Monthly Archives: October 2013

All Hallows Eve

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Sit still beneath the full moon’s stare
in heart of woods where few souls dare
to pause in quiet, rest and listen,
to hear the babbling brook that glistens
eerily on all hallows night,
by falling shadows and dancing light,
for sighs that come in moans and stirs
twixt shadowed breeze and moonlight’s blur.

Sit still beside the brook and path
and into depths of lost souls hath
ye found the opened door to death,
left ajar by those who’ve left
to join a chorus of frightful moans.
On hallows eve they stir and roam
to free the burden of their demise,
expose their deathly secrets, rise
from grave and headstone broken
to seek these woods and brook’s words spoken,
that harken all lost souls to come,
release their painful burden, some.

So if thee listen close and still
thou’ll hear the souls speak to the will
of babbling brook and forest’s moon,
bring forth their image to float and swoon
upon the forest trail,
curse the stream, haunt and wail.

Yet if the truth be strong in thee
sit by brook and path to see…
Yet if thou heart is black with lies
upon this path, by brook, might die!

For horror’s strong deep current runs
where darkness kept, where souls are summed.
So hold thy truth in hand, and fast,
that thou be strong when midnight cast.
And if ye spirit strong and sure
ye might just hear the closing door
that creaks and moans at one a.m.,
there seal the lost souls in again!

Beware! For once the door is closed,
if lies be thine, or truths untold,
this door in closing might ye catch,
and behind with all lost souls be latched!

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Autumn’s Fleeting

At winter’s window sash stand I,
freezing drizzle stones the sky
and I in part can’t conjure why the snow won’t fall to ground.

The field beyond the fence holds fast,
betrayed by dew drop’s silver cast
to shimmer hard and still like glass with no imagined sound.

The muddied lane sparks tire ruts
to frosted edge that hides the cuts
where deep the season’s rain still guts the whole of mud’s warm keeping.

But if the night freeze find them there,
will draw them closed as if to spare
there fallowed hearts from crisping air and keep for daylight’s seeping.

At window’s ledge and winter’s stand
I pause to gaze across the land,
tender warm my cup in hand and witness autumn’s fleeting…

… another winter’s start, repeating.

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Crimson

Crimson red, my sweet love’s blush,
when to her neck my lips do rush,
set heave to heart beneath the folds
of linen pressed and garment’s hold,
yet sweet seduction mine…

Pensive space between our stare,
when locked in passion’s want and care,
pressed to hesitation’s pose,
till kiss and taste our love expose
surrender, I and thine…

Flurried hands enclasp and press,
search for freedom from this dress,
pulling tight in lip locked fury
within the flame of passion’s hurry,
yet stretch the moments long…

Till so released from garment’s bind,
fingers locked in tender lines,
flesh on flesh, clasp on clasp,
sweetness quaffed in every gasp
till knotted we, as lovers strong…

In timeless keep, suspended souls,
spirits mix in love locked rolls,
our pounding hearts deny the quiet,
while sweet seduction sings in riot
near love’s peak , in union hover…

Our bodies faint, our souls infused
as one, by passion’s love let loose,
and we in heap of flesh and bone,
collapse in kiss and sweet love’s tone,
there melt into each other…
eternal mates, eternal lovers…

written in collaboration with
Poet ~ Morgan~
Morgan’s work can be found at http://booknvolume.com

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Alas, I Am Told

I saw you smiling coyly there,
Lavender sprigs tossed through your hair,
Your gentle cheek a rosy blush
As from your heart a sudden rush
Pushed forth by how I caught your stare.

I prayed that you might care
To take my hand and walk a fare
Distance through sweet autumn’s crush,
Alas, I am told,

You have no love to spare,
No heart for mine you wish to share.
Left stammering, I in boyish blush
So quelled my throbbing heart in hush
Midst autumn’s leaves left standing there.
Alas, I am told.

J. Blue
24-Oct-2013

D’verse Poetics – Rondeau
R-aabba aabR aabbaR

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The Arc

Spun between two points in time,
vectors balanced to purposed end,
hold truth to chords of life once struck,
and reach to ancient hands does lend.

Therein lies the arc of present
stretched in frozen moment’s flux,
whereby decisions roll the view
to what we witness, what we trust.

Amidst the ether, frozen there,
the works of man and nature framed
in temporal need and thoughts of God,
summed in living’s passioned flame.

The arcs of all free willed in living
do stitch a common temporal fabric,
that pulls, as gravity, twixt motioned arcs,
to influence “now” to peace, or tragic.
There are no failings of interaction
for influence is a duty, thus
enhance those close to see the truth,
share the witness, share the trust.

Peace, compassion in calmness lay
where flux amidst the ether stands
to give a grip to hopeful point,
to shape tomorrow by merit’s hands.

In every moment’s fractioned fraction,
points of choice give rise to lend
every soul a chance to change
the path to future’s arc, and bend
the fabric to a peaceful state,
smooth the wrinkles, soften lines,
there change the world to what we choose,
stretch the hope beyond our time…

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True Love’s Nature

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On noble plains of grandeur swept,
knee high grasses whose waves have kept
a softened motion ‘neath mountain spires,
perched through tree line midst God’s fire,
is where this love of ours belongs…

In alpine meadow’s fragrant blush
that sets the woods and stream to hush,
where skies transform the azure, gold,
into relief’s eternal fold
of mountain ranges long –
is there where best our love makes song.

For you, my love, have granted
such pleasures sweet this heart of mine,
and in my soul have planted
truth of love and friendship, kind,
that only nature’s wild can dress
the setting honest, when by it, blessed
our lives move on, as one in bliss
of true love’s nature and true love’s kiss.

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Autumnal Dream

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Sweet the silent dew drop lies
bathed in morning’s glory,
held where drying grasses try
to sing their summer’s story.

Surrendered to this seam in time,
season’s change is thus
captured in a fleeting rhyme
reflected in the still pond’s trust.

Sacred scent in quiet kept
to stone the gold yet fatter,
coax the maple’s red, so wept,
and bath this dream of tatters

heaped in drying leaves,
seed adrift to winter’s stock,
bare the trodden footpath brown,
expose the hidden sleeping rocks.

Stolen to this reverie
the tempered sky lays best
of what so few will ever see
and grants the pond’s untold request

to drift a water coloured sigh
across this captured morn’,
bless the eyes in witness here,
as season’s change in image born.

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