Angel’s Kiss

Tiny tinsel twining there,
suspended in the evening light,
gathers dew as lovers drawn,
to feed the soul,
to feed the night.

Hearts across a universe,
mortal love,
immortal souls,
descend the heavens,
longing touch,
defining dew drop’s kiss,
so bold.

Yet angel’s wings are stranger things
when to the mortal touch be blessed,
shape a heart in labyrinth,
embracing hope with truth confessed.

But not of mortal love alone,
but of a simple heart’s desire
to warn the soul,
to kindle kind
the ashes of love’s fire.
The fire,
that once has burned
within a mortal beating heart,
is lashed to love again,
again,
until an angel takes the part
to free the anguish and the grief,
to carry life’s own burden grown,
to bear the weight and frame eternal,
to swiftly lift sweet love toward home.

Dew drops stacked in waiting,
wanting,
upon the tiny tinsel there…
just souls in longing love’s return,
suspended in the evening air…

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Filed under Angels, Perspective, Poetry, True Love, Universal Soul

Beneath the Summer Moon

Silence stands the dew to cream at edge of marsh and woods.
Moonlight floods the vacant dale where once just shadows stood.
Haunting shapes of silver mist distort beneath the full moon’s play,
granting fear in solace kept as through their fluid motion stays
the pearled spark of dew drops, the subtle light enrapt to hold
the early summer’s bidding night into the realm of whispers bold.

Upon the knoll a single shape in silhouette does rise,
gathers form to seek the moon, relenting night in mournful cries
of calls once lost in solitude, of beckoning home in wayward howls,
of only what a lonely wolf will share with moonlight’s owls.

Tis here my memory stills itself, tis here I wait to hear returns
of full moons song ‘neath summer’s skies, returning solace I so yearn.

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The Open Road Awaits…

The open road awaits… it’s lone white line in beckoned call, sings of freedom, pulls me straight and long through curves of blackened sand, culls the bitter from my hand, sweeps my soul o’er hill and dale past bleached white laundry’s dancing sail…

Or is this dream’s impatient flirt a haunt these asphalt memories kept?
Is summer’s hope a burgeoned ghost that from the highway’s berm has crept?

Broken lines in blur and dance, count a rhythm’s hymn of trance upon the aging county road that gives no heed to faster calls, yet courts my sole desire, honed by aging signs of rust, guiding posts and points in trust rekindling age old fire.

As the v-twin roars along, my soul rejoins its freedom song that clears the purpose from this ride, stands my truth where none can hide, so drives my soul to run. That long beneath the summer elms, upon the two lane’s sacred realm my histories’ call to waken me, my ancient past explorer free and to the long white line succumb.

The open road awaits…

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The Fade – Reprise

At edge of evening’s solitude I pause to seek the fade,
stretched through every molecule and every breath I trade.
It clings to shadows, soften edged. It claims the ether, still.
It thieves the color from the room and blinds the window sill.

My patience feels eternal, midst the smoke that laps my furrowed brow.
Yet here I’ll hold my vigil, calm, redressed in wine, birthed in now.

Not a single trace belies the beating of my heart,
just the gentle padding rain that balances my part.
My part, that is, that here I play in quiet room and pause;
one conscience wandering twixt the thoughts of night and evening’s cause.

Oh gracious time eternal, hold the calm from beating fast,
that by this time suspended draws the fade to drift at last.
At last between the rings of smoke lapped in tongue of fire’s sum,
o’er the luscious nectar’s poise that starts my dreaming heart to run.

Stem my patience fatter than distraction’s playful tugs do pull,
past this moment’s whispered laughter to greet the quiet, kiss the lull.

To the day my reverence, my thanks and gracious praise,
that now the fade has drawn me in, has wicked the ink to pages’ lays.

Quiet, oh, my heart repeats the love of life in patience known,
that grants elixir’s solitude amongst the fade and smoke rings grown.

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The Crap They Serve

The moments hang between the stains of dusk and clinging dawn,
scratched in ageless epitaph across each verse of rhyme-less song.

The anger builds toward aging, denied the path where knowledge runs,
therein betrayed the honor owned, left to steep in fading sun.

Incredulous the false become when to their faltered minds they pray
a mount of sermons spewing, yet not a single word they say.

An age in bringing mind here, sacrifice for “working” gains,
now left behind as youthful hope, in sweat and blood, in honest stains.

So now I’ll leave the peddled path
where minds are bought for selfish lathe.
I’ll leave the future’s rotting yeast
to feed their soon encountered beast.

Into the woods and river’s berm
where hope, I pray, will fast return
to grant a peace so well deserved,
to cast to grey the crap they’ve served!

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Brothers Grimm

The road stands long before me. I strain to see through setting sun the length to which I must, the pain to where my memory runs.

Cold, the anger bites my heels, clings in dust that sparks with gold. Irons clamped around each step draw blood from ghosts my spirit holds.

I stood to give you vision. I spoke that you might see.
I braved the threat of repercussion which sacrificed your part of me.

The distance casts a silhouette, gaunt and black, sure suffered thin. It stands in crooked posture, paused, disposing hints of wicked grins.

Its tilted hat hides scars of lies spilt from pain set loose. Around its neck of sinew hangs a necktie stretched, a dead man’s noose.

I kept my word to wait for you, to wait to see you rise.
I held my silenced anguish close. I kept my hope behind these eyes.

The stench of flesh decayed and dried whispers through the breathless still, to silence hounds whose snapping teeth tear at my fading will.

Tis death and hell before me. Tis hell and death behind. Yet still I pray the truth may play the queen of hearts and trump death blind.

I cast a soulful hope for you. I prayed you’d find your truth.
I gave all freedom to the pain you pierced into my youth.

Weary coursers bend the sky in streams of black on ochre stains. No step, profound in trying, draws my hopes to free or find this pain.

The road stands long before me. I pray to feel the cool dusk drawn in lengthened shadows calming blush, with you at peace, me waiting dawn.

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Filed under Dreams, Perspective, Poetry

April Dawn

Quietly, ‘neath this silenced dawn,
I pause near edge of grassy dell,
as mists arise from dewy sleep
in whispered dreams they dare not tell.

Gently, April’s morning brings
a rumor to the waxing sun,
storied rich in daffodils
gracing paths were spring fawns run.

Unobserved, I stretch to hear
the whispers light upon the air,
feel the stir of life anew
as first beams spark the dew drops there.

In humble bows the mist relents
to grant the dawn its honored throne,
led by low and bowing arcs
between the hills, across the stones
that raise their heads from lea and rill
in peaking, see what life may fill
the wooded court where men do pause
to draw their peace, repent their flaws
before the quickened rising gold…
now bathing warm, my face to hold.

So held in God’s sweet kindness,
so granted strength to see the day,
so blessed in sacred service set
between the pine and hopes I pray.

Sentinels stand around me,
robed in fir, wrapped in sun,
guarding forest’s darker moods
from spilling to this courtyard won.

First birds call in echo,
through the giant’s highest boughs,
“Amen!” they sing across the dell,
embracing hope within the vows
spoken in this April dawn.

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