Monthly Archives: June 2014

This Moment

In every waking moment’s splendor,
I find you by my side.
In depth of sleep with faith entrusted,
I feel your breathing, dreaming tide…

I know no world without you,
my past just distant echoed calls,
for all this life has blessed me with
seems only true, when toward you falls
my heart and soul in this sweet bliss…
true love, true friendship, true soul-mate’s kiss…

Everyday, it’s not enough
to touch your hand or kiss your brow,
whisper sweet “I love yous”,
express my heart, show you how
much you mean to me…

So, to help you understand
my depth of love for you,
please know the moment’s love before
creates an instant present, new,
built in treasures of love’s moments passed,
that with every waning instant,
yields a new love grasp…

Within such burgeoning power,
my heart and soul swell to love you more,
so it is with heart string flowers
I whisper softly and kneel before…
“My love, will you marry me
in this moment of sweetest bliss?”
“Be mine again, again, forever,
and forever hold this nuptial kiss.”

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Filed under Poetry, True Love, Wedding

By Candle Light

In quiet space, where light is kind,
hand in hand, may your love find
the years’ sweet color in echoed call…
that lights reflection on this starting gate,
when life was young and could not wait
to bathe in journey’s love and bliss…
though memories’ fabric yet to twill,
your hearts and souls as one life will
forge great the castings of your values, kissed
in truth and kindness, as dearest friends,
true soul mates, this love again
rolls waves of peace around you…
that those whose souls you touch with light,
will know your truth, and sense the quiet
respect that’s there between you…

As your story grows in verse,
may memories stitch sew one life’s purse
to hold and recollect the lines,
that time will honor to hands and face,
life’s souvenirs by God’s sweet grace,
and therein keep your love, less time…

By candle light at dusk’s edge stalling,
regardless of the season falling,
look deep into each other’s eyes,
feel your love and friendship kind,
reflect in echo’s calling…
know the truth of this love you hold,
be it soon, or with time grown old,
this love is yours, this moment’s bliss
is held eternal in true love’s kiss,
timeless and enduring…

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Wedding Poem

In union here, two hearts entwined,
steeped in richest colors shown,
two folds of love, one spirit known,
thus, the braid of life is thine.

Thy spirits and the counter-force,
so juxtaposed in holding fast,
form in circling, reaching dance,
do center love to grow, so cast
a running wake, eternal braid,
till age extends your youth,
and so you’ll live this loving truth
with histories’ smiles behind you laid.

Like sparkling waves, where diamonds cast
of starshine, or moonbeam on a summer’s eve,
your hearts, in bliss, herein conceive
a lifetime’s journey, a sacred past,
that future nights, through eon’s flux,
will so inspire a single star
to shine in kindling, loving fire,
there show your spirits’ love at dusk.

Through this union reached,
this dance of love, your own,
as hearts of two on summer’s beach,
today, this union’s future shown,
your loving light, eternal…

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Where daffodils
once graced the hill
and held the silver rill
now rests defined,
through waning time
and starves the course’s rhyme
to silent.

When once across
the lea she tossed
a heartfelt kiss embossed
in love,
now blows a wind
whose stark hands rend
what memory mends
beneath the glove.

Nearby stood
a quiet wood
whose home was good
and honest,
now fills with ghosts
and empty hosts
who echo whisper’s loving toasts
yet fearfully immodest.

Tho’ no truth rolls
across the folds
of meadows in the tolls
of time,
‘tis still these lays
of poetry stay
the lifelong play
of love in rhyme…

For even as the eons blend
a passing state of heart,
heaped upon this histories’ pyre
are hope and dreams, and true love’s start
that held the pausing when he claimed,
“you are mine, eternal”,
and bent the ether’s honest waves
when sure her heart felt love still vernal…

Today is just soliloquy…
today an echo of regret…
today an ancient memory,
passed closed doors that ne’er forget
the daffodils,
the singing rill,
the kiss cross meadow’s lea,
the forest sweet
with cot complete
and every verse of poetry…

It holds the ether’s silence calm
to those who pause to feel…
It offers what is true in love,
for those who need to heal.

In honor of Robert Burns and his “sweet Mary”


Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry, True Love


Simple tho’ the waves retain their calling of the shore,
they bath in love’s inflection, reflected through the wanting more,
in constant gentle lapping, in soft seduction’s kiss,
they fold, unfold, recede to rise with purpose toward a dreaming bliss.

Coyly how the wind implies its gentle hush between the trees,
whose leaves reply in simple chime, quaking in the rhythm’s breeze,
yet holding fast exhilaration torn between the mounting gusts
that bear the point of rushing love, that blend the balm of forest’s must.

