bowers,
In a garment made of carmine and
glistening white.
Her mane was raven, slender,
long and bright,
And her eyes were of a song which
poured wine upon the flowers.
Her gaze was one of a statues’:
deep, dark and grave.
Her lips were of Elysian woods,
soft, red and glossy with scent.
I knelt before her, beneath the
fronds, green and redolent.
She stood in silence; through
her tresses did lave
Blue, caressing gales, which
came from the ocean.
We knew naught but ardor and its
every emotion,
And the pond was struck with a
gust from above.
She took my hand in hers, and
accepted my love;
And as if in a dream,
We passed through a curtain, an
ethereal light,
By a silver dream,
Beneath the ascending, starry
moon,
White,
Full, round and pale,
Which eclipsed the trees, the
courts, the lagoon,
Leaving us to the breezy sea,
As we departed from this weary vale-
To a rapturous height of
ecstasy.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
PHOTO OF JOHN ZWERENZ: COURTESY OF MICHELLE BRENT
John Lars Zwerenz (1969-) is an American poet. He was born and raised in Queens, a suburb of New York City. Zwerenz is known for his romantic, impressionistic and mystical verse. His schools include Saint Francis Preparatory High School, and Christ the King High School, both located in Queens, New York. As a high school student, Zwerenz was known as a kind of drifter, and at this time he discovered the works of Rimbaud, Verlaine, Keats and Byron. He later attended Queens College of The City University of New York where he earned a Bachelor's Degree in English Letters in 1992. At the age of 24 Zwerenz left his graduate studies to pursue poetry, travel and adventure. His few attempts at conservative employment were complete failures, due to his bohemian lifestyle and his fondness for alcohol. Zwerenz traveled extensively throughout the United States, and has published 7 books: six books of verse, and one novella. He wrote most of what he later published on the road in such places as Indiana, California, London and Paris. All of Zwerenz's books were published at his own expense. He frequently lived in states of abject poverty, and often depended on financial assistance from strangers. According to his schoolmates and teachers, Zwerenz was fraught with extremities in drama and change and exhibited erratic behavior ever since he was a teenager. In 2001 he was arrested for trespassing after crossing into Canada without proper credentials. In 2003 he was hospitalized in Paris, France for symptoms of manic-depressive illness, and his alcohol consumption, for many years prodigious, increased at about this time. His relationships with women have always been intense and stormy, although he claims to "idolize" women in most of his verse. He is a self-proclaimed Roman Catholic, yet his political views have not been expressed in any public fashion. His verse has been criticized as both "antiquated," and praised as "the best since the death of Robert Frost." Aside from being a writer of poetry and fiction, Zwerenz is also a classical composer, and a rock performer.
He currently lives in The United States and works as a journalist in New York City. He is 44 years of age.
R. Pocelli
Monday, July 29, 2013
John Lars Zwerenz (1969-) is an American poet. He was born and raised in Queens, a suburb of New York City. Zwerenz is known for his romantic and impressionistic verse. Although still single, he has been engaged three times. His schools include Saint Francis Preparatory High School, and Christ the King High School, both located in Queens, New York. He later attended Queens College of The City University of New York where he earned a Bachelor's Degree in English Letters in 1992. At the age of 24 Zwerenz left his graduate studies to pursue poetry, travel and adventure. He has traveled extensively throughout the United States, and has published 7 books: six books of verse, and one novella. His private life has frequently been fraught with extremities in drama and change. In 2003 he was hospitalized in Paris, France for symptoms of manic-depressive illness. His fondness for alcohol was for many years prodigious, and his relationships with women have always been intense and stormy. Zwerenz currently works as a Journalist in New York City, and is 44 years of age.
Rebecca Porcelli
Friday, July 26, 2013
THE COURTYARD
I am drunk with waves, I am drunk with wine.
I have returned from Spain with
gold and gems.
I have found my princess donning
diadems,
In the courtyard where the
stones meet vine.
She wanders as a gypsy in the vast,
marble square,
Where slender fountains rise in
the cool, spring air.
Her home is up high, behind the
terrace of the tower,
Where she sings of fair love to
the trees above the bower.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
THE CASTLE
THE CASTLE
By bank, stream or river I rove,
With wine in hand upon the
fields,
I, drunk with a garden, the fragrances
it yields,
Still sing of eternal, infinite love.
There is in my jacket a small,
blue book
Of lines which I wrought
romantically.
Thou art paradise, my lady, with
your dark, sable look.
Your gaze is of stars, and of
true poetry.
I have searched for you
incessantly,
In meadows, through woods, in canyons,
in caves,
Over harbors and seas, over
sailors’ graves,
Until I found you on the
balcony.
High up, on the terrace of the
castle’s tower,
I found you in your long, white
dress,
Awaiting my rhyme and the love I
profess,
In the still of this majestic
hour.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
Thursday, July 25, 2013
TONIGHT
TONIGHT
I shall kiss your lips until your
heart is all but wine,
Drunk with rapture, with the taste
of kissing mine.
I shall tenderly clasp your
raven head,
And I shall love you with fire
in the flowerbed.
Our emotions shall be naught but
ecstasy, desire.
Ah! Such passion is without
attire!
Let your sensuous back recline
in the dew,
Into the grass, the blooms of
red and blue;
Then I shall enter your spirit’s
holy cove,
Where music reigns and angels
rove!
~ John Lars Zwerenz
SNOW
SNOW
December is ending, Christmas is
here…
For the old and young, for the
boys and girls.
The pine tree, clad with silver
balls,
Gleams as music fills the halls.
(Outside the snow swirls
Around the frothy, old pier.)
You gaze out the white-encased window,
With your long, black, delicious
hair
Braided in an alabaster bow,
As your beauteous body scents
with roses
The soft perfume it gently
discloses
Throughout the parlor, in the
wintry air.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
The Countryside / Beneath the Stars / The Queen
THE COUNTRYSIDE
We had breakfast in the
countryside:
Eggs, bacon and white champagne.
We picked cherries on the
dappled lane,
And we walked on the sand, by
the turquoise tide.
The palm trees scented the soft,
summer air
With the fragrant potions of
mignonette.
We kissed on the beach, as the
sun did set,
Among the fountains, in the
marble square.
BENEATH THE STARS
I traveled out beneath the stars,
To find some peace beside the
lane.
I slept in the glow of a
campfire’s bars,
And awoke to the dawn and a
fine, light rain.
There is in my pocket a notebook
I keep.
I wield it when I may,
And write of the many visions I
reap,
In the cloudy, rainy, dawning
day.
THE QUEEN
I roved among the fields and
furrows.
I was tan in the sun of the
golden day.
At the end of my trail, at the
edge of the meadows,
I found a blue pond, enclosed
with hay.
Tall, yellow reeds wavered and
swayed,
And fragranced the wafting,
summer breeze,
Sailing like honey through the
linden trees,
Blessing the courtyard there
where I stayed.
Suddenly a queen ascended from
the rosy bowers,
In a garment of carmine and
glistening white.
Her mane was raven, slender,
long and bright,
And her eyes were of a song which
poured wine upon the flowers.
Her gaze was one of a statues’:
deep, dark and grave.
Her lips were of Elysian woods,
soft, red and glossy with scent.
I knelt before her, beneath the
fronds, green and redolent.
She stood in silence; through
her tresses did lave
Blue, caressing gales, which
came from the ocean.
We knew naught but ardor and its
every emotion,
And the pond was struck with a
gust from above.
She took my hand in hers, and
accepted my love;
And as if in a dream,
We passed through a curtain, an
ethereal light,
By a silver dream,
Beneath the ascending, starry
moon,
White,
Full, round and pale,
Which eclipsed the trees, the
courts, the lagoon,
Leaving us to the breezy sea,
As we departed from this weary vale-
To a rapturous height of ecstasy...
