Category Archives: Perspective

Atlantic Dawn

Dawn is drawn upon the rocks
where breakers still recede,
yet cling in dewy ocean mists
that soon to day concede.

Dappled greys of morning haze
deny the dawning light,
yet twist in trickster mistress’ hands,
seduced to blue on white.

Rolling cape exposed at nape
of neck in blushing sun,
bathes in morning’s warming glory
in cheeks of rose where love’s blood runs.

Kindly sigh the seagulls’ cries
that welcome home the crisp new day,
rise to exult heaven found,
kissed in dawning’s warming play.

Set in peace this sweet release
adrift in sacred sound,
where sun and shore embrace me,
as in their love I fully drown.

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New Horizon

Tired, stretches long the hand that held the reins in pride.
Softly reaches memory that age and time deride.
Deeply sets the furrowed brow where kept, his heartaches hide.
Gently shines the eyes of love, left sparkled by the ride.

‘Twas only but a moment’s flash
that forked the road in two,
yet more than one divided thought
set free the future to the blue.

Who’s footing lacked precision?
Who cut the turn in blame?
Who’s fault by indecision
tossed it all to ground, and lame?

Still, through the clearing dust appeared
two broken smiles across the path,
denying hope to ride upon
the questions in the lath…

questions left in settled dust,
fractured shadows in the sky,
and how the fork appeared just
heartbeat counts beyond the “why”.

The hand, so tried, is steady.
The reins are known and worn.
His vision keen and ready
to dawn the new horizon born.

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, True Love, Universal Soul

The Aging Park Bench

How kindly does the oak embrace
her tender features sitting still,
held by iron wrought in place
as if so formed by true love’s will.

Her oak, her iron, manifest
a perch of sweet repose.
Beneath the elm she gently rests
to welcome hearts, to welcome those
so drawn in need of peace,
so called by shaded park side walk,
so pulled to cheat a moment’s tease
or sit in quiet day and talk.

She holds her stance through season’s sway
by summer’s shade or winter’s snow,
‘neath blooming skies or storming gray,
all pleasures of this park she knows.

How honest does this gentle bench
share the hearts who quietly come
to speak of love or hold a hand,
or simply draw the world in sum.

Each day I pass her quietly,
stroke her weathered wood in care,
nod to her politely
and recall the hands I once held there,
the eyes I fell in deeply,
the cooing of the ring neck doves,
the moments spent completely
in the whispered words of love.

She smiles upon me knowing
all the memories I so dearly hold,
that I with mine in showing
give our thanks to growing old…

…together.

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Frozen Lea

Balanced o’er the snow white glade
a crescent moon defines the shade
where shadow’s silhouetted stretch
is cast from naked woods that fetch
the sharpest contrast on the white
in shades of blue by winter’s night,
so holds a truth in frost full air
as I in nipped nosed wonder stare
from edge of frozen rill and lea.

How oddly large this moons descends
as slightest arc of gold, transcends
the bitter bite of frost and cold,
denies the naked edge that holds
every living thing in pause
with steely frozen grip, so cause
to take a body back to home,
back to hearth and fire alone,
or back to nest in loving’s keep
where calm to peace and drift to sleep,
but in this slivered warmth I find
no want to leave this scene behind
so on the bank I stay to see.

Such stillness holds the wood in quiet,
that lowly heard, in subtle riot,
the speaking stream below my feet
decries its dreams in babbling sweet,
yet muffled ‘neath the winter’s ice,
still finds the heart to whisper twice
when ask again to please explain,
she hushes out the quiet same
and leaves me dreaming of the spring
where free to jump the banks and sing
beneath the warming sun,
yet frozen here her dreams do run
and here I’ve captured mine.

This lea, this meadow, this honest seam
stretched out across this night’s sweet dream
of frozen rill and diamond dust
of snowflake’s secret love, and trust
to give to crescent moon its spark
in pledge to color bright this dark
and frozen edge of winter’s night,
where from my perch I hold in sight
the elms in shadowed contrast still
that slow the moments by their will,
so stretch the night in lover’s swoon
retreating with the golden moon
behind horizon’s line.

This moment captured, this heart instilled
and with this winter night so filled
with every moment granted true
by silver moon and snow so blue.

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Winter Cabin

Quiet here the moments furl
about my simple chair, reposed,
here where evening’s fire curls
blend hearth in liquid care, enclosed
by subtle hints of winter’s scent,
cookies baked, a few to take,
sweat wisp of smoke from fire stoked,
on mountaintop so juxtaposed.

Winter’s love in deepest mirth
beneath a snow white blanket swoons,
delivers sweet the season’s birth
bathed in blues of silver moon,
as snowflakes drift in subtle gift
and sparkle rare in moonlight’s care,
lend this peace a warm release
while midnight calls too soon.

Silent now the dying ember
stretches long this winter’s day,
lonely cabin, here deep in timber
where all my better angels play,
now dims the night in candle light,
cures the scent in tallow spent,
so draws a sigh from dog and I,
toward sleep we soon will stray.

In hesitation’s calm collection
I gather long my senses here,
of silhouetted woods reflection
‘cross the sparkled snow drifts near,
of ember’s glow and shadows low,
in flickered fight of candlelight,
of warmth that brings the kindest wings
to sleep and dreams so dear.

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

Year’s End

Amidst these tolling temporal bells
I pause to point’s reflection,
stir my ether’s constant frame
and search at length through recollection
of moments past the marker’s knot,
for pleasures granted and instilled,
for smiles brought of challenges
and what the strength of spirit willed.

Echoes gently flutter by,
stolen ‘neath a sacred tending
that holds each fixed to point in time
as if there stayed for mending.
But slowly in procession,
in recounting all the rights and wrongs,
entreat I each as specter’d witness,
relive I every moment gone.

What points of purpose rent here,
twixt ignorance and learning’s way?
What broken ties of prejudice
softened in compassion’s play?
What fits of anger cast to air
that quickly time did mend?
What tender moments loving shared
that through this life did sweetly blend?

By symphony’s silent sweeping roll
imbibe these portents of the year,
as sharing all their luscious steps
in bowed and curtseyed waltzing near.
Their smiles kindly greet me
as they pass in memories golden glow,
enrobed in holly season’s mirth
with winter’s rosy cheeks to show.

So I in temporal witness,
last station ‘tween the poles of years,
regard no hesitation in
tomorrow’s subtle unknown fears.
But at this point’s enlightenment
I gather wholly what I’ve known,
count each memory sacred,
blessed by what their dance has shown,
and what of me I’ve come to own
amidst the bells in tolling here.

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Christmas Truce of 1914

One hundred years ago this day, men at war found the courage to rise above, reach for peace, and strive to embody the reality of the meaning of Christmas.

The following found on the “History” web-site.   http://www.history.com/topics/christmas-truce-of-1914

Christmas Truce of 1914

During World War I, on and around Christmas Day 1914, the sounds of rifles firing and shells exploding faded in a number of places along the Western Front in favor of holiday celebrations in the trenches and gestures of goodwill between enemies.

On Christmas Eve, many German and British troops sang Christmas carols to each other across the lines, and at certain points the Allied soldiers even heard brass bands joining the Germans in their joyous singing.

At the first light of dawn on Christmas Day, some German soldiers emerged from their trenches and approached the Allied lines across no-man’s-land, calling out “Merry Christmas” in their enemies’ native tongues. At first, the Allied soldiers feared it was a trick, but seeing the Germans unarmed they climbed out of their trenches and shook hands with the enemy soldiers. The men exchanged presents of cigarettes and plum puddings and sang carols and songs. There was even a documented case of soldiers from opposing sides playing a good-natured game of soccer.

Some soldiers used this short-lived ceasefire for a more somber task: the retrieval of the bodies of fellow combatants who had fallen within the no-man’s land between the lines.

The so-called Christmas Truce of 1914 came only five months after the outbreak of war in Europe and was one of the last examples of the outdated notion of chivalry between enemies in warfare. It was never repeated—future attempts at holiday ceasefires were quashed by officers’ threats of disciplinary action—but it served as heartening proof, however brief, that beneath the brutal clash of weapons, the soldiers’ essential humanity endured.

During World War I, the soldiers on the Western Front did not expect to celebrate on the battlefield, but even a world war could not destroy the Christmas spirit

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Christmas Bells

One of my favorite Christmas poems of all time…

“Christmas Bells” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The poem is below, and a great piece of history behind the man, tragic it is, is provided, written by Tom Stewart.

“Christmas Bells”

(The original poem, complete with all seven stanzas)

“I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

The Story Behind
“I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”
by Tom Stewart
December 20, 2001

One of America’s best known poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), contributed to the wealth of carols sung each Christmas season, when he composed the words to “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” on December 25th 1864. The carol was originally a poem, “Christmas Bells,” containing seven stanzas. Two stanzas were omitted, which contained references to the American Civil War, thus giving us the carol in its present form. The poem gave birth to the carol, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” and the remaining five stanzas were slightly rearranged in 1872 by John Baptiste Calkin (1827-1905), who also gave us the memorable tune. When Longfellow penned the words to his poem, America was still months away from Lee’s surrender to Grant at Appomattox Court House on April 9th 1865; and, his poem reflected the prior years of the war’s despair, while ending with a confident hope of triumphant peace.

