Category Archives: Perspective

Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men

Crystal white in starlight’s gaze that peaks between the falling snow,
whispers sweet a Christmas song, upon a rhythm deep and slow…
It gathers in the spirit, resounds within the soul,
builds to bring a chorus strong of peace in phrases sweet and whole…
of peace on earth, good will toward men.

It forms upon the children’s faces, rosy nosed and smiling bright.
It comes with every passerby that quietly shies delight.
It falls from heaven in silence. It gathers round a fire and friends.
It sings a hushing hallelujah and to us all it sends…
Peace on earth, good will toward men.

But can it be that peace is gone when hope seems far and hatred strong?
Can it be that God is dead when peace of men has gathered dread?

But oh! The bells of Christmas ring, Oh! The chorus still does sing!
Within the hearts of every man when to this blessed season stand
and count the truth that God does live! Count the blessings that we give,
when to the children we take hands, when to our hatred turn to stand
and hear that whispered song start low, feel the choir around us grow!
When to our better angels lend and through our gentle spirits mend…
this peace on earth, good will toward men.

(inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow – Christmas Bells)

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

This Greying Fade

Time defies this truth of mind.
Days fall past, cascading.
Wine once sipped lifetimes ago
resounds in spirit’s fading.

What of this aging truth?
Aging hands grasp tight the pen,
far beyond their prime, it seems,
yet in strength, defend.

Every day demands a look.
Poignant lights in present time
reach beyond eternal,
call to form the lay, the rhyme.

The grave, in sparkled grace,
enrapt by hope of time beyond,
draws an evened aging eye,
draws a gaze forever long.

The end is never seen.
Days fall past, cascading.
Echoes of the ether pull us
to the tide of dreams there waiting.

Eternal soul, eternal love,
eternal pauses held in peace,
grant this greying fade return
when passed beyond release.

~jayblue

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Filed under Dreams, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

December

Along the frozen lane I walk between bare fields just kissed by ice.
December’s first in dawning sparks this grey to life reflecting twice
the leaden sky, the frozen blades of summer, still.
The crack of amber low and long igniting gold across the hill.

Echoes of November’s snow sit heaped within each fence post’s lee,
hidden from the hushing wind but caught in dawn’s sweet reverie
that calls a haunt of diamond light to stand and glimmer true,
that pulls a hope from autumn’s mist now long beyond this season’s view.

The barn to which I make my way sets warmth upon my bones in knowing
that sheep and cows, horses, pigs will gladly greet my face in showing
gratitude toward morn’s sweet light, peace that day has come,
hope in that the grains I feed will bless this cold December some.

So December greets the year,
I and mine in turn, the same,
open doors to gaining light,
echoing the year’s last claim…
December…

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Filed under Nature, Perspective, Poetry

November Dawn

I wake to greying dawn of day
as time stands still, suspended…
breathe November’s crisp and brown
edge of winds upended.

Westerly gusts, with gratitude,
turn my head to see the dawn
escape above the edge of earth
into the grey and covered morn.

Last slivers glint unto my eyes,
raise a spark of hope, I pray,
carry me beyond the waking,
pull me through another day,
calm in all life’s coming…

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A Poet’s Wish (a Madman’s Dream!)

Along this fading line of time, along this simple thread of life
that speaks so strong to what I write,
that calls to me, that calls to me…
Here my purpose pulled in rhyme, here my pen becomes my wife
that beckons lays to what is right,
that sings of me, that sings of me…

For I know no other reason in answer to the “wheres” and “whys”…
I know no time of season that stills or strokes the errant tries!
I know that only tempests call within my soul to write it all!

As every dew drop glistens in every moment’s pause, I listen,
‘til sweet the strong confusion reigns, until my thoughts, and pen, sustain
some moment captured, acquiesced beyond the simple thoughts confessed.

Here, in time’s sweet undulation, here in moments caught from you,
I do that which was meant to be,
to sing of thee, to sing of thee…
As moments ebb in transformation, poised through life yet fading, true,
I write of what you let me see,
and raise to thee, and raise to thee…

For life is living’s reason in answer to the “wheres” and “whys”…
Life is born of treason, for in the end we all must die!
But by the tempest’s raging call, it’s life that stakes the stays to all!

The dew upon the rose’s crest defines the truth of living’s best!
In honey sweet of summer’s rain my lays will live beyond my gain
to leave a blessing’s hope for all, as whispered from your kindest call.

To hope, to dream, … to pen it all!

(note – if anybody asks, the “you” in reference is life!)

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Southern Pine

Now the southern pine recedes
in hushing stir past autumn’s morn,
bends each bough in gratitude
as winter’s rush, in distance, born.

She stands beneath the luscious pine
upon a trail where few have stood,
yet few who have engraced this path
hold history here, within the wood.

As evening sun withdraws,
leaving shadows hazed and long,
the voices from the solitude
tell the tale and sing the song…

Where soldiers passed beneath these trees,
when to the call they raised their heads,
where four years later passed again
returning home, both live and dead.