~ John Lars Zwerenz
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
A SUMMER'S DAY
A SUMMER’S DAY
I went out to the meadows, far
and near.
I spent my time in wooden inns.
I drank vodka, wine, and dark,
brown beer,
To the happy sound of mandolins.
I asked the pretty, blond
waitress to give me a kiss
In the tall, soft stacks of
bright, yellow hay,
In the empty, red farmhouse
behind the bar.
Her mouth was delicious, and our
bodies met with bliss,
In the shimmering gold of the
gilded day,
To the jig of a breeze-blown,
distant guitar.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
MY LOVE
MY LOVE
Her soul is of vanilla and
evergreen trees…
It is of lemon-scented, mellifluous
streams
That flow from fountains in the
saline breeze;
It is of cool, silver brooks
that bubble through dreams…
Her spirit is of mountains that
glisten in the cloudless, blue air;
Her heart is of a brilliant star
that rises over a marble square…
The redolent, oceanic gales blow
back her slender, straight, black hair…
Her gaze is of golden bowers,
sunny, summery, flowery and fair.
Her pace is of an angel’s, with
each foot that is laid…
She is clad in a dress of white,
And wanders through the gardens
in the moonlight…
Her mane is that of heaven, and
her tresses are in a braid…
There is a courtyard of a castle
by the turquoise sea…
She somnolently walks beneath
its archway of roses,
Among terra-cotta statues, as she
softly discloses
Fragrances of ecstasy…
And in the still of the evening,
When her lips meet mine,
All the willows weeping,
Dipped in ponds,
Glitter like wine
With alabaster, florid fronds;
And her eyes smooth, multihued
and dark
Absorb my being wholly so
In the marble court, where the
fountains flow,
In the woods and meadows, in the
corners of the park.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
All Poetry Books of John Lars Zwerenz are available at Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/John-Lars-Zwerenz/e/B007RHXDLM and at Barnesandnoble.com http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/john-lars-zwerenz
Monday, July 22, 2013
AMY
Her eyes are of the strangest shade of brown;
She looked directly at me, but rarely did enter,
Except when my glance was gazing down.
She talked of nature, yet she seemed to center
Around the ethereal, the fresh, the unknown.
This poet she now knows distinctly does disown
The belief that women possess a certain power
That men do not have, to an equal degree,
At morn, at noon, or in the twilit,
starry-studded hour.
For both are equal, here and in eternity.
Her beauty has been met with praise
Since her youth, her schooling days;
But her spirit, cloaked, in a hidden haze,
Is known in its depths to me and me alone.
She passes by the manor house, beneath the linden
trees,
Where the ivy marries emeralds with stone,
In Californian summers, like an angel in a veil,
Yet she weeps inside beneath the moon, white,
full and pale,
As her dark, black mane perfumes with love the
breeze.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
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http://www.amazon.com/John-Lars-Zwerenz/e/B007RHXDLM
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
THE DAMNED
THE DAMNED
The mists of the castle ran through the hall.
A grisly host
Of many a fine ghost
Danced in their shrouds upon the floor of the
ball.
From the peeling ceiling many chandeliers swayed,
Cobwebbed, timeless, bejeweled with gems of jade,
As the wraiths in their grimy garments made
Vows of dreadful appropriations…
These tomb-loving apparitions,
Whisper of murder, envy, lust and vengeance
On the vine-clad terrace, in the gloom of the
shade.
The vassal at the entrance
Welcomes each new comer with a candle in his
ethereal hand.
They glide like fog from the meadow of their
graves
And they join the ball in the dancehall, eternal,
old and grand.
And as midnight turns to dawn, the pouring rain
laves
Every broken tower and ashy pane
In the castle filled with lovers, in the bastion
by the lane…….
http://www.amazon.com/John-Lars-Zwerenz/e/B007RHXDLM
http://www.amazon.com/John-Lars-Zwerenz/e/B007RHXDLM
http://www.amazon.com/John-Lars-Zwerenz/e/B007RHXDLM
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
THE GRAVE
THE GRAVE
The long, black train howls into the night,
Carrying coal and crates…..
The dead, dark trees where the graveyard abates
Are sentinels to tombs in the moonlight…….
Cupolas are ashen.
Rooftops are broken, steely and gray.
The deepening death of the cold, autumn day
Is seen in the green around the bastion.
I rove among the ancient crypts, drinking potent, cooling wines…
Ghosts arise from the brown, aged base of pines…..
One among their number troubles me…
Her face is pale, and her eyes are dull and dead;
Scarcely can be heard her whispered words of dread.
She is clothed with dew and grass, the cemetery’s sea.
“I was your wife,”
She speaks with a haunting rasp,
Into the fog, the brine of the breeze.
I fear for my life,
Darkened by the white-clad clasp
Of tawny, weeping cypress trees.
She takes my hand into her own,
And drags me slowly down
Beneath a marble slab of stone,
Where devoid of any hope I drown
Into the soil, into a casket of metal
Which closes upon me, as she speaks:
“Our union is eternal-
And the coffin leaks………”
~ John Lars Zwerenz
Thursday, July 11, 2013
MY ETERNAL BELOVED
I cannot let go
Of the woman I have seen,
With long, black, wavy hair,
In sanctified visions, soft, serene.
I cannot walk away
From her dark, brown, raven eyes
Where mystic courtyards dwell,
Where slender, silver fountains rise.
A blond haired beauty
Would not be her.
Nor would be a red haired queen.
I know the very spirit of my only, cherished love.
It is of cinnamon, vanillin dreams and eglantine.
It is of rapturous streams of shaded, purple wine,
Of paradise above.
Her hands are of ivory,
Her face is white and fair.
I am destined to deny
All other angels who breeze-blown rove
In the worldly mosaic of the summery air.
My God, my God, how I shall sob and cry
Until I have kissed her in a sovereign, majestic, sacred lair.
My God, my God, deliver to me soon,
This ineffable radiant saint of the skies,
Who possesses the rain, the sun, the moon,
Sable symphonies of dew,
Holy rhapsodies of sighs.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
One's Last Day
ONE’S LAST DAY
I wandered on the white sand wearily,
Passing through the world’s dreary, old school.
One must be either a sage or a fool,
When it comes to one’s last day, you see.
The clouds above were white,
The sea below was an azure blue.
I waited for the breezy night,
To bury my sorrow, to drench my rue
In waters that rolled
Like billows painted by the hand
Of any good artist, considered grand.
Beneath the living moon I strolled,
And I found to my profound delight
That paradise alone
Could properly marry vine with stone,
Beyond this vale, in eternal light.
~John Lars Zwerenz
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
On Summer Eves
ON SUMMER EVES
On summer eves
When mignonette-scented leaves
Run like a brook around my martyred shoes
I ferry through the tall, emerald grass,
Gazing up to the sky,
And its turquoise blues.
Then you rapturously pass,
With a smile and a sigh.
And every other lass
Fades into the distance,
Upon your sweet insistence,
As you walk so gently by.
This World
Buses pass like dinosaurs,
Upon the asphalt in New York, upon its terrible, vile, heated floors;
I am assailed by man’s cruelty and greed:
By the acerbic, summery breezes which bleed;
By the indifference of the human race
To all suffering, to humility, to truth, to grace.
All women’s eyes are hard with a selfish, steely, mortal pride.
The world is a dragon with a wide, open, razor-sharp mouth.
It is no different in Paris, in London, in China or in the Anglo south.
The mountains and the lapping tide
Of the ocean is indifferent too,
Hostile to all life beneath a spacey, cloudy hue.
I've tried to escape, I've tried to hide.
I will not feel at home until I have died.
I shall only live for heaven’s sake.
To hell with the devil, that ugly snake!
~ John Lars Zwerenz
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