.

Beware the Lion

“Your adversary the devil prowls about like a
roaring lion, seeking someone to devour”
—1 Peter 5:8

Beware the lion! Stealthily he creeps
By dark of night, or camouflaged by day
In leafy veils. He stalks his fated prey
With icy stare, then without warning, leaps,
Attacking without mercy or remorse
The victim of his choice with lethal force.

Mark well this lion’s fearsome width and length,
The power in his massive frame and paws
Equipped to kill with lacerating claws
The hapless game he seizes in his strength,
His avaricious appetite to sate,
Who could not flee his predatory gate.

Ignore this lion, and you will regret it,
For he is hungry, seeking to devour,
By deadly cunning, in a careless hour,
The clueless fool who simply doesn’t “get it,”
Who knows not that his foe is on the prowl
Until he feels his breath and hears his growl.

Don’t mock this lion! Though your eyes may see
Blood richly gushing from his wounded head,
Assuring you that he will soon be dead,
Right now, he’s on the loose and running free,
Still breathing death with every beastly snort,
Enraged, because he knows his time is short.

Resist the lion when he’s running toward
Your feet with fleetness you cannot outrun;
Then turn and face him where the blazing sun
Shines down on you, and slay him with the sword.
Don’t faint before his low, bone-chilling snarl.
Stand fast! And you will grasp the victor’s laurel.

.

.

The Old House

“Behold the tears of such as were oppressed, and
they had no comforter. . .” —Ecclesiastes 4:1

The old house stands, remote and still,
Set off the road, behind some trees
Whose moss-draped arms the moonbeams fill
At midnight, when a chilling breeze
Tugs at their sleeves, so gaunt and long,
And bids them sing a haunting song.

On cloudless nights, if you should tread
The winding pathway through that wood
Whose shades instill a sense of dread,
Whose rustling rumors chill the blood,
Beyond the trees, you’ll come to stand
Before a ruin, gravely grand.

Its walls rise with a fearful air,
Like some dark prince, devoid of cheer,
Whose icy look and silent stare
Make captives quake in abject fear;
They know his dreadful fame and gasp
To be within his deadly grasp!

Robed in a cloak of climbing vines
That wrap around its crumbling walls,
Who knows what hides in its confines?
What wanders through its gloomy halls?
The house may know, but will not say
What roams its rooms by night, by day.

Hid from all careless passersby.
Who notice not the teasing trail,
The house waits mutely for the spy
Who penetrates its sylvan veil,
Who comes to see this ancient shell
Drawn by the legends travelers tell.

It’s said that, if one comes at night,
And gazes at one glassy eye—
The turret window to the right,
By moonlight bathed—one may espy
A pale face peering through the glass,
Of some sad child, a lonely lass.

She waits, they say, for her own beau,
Who vowed to dry her mournful tears,
To save her from that place of woe
Where she’d been kept for many years
Beneath the crushing iron thumb
Of loveless guards—her dad and mum.

Who knows what torments there within
Her prison house she long endured,
Held under the cruel discipline
Of crazies who could not be cured,
Until she thought to take her life
And end her sorrows with a knife.

Before she could perform the deed,
A neighbor boy, who knew her plight,
Confessed his love, and she agreed
That he should rescue her that night;
He vowed to come by light of moon,
And free her from her foul cocoon.

But sadly, as he made his way
Across the fields and through the wood,
His eyes set on a future day
Of wedded bliss and all things good,
He knew not that a tragic end
Awaited him around the bend.

For by mistake, a secret note
Detailing all the plans conceived,
Was left in his beloved’s coat.
Her father, finding it, aggrieved
To learn of the two lovers’ schemes,
Resolved to kill their cherished dreams.
.
And so, that night, as one drew near,
The other hid behind a tree,
The tree’s limbs trembled, full of fear,
To witness such vile villainy,
As darkness veiled a deed more black–
A dagger plunged in love’s bare back.

All this belongs to legend now.
But if the facts of this sad tale
Are true as told, a lover’s vow
Was made here once, to no avail.
For that brave lad who sought to save
His dear one met an early grave.

Since then, they say, each winter’s night
When, cold and clear, the full moon shines,
In one dark window to the right,
One may behold a face that pines,
A sad, pale visage full of pain,
That longs to see her love again.

She waits for him, as though in doubt
That he will come; for only he
Can bring her to the world without
And from her prison set her free.
She looks and longs for him to come
And save her from her dad and mum.

.

.

Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter. Martin has enjoyed writing and reading poetry as a hobby since his early youth.

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15 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    These two beautifully wrought poems impacted my senses, the first one for the lion that stalks us all, and the second one for the plaintive haunting of a now foreboding house structure still standing with a window revealing lost love forlornly ever vigilant. These are both masterfully crafted with heartfelt sensitivity that deeply appealed to me as one of the beneficiaries of reading it,

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Roy, thank you for your feedback. I really like the expression you use to describe the poem´s central theme– “lost love forlornly ever diligent”. It is that theme, as you describe it, that makes the poem not merely spooky in tone, but also sad. Ghosts in literature often serve as tragic figures; someone has said that they symbolize the ongoing influence in the present of unresolved tragedies or griefs in the past.