As with any composition that touches the heart of the hearer, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” flowed from the experience of Longfellow– involving the tragic death of his wife Fanny and the crippling injury of his son Charles from war wounds. Henry married Frances Appleton on July 13th 1843, and they settled down in the historic Craigie House overlooking the Charles River in Cambridge, Massachusetts. They were blessed with the birth of their first child, Charles, on June 9th 1844, and eventually, the Longfellow household numbered five children– Charles, Ernest, Alice, Edith, and Allegra. Alice, the Longfellows’ third child and first daughter, was delivered, while her mother was under the anesthetic influence of ether– the first in North America.

Tragedy struck both the nation and the Longfellow family in 1861. Confederate Gen. Pierre G. T. Beauregard fired the opening salvos of the American Civil War on April 12th, and Fanny Longfellow was fatally burned in an accident in the library of Craigie House on July 10th. The day before the accident, Fanny Longfellow recorded in her journal: “We are all sighing for the good sea breeze instead of this stifling land one filled with dust. Poor Allegra is very droopy with heat, and Edie has to get her hair in a net to free her neck from the weight After trimming some of seven year old Edith’s beautiful curls, Fanny decided to preserve the clippings in sealing wax. Melting a bar of sealing wax with a candle, a few drops fell unnoticed upon her dress. The longed for sea breeze gusted through the window, igniting the light material of Fanny’s dress– immediately wrapping her in flames. In her attempt to protect Edith and Allegra, she ran to Henry’s study in the next room, where Henry frantically attempted to extinguish the flames with a nearby, but undersized throw rug. Failing to stop the fire with the rug, he tried to smother the flames by throwing his arms around Frances– severely burning his face, arms, and hands. Fanny Longfellow died the next morning. Too ill from his burns and grief, Henry did not attend her funeral. (Incidentally, the trademark full beard of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow arose from his inability to shave after this tragedy.)

The first Christmas after Fanny’s death, Longfellow wrote, “How inexpressibly sad are all holidays.” A year after the incident, he wrote, “I can make no record of these days. Better leave them wrapped in silence. Perhaps someday God will give me peace.” Longfellow’s journal entry for December 25th 1862 reads: “‘A merry Christmas’ say the children, but that is no more for me.” Almost a year later, Longfellow received word that his oldest son Charles, a lieutenant in the Army of the Potomac, had been severely wounded with a bullet passing under his shoulder blades and taking off one of the spinal processes. The Christmas of 1863 was silent in Longfellow’s journal. Finally, on Christmas Day of 1864, he wrote the words of the poem, “Christmas Bells.” The reelection of Abraham Lincoln or the possible end of the terrible war may have been the occasion for the poem. Lt. Charles Longfellow did not die that Christmas, but lived. So, contrary to popular belief, the occasion of writing that much loved Christmas carol was not due to Charles’ death.

Longfellow’s Christmas bells loudly proclaimed, “God is not dead.” Even more, the bells announced, “Nor doth He sleep. God’s Truth, Power, and Justice are affirmed, when Longfellow wrote: “The wrong shall fail, the right prevail.” The message that the Living God is a God of Peace is proclaimed in the close of the carol: “Of peace on Earth, good will to men.”

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Venus

Drawn across the Christmas sky,
balanced twixt the dusk and night,
pulled by day’s escaping west
and pushed by eve’s persistent might.

There, Oh Venus! Suspended grand,
single point to bathe the land
in subtle silver kisses set
atop the mountain’s silhouette.

Sinking o’er the village thatch
amidst the rose and blackness held,
draws the faces out to drown
in subtle sweetened lover’s spell.

Above her sits the slivered moon,
drunken shade of winter’s swoon
that bends his arc in lover’s hint,
so graces true the kindness lent.

Tis just for but a moment’s fade
that holds the winter’s fabric still,
etches memory and hopes across
the lifted eyes at every sill.

Venus, Oh my Venus dear!
Brilliant love so real, so near!
In you my heart and soul entwine
this winter’s beauty, this night divine.

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Christmas Snow

January

Today, in winter’s first day glory,
I’ve walked ‘neath frozen giants, gold,
held to sun in morning’s story
with midnight’s snow and breezes cold.

By brook in babbling, thawing chorus,
amidst the chirp of Christmas birds,
we pause in awe at sights before us
and listen still for nature’s words.

Through golden grass, o’er muddy field,
a thin and broken Christmas snow
shines bright with morning sun and warming,
dazzling heaven in sparkled show.

My dog and I rest in deepest
woods, at frozen creek bed’s bend,
sit and listen throughout the morning,
that to our spirits this heaven lend
the peace of understanding,
the truth in balance witnessed here.
For us, this soul felt Christmas gift
recalls the blessings brought this year.

Merry Christmas…

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