Category Archives: Perspective

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

The Burden

Subtle waves of rapture roll o’er my earthly crown, granting peace as moments strained resolve into the sound of sighs caught at the work day’s end, as tired defeat stirs sweet relief, so whispers to my driven heart, “it’s more that I bequeath”…

Reflection on the long day done sees little to behold, just more of what was faced this morn’, tomorrow still, one more day old, and sold to what the pressures force, built amongst the plies, yet glue’s what I commence to bring to weld the mis-laid “whys”…

So herein my experience brings journey to the flailing, returns them home with guidance born upon their moves so failing.  But I, alas, renounced to push, defined to lead the stray across their inexperience in hopes that they might stay one ounce of tacking knowledge acquired to their line, yet grateful in contention stand within the hope of being kind.

Frustration burdens hard the yoke experience grants to tow, yet won in victories triumph, holds the strength of what I know.  “It’s more that I bequeath”…  yet failing chords of unheard words, point to greater self-relief, lost in phrases wayward herds.  I pray my past finds refuge in the hands and minds of some who care, that they may know the secret and my burden with me share.

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

The Spectre

Softened shadows follow me
between the temporal poles of light
as dawn is echoed hauntingly,
reflected in this dusk, this night.
Yet heartfelt scent
on whispers lent
does bathe each silent moment spent,
that stands me breathing sparingly
amidst this hallowed fright.

The footsteps in the corridor,
in pensive creaks and strain,
bear the question still once more,
“who’s there?” in feared refrain.
The words once said
drift overhead,
thus beckon moans from one long dead,
that freeze me at the bedroom’s door
in pounding heart and vein.

Long the silence holds me still,
afraid to move or breathe,
as courage seeks to gain my will
and from this frigid posture leave.
Yet curiously held
by what befell
the one who moans beyond death’s knell,
I wait in silent pause until
I hear the voice in heaves.

Tis time immortal spent in haunt,
a penance price, my dues,
to walk here in eternal want
within these dying shoes
that paced the mud
of murder’s blood
spilt in hate and jealous flood,
that left my soul drawn long and gaunt,
repentant in these hues.

Aghast, the spectre stood before
my bloodless shade of face,
bowing to the hallway floor
in anguish o’er the place
where true love died
in faith denied,
where jealous hands had once decried
that love could stand no more
and here fell long to death’s embrace.

He turned to me in whispered tone,
not I, not I, not I”,
then howled “I left her ‘lone!
as fury claimed his eye!
Another’s ire
stole her fire,
for she loved me, he claimed her liar,
so stabbed her to the bone
and left her here to die!

Open mouthed and heart now breaking,
my soul found strength to ask,
“why is it you that must be making
this penance walk and sorrowed task?”
He hung his head
in heartsick dread,
I found him, but I left him dead,
so in that one life’s taking,
I claim my sorrow’s mask.

The echoed dawn gave way to night
as one last step to silence fled,
leaving me with empty fright
and breaking heart for love here bled.
Now evening’s fears
return in tears
as shadowed footsteps count the years,
and I my sorrow fight,
as through each dusk I’m led.

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Poet Cow

Stories told at sunset’s arc
when last the barn doors come to close,
echo frames throughout the day,
recalled in honor, artful prose
that’s spoke in hushing laughter
yet cast about in formal style,
applauded when the speaker bows
returning to the trough a while.

Amidst the hay and feed there,
the poet cow enthralls in song,
crafted day’s end stories
collected from the farm’s sweet throng
of horses bound to duty,
of cows molested milking tales,
of mice in chase and cats who beg
to steal a sip from milking pales,
of chicks and hens who peck about
in counting grains of sand,
of dogs who walk in mending fences
beneath the gentle farmer’s hand.
Oh! The stories conjured,
each verse with vim and vigor flows,
weaves the country’s subtle life
with dreams caught twixt the piglet’s toes.

The poet cow in bashful eye
unmasks his soul when dusk is past,
turns the stanzas fluently
till all nod off and sleep is cast.
Then to himself he mutters low,
in Shakespeare tone and manner borrowed,
“Good Night, Good night! … that I shall say
good night till it be morrow.”

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Filed under Nature, Perspective, Poetry

Grandfather Clock

Silence drones the space between
the ticking of the clock,
grants eternal patience
swept in pendulum’s play to mock.

The tension of the winding spring
stands the air to crème,
as hopeful hesitation calms
the pensive chimes to dream.

Built to serve a purpose.
Left to witness life.
Counting every breaking hour
twixt sweeps of joy and strife.

Dusted here in tender care
by shaking grey and lucid hands,
in hopes to hear its chimes once more
and toll this hall’s passing, grand,
for yet another hour.