      Reply
  2. Phil L. Flott

    Beware the Lion maintained the same subject (until the last line). That was refreshing to read a poem so focused.

    Reply
  3. Jeff Eardley

    Love both of these Martin. I will now keep a lookout for any rogue lions wandering about in the darkness. (Should it be “gait” in verse 2?) The epic love poem drew me in to its heartbreaking conclusion. Great stuff today.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thanks, Jeff. After sending the second poem “The Empty House” to Evan, I wrote one more stanza that I could not decide whether or not should be added to the end of the poem. It may be write to end the poem exactly where it ends above, but here is a possible closing stanza:

      “She waits and weeps from year to year;
      And when the midnight wind sweeps by,
      Just listen! And you still may hear
      Her faints sobs and the wailing cry
      Of one whose blood– since he was slain–
      Calls from the ground that bears its stain.”

      I am still not sure whether or not to add those lines to the end. Sometimes its better to leave poems in their original form. Too much tinkering can make it less effective.

      Reply
  4. Cynthia Erlandson

    This is really impressive work, Martin. The way you were able to carry the lion imagery all the way through without it sounding repetitive, is genius. The rhyme scheme and meter are so well done (as always!) in both poems. In “The Old House”, the arms of trees wearing sleeves of moss is brilliant. “Robed in a cloak of climbing vines” seems to continue your felicity with clothing imagery. And the story is very compelllingly told.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, Cynthia, for your appreciative observations. I hadn’t thought about the close connection between the image of moss “sleeves” and the vine “cloak”. I suppose both images serve to underscore the age of the house and its environs– the “overgrown” nature of the whole scene.

      Reply
  5. Mary Gardner

    Martin, both of these are masterful and compelling. In the second poem, the repetition of “window to the right” keeps the emphasis where it should be – on the creepy house.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, Mary, for your feedback and for the observation that the reference to the window at the beginning and end of the poem keeps the emphasis where it should be– on the house itself. That observation helps me to resolve the question I had about whether to leave the poem “as is” or add the additional stanza that I mentioned to Jeff. I think I will leave the poem as is, with the final image being the face at the window.

      Reply
  6. Margaret Coats

    Martin, your lion does the great work of turning a Biblical image into poetic short fiction. I especially like the detail of the lion’s being injured (or feigning injury), yet still strong enough to deal death to his prey. This must refer to the crushing of his head foretold in Genesis. Also appreciate the final rhyme of snarl/laurel. To me this is technically imperfect rhyming of one long syllable (long in the time it takes to pronounce “snarl”) with two syllables in “laurel.” As rhyme to imply hostility in time versus victory in eternity, it is perfect.

    The moss and vine and tree-in-the-wood images surrounding the old house are effective counterparts to the ghost story. Good quote about this kind of literature in your reply to Roy Peterson. I very much like the final stanza you showed to Jeff Eardley. In my opinion, it elevates the story’s conclusion with a more satisfactory reflection on the lasting tragedy of family conflict having become an irreparable crime, again with echoes of Genesis.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thanks, Margaret for these further thoughtful reflections on the poem. What you say about the final stanza that I shared with Jeff make me think that perhaps I was not just “tinkering” with poem, after all, but sensed that it needed a stronger conclusion. Without that stanza, the ending to me felt a bit too abrupt. I suppose an argument could be made either, but I admit I´m partial to keeping that additional stanza.

      Reply
  7. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Martin, I love both of these beautifully conceived and finely crafted poems. I love the call to courage in ‘Beware the Lion’ which has a magnificent build up to a satisfying conclusion – a conclusion that I hope will speak to many in these fearsome times.

    My favorite of the two is ‘The Old House’. It has a Gothic feel about it with the distressed damsel locked in a cold, eerie prison of her parent’s making… and what a horrible turn – what wicked parents! Her parents’ cruelty adds to the creepiness and the level of betrayal. The spookiness of your description of the house elevates this piece to scary heights. It is a sad tale, and I quite like the extra stanza where love cries out from the earth… it makes me feel the poor girl is never forgotten… there’s a sorrowful song on the wind bearing her name. Martin, thank you!

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Susan,
      Thank you so much for sharing your reflections on the poem. I have always enjoyed “Gothic” tales set in old houses with their twisting hallways, secluded rooms and beckoning stairways, so I had fun writing the description of the house and its environs. The fact that you and Margaret Coats both like the additional stanza encourages me to include it– and for the reasons that you both give. I think it does give a more complete feel to the conclusion of the poem.

      Reply
  8. Dave Whippman

    “The Old House” is a kind of ghost story in verse. Susan is right, it has a real Gothic flavour. So evocative, and tragic too. Thanks for a good read.

    Reply
    • Martin Rizley

      Thank you, David, for your feedback! When I was a little kid, I loved telling stories. As early as six or seven, I would read stories that I had written to an elderly couple who lived down the street from us; and when I met with my cousins at Thanksgiving and Christmas, we loved telling ghost stories to each other by candlelight. So now I find myself drawn from time to time to tell stories through the medium of poetry. There are some things I guess you don´t outgrow!

      Reply

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