The years upon themselves will close,
once folded then unfolded,
as unaged born, to ageless turns,
through aging’s twining scolded.
Through years of moment’s pleasures,
grafted to the ether’s breath,
whispered dreams in flags of prayer,
escape the truth of death.
When just the pyre’s ash remains,
when autumn’s hushing gently stirs,
when absence seems too stark to hold,
life’s long red thread endures.
Stitched through laughter’s echo,
knotted through a true love’s seam,
hung as memory’s bunting,
graces truths we’re left to dream.
For these will not escape us,
born free above what ash remains,
as time reclaims its holdings,
these memories, this life sustains.
for Judy Arterburn (July 25, 1944 – January 5, 2016)
Cast across the virgin snow,
a starkly naked silhouette,
contrast black on diamond white,
full moon with no regret.
Thinly, night airs acquiesce
within a hushed reluctant freeze,
draws her limbs above her,
till shadow’s edge is crisply teased.
No sound or whisper wants,
her silent solace, her lonely stead,
grief, a separate solitude
through dreams of summer’s weeping dead.
She stands alone as beauty.
She nurses bold courageous stirs.
She haunts this meadow, her duty
in echoed light that’s solely hers.
Above the chord once struck in grace,
single notes climb higher, higher,
resolving o’er the echoed space,
where resonant, passing times retire.
The signature suspends a fifth,
yet time courts only what is felt,
dissolving sense, belying myth,
until the moment’s truth is dealt.
Ecstatic hands in passion’s play,
seek release of love once dreamed,
concealing ivory’s secret lay
between each ebony accent schemed.
Beneath the floating waifs’ sustain,
the rhythm’s heart repeats its call,
revealing truth that loves remain,
whispering through each sweet note’s fall.
Here, time returns immortal.
Here, stanzas play in sensuous gait.
Here, hands cast dreams upon the keys.
Here, love sets free the dreamer’s fate.
photo courtesy of https://pixabay.com/en/music-piano-keys-keyboard-sound-279333/
poem inspired by the music of Denise Young, “Above The Clouds” – Passionata
Still the silent quiet of age steeps rich this moment, reflecting,
echoes just what hopes deny in truth’s cold introspecting.
No fear, here, within the pause caught and loosely locked.
Just awe respecting shadow’s keep amongst the greying, flocked.
Peace gathers warm in knowing,
treasured paths and journeys made,
rest in sweetened summer fields beside the rill and glade.
Ripened in the setting sun,
kisses’ pure, seduction brings
the whispered scent of lilac twixt my golden locks, in rings.
Oh! my heart weeps openly,
for home and love’s sweet hand,
yet aging now, my courting call,
returns my lust to dust and sand.
Shed not a tear for me, for I am ne’er gone away.
But find me in this whispered breeze upon a low and setting ray,
for I’ll see you there.
I’ll touch your young and flowing hair.
I’ll dance about you in delight!
I’ll raise the thrush to song and flight,
that you may sense me here…
my pipe and whiskers smiling, dear.