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Filed under History, Memory, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Surrender – an elegy

Surrender to the evening shade
that creeps from blind to blind.
Surrender to the deepest fade
that grants sweet peace in kind.
Surrender with each aching bone
drawn tight through day’s duress.
Surrender to this moment lone,
and to your soul confess –

For deep the shadows filter long
as silence stirs the mist,
where whispers in this aging song
breathe the gift of day’s end kiss.

Release to time eternal
that immortal may your soul become.
Transcend in blossoms vernal
through waves of thought where dreams do run.
Grant the ether heart’s release
from all that’s earthly bound.
Rise to home in sweetest peace
that there in love your soul may drown.

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Filed under Memory, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

The Road Home – a Union Soldier’s Journey

Journey Home

The road stretched long from hell to home,
pained by wheels of carrion dust
stirred thick in ghostly steps of war
while pulling canon’s hateful rust.

Lilac essence lined the trail
denied in spring the love to bloom,
yet heaved in whispered sacrament
between fresh graves, within death’s tomb.

No hint of living soul was seen,
nor stir of sound in mournings’ air,
yet held for hope this hell would pass
and providence lead him there –

There, to home where one heart stood
in skirt’s coquettish smiles.
There, where memory held the gate
to hearth beyond these hellish miles.

Time moved on with no such time,
each step a blur to steps in count,
till raised in climb and lifted hope
upon ascent of Acorn’s mount.

There peeked through trees the clearing
atop the Acorn’s rocky perch,
that drove to knees a tear’s relief!
Below! Home’s valley and quiet church!

On knees atop the final mount
through tears in shuddered gasps of breath,
his love, he knew, returned him
from the blood of battle and throes of death.

Now in morning’s sunlit dew
how sure this sacred moment charms,
that greets release for one, for two.
Toward home to fall in loving arms!

The road behind stretched long from hell,
from death and pain and friendships torn,
now silenced cannon’s whispers tell
the story of a union born.

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Reflection

Paused before the liquid timbre
of still reflecting glass,
a subtle riot carries on
retreating to the pass
where safe between the tone of youth
and wisdom’s keen desire,
squarely sits the aged denial
that pissed away life’s fire.

For there in mirror’s honest pond
the lines of age creep in.
There behind that child’s smile
the truth of time has been.

What of it then when bones decay
and all the steel’s to rust?
Will the temporal posts announce
gestalt there in the dust?
Will the meter stand to time
amidst each crafted lay?
Or will the echoes wrap the pen
and tuck it all away?

It passes in a moment,
chances caught leave most denied,
claims the yearning, clinging on
behind the aging eyes, defied.
Yet sparkled in the crystal blue
at flight in ether’s mystic truth,
does live the timeless heart, a poet,
penning hope to trade for proof.

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February Winds

Sing to me! O winds of spring,
thru raucous chorus and driving snow!
Lift my eyes in hooded view
to find the strength of life I know!

Drive the willows frozen dance
to moan and groan in blast of white!
Settle certain living down
to lee of shelter, to hold on tight!

Selfish wind, one sided force,
paint a white and quickened stead,
there force my eyes to distant wake,
so turn my back, so turn my head!

Glimpses through the snow reveal
the tease of blue and powdered sky…
So bluster forth your blinding view
and gift me with your long cold sigh!

Steal the warmth from dream’s infusion!
Rend wide the hope with depths of grey!
O spring! You’re just illusion
when hoped for on this winter’s day!

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Filed under Nature, Perspective, Poetry

Knight’s Return

Through the castle gate I find
a sullen angel robed in white,
demure yet strong of spirit she,
held paused in waiting for her knight.

Worry peaks her gentle brow
beneath sweet flows of chestnut locks,
yet longing moves her spirit forth
in waves of hope that silence mocks.

She is my love, my Guinevere,
in tawny alabaster skin,
left standing at the chapel doors
declining to go in.

She looks to me from amber eyes,
a silent tear upon her cheek.
She calls my name below her breath,
afraid to hear it, afraid to speak.

Across the courtyard, faintly seen,
a glint of shield and sword,
tossed in moonlight’s dust and mist,
floating on a whispered word.

Alas, I cannot call to her,
nor move beyond my breaking heart,
yet shuddered sobs of disbelief
deny my hidden ghostly art.

She turns to me in hesitation,
with reaching hand and heaving breath,
sobs my name in quaking timbre,
beholds me here past gates of death.

In silent sweet repeating,
I beg forgiveness and her love,
vow to hold her hand in living,
vow protection from above.

In death I stand with broken heart
as to my eyes my love unfolds
in heaps of sobbing sadness,
midst “whys?” that shall remain untold.

Through mourning gates at last they come,
bringing home what flesh remains
on bloodied, battered stallions,
reduced to battle scars and stains.

She stands to face me squarely
across the courtyard’s timeless cast,
whispers clearly, “yours eternal”,
and bows to let the bearers past.

As chapel candles draw them in,
she turns to hold my ghost once more,
blows a kiss in love eternal,
then steps beyond the chapel door.

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Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry, True Love