Monthly Archives: March 2017

Fern in Spring

dew drop

Beneath the gentle dew of spring, I wait…
Resolved to yearning, lengthening my patience in this state…
Droplets hold their morning spark, all my world reflected here,
as sunbursts gain corona gold, horizon’s azimuth waxing near…

Aaahhh! This rush! Beckoned by returning day,
stands my leaflets, once reposed, called into the sun to play.

Ah! This breath of dawning glory!
Ah! This heart in season’s fold.
Teaching me another story of winter’s whisper aging old…

In stretching bliss, my passion this, one fleeting push through softened soil,
in dew drop’s sparkled smile on me, my heart bursts glad in how I’m spoiled…

Ah! Spring!

photo courtesy public domain

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The Willow of Spring Creek

Held at bay through length of day, dismissed by early spring,
yet frost and cold deny there hold beneath sun’s burgeoning.

Splashing leaflets grace her locks poised in grace above the brook,
begging soft the warming soil with every sun beam’s kissing look.

Transfixed in subtle ether’s air, no time, no sense, no questions there…
She sings a psalm’s eternal phrase, caressing whispers through her hair.

Solely reverent angel she, held above the naked oak,
blushing green from what she feels and what the babbling waters spoke…
of ancient incantation, splashed in muse’s spell transpired,
so blessed her sensuous limbs adorned while others dream of hearth and fire.

Dancing in the hushing breeze, swaying arms and rolling hips,
smiling high above the stream, reaching with her fingertips.

Softly humming lullabies, dreaming of her summer’s play,
when long her hands entice the rill, casting rivulets with her sway.

Yet today at season’s cusp, she coyly courts the warming sun,
keeping watch o’er pebbled brook, softly singing to its run.

Showing all her subtle green that daylight’s length might love her so,
she stands to witness winter’s fade, waiting for the ones she knows.

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An Angel’s Lament

Find me, where lonesome weeping echoes drift across the battlefield.
Find me, beyond the graves of fellows, whose wounds were never healed.
Find me, when only silent hearses search the lea for those who might remain.
Find me, upon the crest of death himself, within the blood there dried and stained.

My thunder echoed loudly, when once decision’s tide was run.
My heart grew cold and cloudy, at first blow lain till last shriek done.
My soul, in fluttered reservation, drew duty from the tangled limbs.
My God, sincere, no hesitation, to drift these men on wings to Him.

Know me, where e’er tension seeks lost men, stemmed from egos large and bold.
Know me, standing frozen in the field, ten steps beyond the forest’s hold.
Know me, waiting, watching, duty bound, to catch your fall, mend your remorse.
Know me, shadowed through the killing ground, hitching hearse to death’s good horse.

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Filed under Angels, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul