Monthly Archives: March 2014

Blushing Dawn

In gentle rose of dawning light
this alpine meadow sings,
beckoned from her blushing right
to call to day, all things.

From quiet start to fluttered hurry,
all call from one to one to one,
till caught in flustered din and flurry
break the dawning peace in sum.

The forest floor reborn a-wild,
with subtle hints to work yet done,
casts the sun a dimpled smile
and to her burgeoned beauty come.

‘Tis simple best
this sweetly dressed
expression herein lain,
that she embrace
each living face
and with their souls remain.

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Filed under Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

One Note

Stretched along horizon’s view
resounds the hint of love’s sweet song
that sings the very truth of you,
that holds your note, vibrating long.

In resonance, only purity,
no dissonant echoed tone,
but by your heart’s sweet surety
does hold my heart’s vibration ‘lone.

Beit fate or time surpassed
that keeps this vision clear,
‘tis from this distance you, my lass,
hold me in your one note, clear.

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Filed under Poetry, True Love, Universal Soul

Summer’s Road

Summer’s whisper beckons me
within this blushing vernal spring.
It calls from asphalt’s ribbon twist,
pleads two wheels to roll and sing.

It draws my dreaming vision
through the hills and vales where few now go.
It steams the white line’s passion
to pull me through those turns I know.

It paints me slow in two lane strokes
that vanish through the countryside.
It marks the bygone highway routes
with simple arrow’s pointing tide.

It plies my heart with promises
of love left on the road.
It bathes my conscious glorious,
paying living debts I’ve owed.

It steeps elixir’s fragrant musk
in greenwood’s summer scent.
It kisses oh so sensuous
on roiling wind, on all that’s lent
to free this rider’s passion,
to set the world to peace,
to grant the road’s compassion,
to bathe in sweet release.

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Unholy Gale

In this room where books spill forth
from every shelf set head to toe,
inchambered by the oaken casks
of bookcase tales I’ve come to know,
I sit reposed in couraged fear,
content with snifter wafting near,
loath to let my cold dread show.

In torrent’s thunder, what can’t be seen
haunts in rushing ghastly breath,
thrums the shuttered windows ‘round,
whips the willow’s dance like death!
I shudder with this creaking room,
lost to malcontented gloom,
my courage thus my shibboleth.

Embers of the dying night
cling to evening’s fire in wane,
held by chimney’s banshee howls
that raise the dead to dance insane!
I, content to hold my nose
above the brandy’s sweet repose,
my thoughts disturbed to pain…

That conjure, in the wicked howls,
one million devils streaming ‘bout
my secret lair and sacred peace
in moaning, screaming, crying shout!
So sip the brandy slowly,
pray this devil’s gale, unholy,
retreats before the glass runs out.

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Midnight Peace

Amidst this city’s bustle,
peace, itself, comes in shadowed waves
between the pulse of traffic signals
and above the white noise din it craves.

Yet in the late night hour,
when season’s moon is hushed and full,
summer’s heat brakes the riot
and lays it down in lullaby’s lull.

In these eternal moments,
singular prints of traffic drone
a pinpoint at my ear’s horizon,
gently whir until it’s gone.

The alleyway draws into
the dissonant purr of a window fan,
scuttled only for an instant
by the pattering squeak of the mouse that ran.

The park side pond grows rich in chorus
with bullfrogs’ songs of rich delight,
as quaking moonlit shadowed elms
whisper motion and move the light
of such a season’s moon.

This peace here found is rarely known
beyond the midnight lunch break clan,
but in this hush the city shows
the fabric true beneath its stand.

I’ve come accustomed to this bench
in city park where night-shifts lunch.
Does grant a peace for a weary soul.
Does bless me what I need so much.

There is a ‘coon that visits me
at half past twelve, each night it’s clear.
Begs a nut or M&M
and stands a yard away to hear
me speak of all the daily woes,
of bills and taxes and political rants,
listens to my thoughts of love
and will sometimes watch me dance…

He comes alone as if a pact
we’ve made is to be honored.
He waits in gentle repose, kind,
until our time this peace has garnered
just what our souls so need.

And as my duties call me back,
he too unto his duties heeds.
I close my lunch pail with a smile
and thank the night for this peace indeed.

The moonlight melds to sodium light
as through the alley I return
to task and job and this city’s beat
with a kinder frame of mind so earned.

Upon the waves of city’s hustle
there comes a giving peace,
that if you look between the hours
you’ll find a bit of sweet release…

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From the Bottom of the Ladder

For company, for policy, for rule and regulation,
for managers and presidents, and once a year vacations.

Hey! Listen!
You and I cannot be friends
for where your social antics start
is where my patience ends!
Yes, you were made my master
by the men for whom you slave,
and you think if you work faster
and make your men behave,
that you will one day be rewarded
by promotion up the ladder,
and the fools who did the work for you
will stay, they do not matter.

Oh yes, it’s very possible
and even what you need,
and you know with every rung you climb,
the more you’ll have to bleed.

For company, for policy, for rule and regulation,
for managers and presidents, and once a year vacations.

But remember this each time you kiss
the ass of your employer,
and he allows you to step further
form this common labor toilet,
that you should listen closely
for a thunder from below,
for it’s the laughter of this little man
who works down here, you know.

You wonder why I’m laughing?
All you climbing doesn’t matter.
I’m laughing ‘cause I’m watching you,
and it’s I that hold your ladder!

posted for
Don Arterburn
(aka D. A-Bone)
somewhere in the 1970s

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Filed under Family, Perspective, Poetry

Vernal Love

Drawn between the silver twill
of winter’s drift and burgeon spring,
resides a moment’s secret caught
in ebbing season, on fleeting wing.

With sorrowed heart the winter skulks
toward northern hidden climes,
yet o’er his shoulder presses watch,
whispers winds in true love’s rhymes
that carry only spring’s return
in blushing sun and daffodil,
yet stands with hat in hand and pure
of love’s emotion honored still…

Coyly, spring in warming blush
entreats old winter’s hand,
pulls him closely to her breast,
till in each other’s arms they stand.
One moment’s pause suspended there,
one moves in chase, one holds retreating,
till storm clouds brew the pink horizon
grey in time’s defeating.

Howl O wind! Storm as may!
Drift the season’s skirt to blow!
Raise a passion’s tempest
torn of love these two do show!
Bend the sweetened tulip sprig!
Whip the willows hair!
Drive a snow that melts in spring’s
impassioned heat and sunlit tare!
Shame our eyes to look away
amidst this passion crowned!
Grant this storm a lover’s blush
on passion’s driven sacred ground!
Free this moment’s loving tug
till chaos softly slowly settles,
and leaves a fleeting hint of snow
amidst the fervent sweet spring pedals.

Bless dear winter’s sweetest love
that returns to honor spring,
honor beauty’s virgin dove
taken as the two do sing
in counterpointed harmony,
in trading space entreating bliss,
and how eternal passion lives
in honoring this annual kiss
beyond the season’s razing time,
yet blessed to meet in rhyming round,
till winter slowly drifts to north
as spring entreats their hallowed ground.

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