Lonely how the night awakes when to a full moon’s rise it bends
horizon’s light to welcome home that love the night will bright transcend,
and yet again as daybreak threatens night’s sweet secrets held,
it shades the sky in lover’s red and hints of lonely love now quelled.

Sorely how this nature’s want reaches through each passing phase
of light and wind and sea’s emotion surmounting all the lonely plays
that ride on every moment, that hold each flashing point in light,
that dream a dream of exultation, granted by their living right
to love, to want, to feel embrace
and through their own sweet blessing grant this living planet grace.


Filed under Nature, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Gossamer Thread

Spun in silence, a silver rhyme
stretched across a pedal’s pose,
captured small in non-assuming
glimpses of a summer’s rose,
whose fragrant folds in burgundy
entreat the kindest living heart,
who gently pulls a threaded line
that there upon sweet life takes part…
in morning’s captured dewdrop,
in midday’s buzzing busy bee,
in evening’s calm and respite…
no grander world or scale will see
or care to ponder longer,
or dream beyond with longing eye,
for by a gossamer thread and rose,
all life transcends us by and by.


Filed under Nature, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Georgia Station 1943

This summer night so softly calls, beckoning hearts to stay one more, as coyly baited anticipation pulls her past the station’s doors. Upon the platform, stalled in silence, the blue rails disappear through trees that hold this summer’s boundary, that hold this town where loved was pleased. For here life slowed its errant rush and dreams suspended moment’s splendor within the kiss of true love’s blush and all that truest arms can render. Slow and pointed, every kiss, so softly laid in Georgia’s moon, eternal, every moment’s claim, yet still this summer passed too soon, when through the southern pine the call, the orders came and he was gone. Stemmed along these rails of chance, their lives, their hopes, in whispers long.

In full moon’s fire the clouds broke bright in iron blue and angel white. The scent of pine and clay’s red rust held her captive as it must. A long low calling whistle echoes o’er some distant hill, shuddering her stoic courage, flirting with her iron will.

The platform mostly empty now, her one lone bag next to her side. Gabardine in blue and pressed, the rose he gave her tucked inside the fold at hat’s fine piping, that as she stood there still, its fragrance mixed in Georgia pine, stirred by full moon’s hope and will.

And so with time, as time does bend, her fleeting moment’s grasp did rend an echo along the steel railed tracks, that in each passing second stacked each moment spent, each sleepy kiss, each spark from every ember’s bliss, to well a tear divine.

The steam in angry spurts and spouts softened hard the whistle’s scream, as pounding out eternal hopes and stretching long arrival’s dream. The quiet night escaped the scene in unfamiliar porter’s rush, yet… from steeping recollection’s blur, one steam bound sigh reduced to, “hush!… feel the Georgia moon pull strong upon this liquid steel and night, blue in hopes and promise, red in love and blessed in white… hush!”

As she stepped aboard the sighing angel’s bluing heat, she heard her true love’s whisper, faint, “hold my kiss upon your lips until again we meet”…

Slowly left in silence, the platform stark in summer’s moon, as distance dims the pullman’s lantern, this summer’s bliss returns to June.


Filed under History, Poetry, True Love, Universal Soul


How do the fleeting moments slide beyond this desperate errant grasp?
How does this waning life of rhyme find a single point to clasp
within the hopes of purpose lain, within the humble want
that dreams of words in echo there
among the flaxen hopes, that haunt
the fabric of every day?

They dance in ether’s lacquered musk,
seduced by what the poet knows,
drunken in their wanton lust
that to the world, designed to show
that every day is bread and wine,
every day mundane,
repeated work in value’s void
is stiff and slanted highway rain.

But there the motivation comes
in anger of such wasted schemes,
that force eventuality paused,
suspended near the hopes and dreams
that greater purpose pricks the poet,
greater purpose pulls his soul,
greater meaning meant for others,
posthumous drifts ‘tween the poles
of temporal lines in lingering,
gestalt wrapped cross the evening sun
that folds a sinner’s dusk in death,
that drives the length toward when it’s done.

Are there points reflected in the mirror of what is God?
Are hints divine across the fabric strong in even, weak in odd?

Is it just too much to dream that sacrifice and duty’s truth will open doors while living?
Or is it just that what is blessed, is best when long since gone, it’s giving?

Oh! How my aching heart decries the hateful mourn of working day!
Oh! How the empty echoes pain the tasks that for tomorrow stay!

How can the soul in living form adjust to less than spirit,
when robbed of moments fleeting points, that ears left passed are few to hear it?

Sad the poet’s recompense that draws the bitter coins to purse,
leaving only two for crossing’s price and dues to pay the hearse.

Yet there upon the rippled Styx the faintest whispers heard,
repeating every lay and rhyme, repeating poet’s every word…



Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul