Eric Marcarelli

Software Developer, Writer, Painter

The Watchmaker

July 24, 2011 by Eric Marcarelli in Poems, Writing 0 comments
I’ve uncovered a lost character from the Canterbury Tales: A watchmaker was anachronistically there, His bent back and crooked hands his sins to bear. He carried the tools of his wicked trade, The masters of men he slavishly made. No longer a dial, a candle, a glass; Banish the sun and moon alas. Equal hours were his dark art, Crafting time as empty as his heart. The Prince of Darkness beside him as he rode, A pilgrimage was his hope’s last abode.

The Stone Wall at Tagamore Swamp

August 08, 2010 by Eric Marcarelli in Nature, Poems, Writing 0 comments
No tame trail leads one there Through wild rye and tangled brier, Over paths unworn, To the old stone wall That weathers all. A remnant of lost triumph; The artifact of forgotten struggle. When leaves ate wood And thatch wore to soil, Crops to seed, And stock to feral, It stood there still: The old stone wall That weathers all.

The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

August 08, 2010 by Eric Marcarelli in Poems, Writing 0 comments
Out where the rolling red meadows meet wood Roamed a starving wolf who’d hunt if he could, But weak as he was, with hunger so deep, He couldn’t outrun the pasturing sheep. The wolf knew in the pen he’d have his pick, But quickly met he the sharp shepherd’s stick. So the wolf sunk to the ground deep in thought; When he rose it was a sheep suit he sought. That night he moved as a sheep to the line, Soon to sample his feast: fat, filling, and fine. But for sheep the shepherd hunted as well; To sheep went the blade, but ’twas wolf that fell.

Searching for a Lost Time that Never Was

August 08, 2010 by Eric Marcarelli in Poems, Writing 0 comments
There was a great age, so we are told. Have you forgotten now that you’re old? Or has its memory grown sublime, Through the endless shifting of treacherous time? Were the sun’s beams more clear, Did the moon evoke more fear? Were dark forests deeper, Did the tallest peaks stand steeper? Indeed they did and were in lore, All this and so much more. This time so elusive but sadly sought, Its seekers diligent but temporally caught. Always behind does it cower, Sometimes ten years, others an hour. We may never find it, but still must go. We may be there now; how would we know?

The Fort

August 08, 2010 by Eric Marcarelli in Nature, Poems, Writing 0 comments
Deep in the dense army of green, Beyond the swift and twisting stream, Well hidden this place too few have seen: Composed of twisted branches, bushes, and beam. Through long summer days well spent, Through heat and rain it never bent. This place in time now lost, But never forgotten.