Here is told the memory
of summer hearts’ escape to love
that manifested romance
beneath the fir and pine above.

Here the whispered story sings
in soulful mourning, life’s despair,
where aging brought the hearse to pass
en route to family plots somewhere.

Here a quiet tune is stretched
for poet’s pause to draw it in,
who by this wood found solace,
who brought it to the page and pen.

For here the path so few have trod
has relished in its history,
by forest musk and dim decay
has carried life’s sweet mystery.

She stands beneath the alpine boughs,
upon this path in silence poised,
witness to the whispered calls
that sing in history’s pains and joys.

As the sun sinks lower
and shadows stretch across the wood,
she gently bows before the pines,
here, where long they’ve stood.

So to home she turns in peace,
grateful for this sweet release,
thankful for the moments there,
small, beneath the southern pines,
engraced within their care.

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Winter’s Vale

Upon this gilded crest I stand
where winter’s dancing dress adorns
the regal length of dale below,
skirting foothills, neatly worn.

A split rail fence, in signature,
defines a wild and aging seam
that hems this ageless beauty,
proposing hope, exposing dreams.

Coyly courting winter comes,
dressed in softened white and grey,
shy and timid tucked behind
the granite range and soft woods fray.

Yet the valley stands unmoved,
flirtations feigned unnoticed there,
coaxing slowly winter’s sum
to speak in cooling wisps of air.

Between the knees of foothills rolls
a slow progression, crystal white,
gathered low across the vale
caressing with a love, a light.

Above the hush approaching,
the sky recedes in charcoal black,
wraps the moment’s solitude,
granting solace, stealing back.

Winter finds its bolder self
and rises to a bitter howl
that bursts in sudden hemorrhage
of driven snow and gusty growls.

How innocent here the valley lays,
silent in the storm,
subdued in gathering crystal white,
enrobed as winter’s wife, and warm.

I deny my presence
to the sensuous play beyond my stance,
chased from this my borrowed perch
to let this moment’s pleasure dance
and let this moment turn,
where what the season’s changing brings
is what this vale so deeply yearns.

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

Autumn’s Ebbing Call

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On edge of autumn’s ebbing call
I pause to hear a solemn hush
that breathes in whispered stance between
sweet fading fall and winter’s rush.

Beyond this colored glory,
the burnished hues of tarnished gold
rouse the empty field in story
when verdant dell and rill still rolled,
when cottonwood and willow cooled the heat of summer’s grace,
when fawn and doe stood still in wonder among the shadows green with lace,
when calling birds stilled the current of summer’s flux beneath their wings,
when comfort came at river’s edge, when brooks would play and gently sing.

At edge of autumn’s field I stand,
witness to the season’s steep,
where browning grasses gather dreams and tuck the meadow in for sleep,
where giants drop their memories in gold about their feet,
where streams decline to whisper words of songs they can’t repeat,
where raining ochre golden reds dry the azure barren blue,
where every breath is held in hush pulling near each moment true.

I stand in quiet submission,
drawn in part by passing time,
coerced to close this phase of life
and calmly lay it down in rhyme.
This present held in honor,
my nod, respect, from one who knows
that spring will once more hold them
beyond the coming winter snows.

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Send Me Back

Send me back in time to be the one you wanted there.
Bend my longing eyes to find your loving heart, standing bare.
Find the pulse, quickened beat, break reluctance then repeat till what is left of us is true, no doubt of fate, just me and you.

Rip the questioned fabric down revealing only youth.
Burn the closets, melt the crowns, sell the spoils for truth.
Reach to me, smile your eyes, hold me fixed in lullabies that dream the dream of what we know, held there in such afterglow.

Grant the sleep that lovers know when all the world has vanished.
Heap our hearts in pyre’s show denying fate by futures banished.
Hold in wisps my silhouette as leaving earth our lives forget the years apart transfixed by life, knowing that you were my wife, and eternally my lover.

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Filed under Dreams, Perspective, Poetry, True Love, Universal Soul

Southbound

“Southbound!” calls my rolling heart as sunlight stretches shadows long to fall across this country road, strobing rhythmic beats in song.

Mountains silhouetted west, stack in charcoal violet hues, march through heaven’s open gate, wave on wave, ascending blues.

Late September’s fragile warmth will hold till dusk then grant no more of season’s captured clarity, where all rejoice to fly and soar.

The wind caresses gently, each greying strand upon my head as subtle farms just slip by leaving dells of green instead.

The V-Twin roar seduced to purr and smile in golden sunlit chrome grants me peace in witness of this autumn’s eve returning home.

“Southbound!” calls the road in rhythm cross the tracks and through the turns where twin pipes echo thunder through each memory herein earned.

Singing lanes where time abstains from senseless aging stalls, releases such a symphony of sound and light and highway calls…. “Southbound!”

This thread runs on forever, eternal in this timeless play where sun and road and peace of mind ride immortal roads that stay “Southbound!”

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