Category Archives: Poetry

Lead

Thin line formed by those who know,
attracting those who know,
giving of their very core
to help the mass that doesn’t know…

Deep within the core of we,
a fabric bathed in soul,
that looks toward horizon,
that stands to lead where few will go.

Heavy burden carried quiet,
not a thought of “why” it’s done,
yet granted love in living’s moment
to lift and calm the worried sum.

At core, in every fiber,
we know it in our hearts,
this calling so belongs to us,
to lead and gather up the parts
of that which falls around us,
be it soul or act or wind,
that so upon this living field
we guide the hearts of men.

In twos we find each other,
in pairs we balance what we know
of what we’ve learned in life as one,
and what alone as two we show.

Balance, counter-balance,
by twos we change the world,
strength to ebb and recover strength,
in twos can such a power unfurl.

Saving lives through action,
mending lives through words,
calming spirits through simple glances,
till every ache and ailment cured.

As two who know the calling,
bathed in soulful fabric, shared –
the strength of both may burden one
when one is without its living pair.
Yet strong the stitch and weave endures
and pulls to balance, centered again,
that strength of two will right itself,
their fabric such, will always mend…
that not Newton’s motion or outside force
so worked upon in any sense
can undo the core of one or two,
but Newton, such to two will bend…

It’s in you and you know it.
You feel your strength in every day.
You feel the universe unfold and roll
at your feet as if to say,
“I’m here for you and all you are
and all you hope to be,
is mine to give at your request
for the core of you is me.
You lead for you’re beloved,
and love’s your strongest gift,
that when you’re two with soul as one,
no grief or burden can’t you lift.”

Believe the simple truth you know,
you’ve always known its strength.
Lead by what is best in you
till that’s all that’s left, at length.

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Filed under Poetry, Universal Soul

January

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Silent sun in winter’s cold draws hard the crystal white,
refines the edge of focus there, defines a sharper edge to light.

Every step and trace recorded through imprint left in powdered art
so calls the silence in subtle crunch, yet echoes short within the heart
of such a winter’s day.

Every frozen crystal, as if by God so gently placed.
Every dew drop manifest to kindly cling and paint the face
of all I see around me.

Yet every moment held in peace against the winter azure sky,
every temporal piece of life, about its day with a “why” –

So crisp this definition, in what I hold within this season’s frozen fold.

My deep appreciation so bathes my soul in nature’s heart,
leaves me lacking nothing, but knowing this, I am a part
and here I do belong.
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Filed under Nature, Photography, Poetry

Teardrop’s Honor

What teardrop’s lines in honor hold
are more than I can bear,
when witnessed in the eyes of mother’s
weeping through such deep despair.

For them my heart is broken,
for them I give my deepest prayer.
No word or act or motion
can begin to mend the rending there
that claws at love innate,
love born in womb and born of soul
of mothers whose sweet loves, now gone,
shudder every moment on
and shake in disbelief,
fall in heaps of deepest grief
when every moment, every sight
denies their hope, denies their right,
befriends an aching heart to cope,
yet only echoes pain –
of last words spoken, last hug and kiss,
last kindest little token
granted from sweet childhood’s bliss.

Such rage confounds my spirit,
no line of thought can bring the “why”.
I seek for resolution, so absurd,
yet still I try –

What blackness fills this world now?
What mantra does such evil chant?
What sickened heart has found this world?
What soulless evil does it incant?

“Fear not!”, I try to cling to,
as in prayer and in action seek
to persuade a better world around me,
influence hope and love to keep –
Defeat the sickened “ick” of hate,
replace it with the kindest words
that echo only caring,
thus give to life what life deserves –
No senseless tears upon a mother’s cheek…

In reflection of the Newtown, Connecticut Tragedy – 14-Dec-2012

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Filed under Memory, Poetry

Melancholy Season

Melancholy reigns this season in,
twixt giving thanks and old year’s end –
oddly, why?

Quiet is the repose of piano echoing through my mind,
haunting hollow of chord resolved to single key left in time.
Fence posts along this lonely lane, silver stark in solitude,
grace the reaching dusty purpose of this road so lined in perpetude.
Strangely lush the season turns as snowfall drapes and smoothes the lines
that converge at road’s surreal horizon that holds the echoed key in time.

Hushed this world becomes, yet holds alive the echoed tune
that plays its chords across my mind and draws me deep into the wound
of season’s stoic standing here.

Silent snow in drifting, flits a gentle welcome within the woods,
so draws a gentle footstep where drift my thoughts to feel the good
of this season’s melancholy, dear.

Poignant keys regard these trees, echoed in my mind and soul,
and so fulfills my aching heart, relieves the winter’s cold.
Here in winter’s wood, between the dance of snow and hush,
the melancholy of this season enrobes my spirit, delivers trust
that tho’ the days reduce to shadows, it’s peace in whispers given here,
that I find solace between the thanks and old year’s end, so near.

There for weeks between, my memory and spirit stay
with echoed keys of one piano, dancing through the thoughts I play.
For it is this season’s purpose to pull my heart to nature’s deep,
grant my soul the love of God, whose whispers and kind heart I keep.
That is why –

25-Nov-2012

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Filed under Nature, Poetry

Brooks 23

The day, in somber grey, yet clear and cold, a January gift, forms a shadowed curtain of question, of what’s uncertain around me and those now standing here. Cold winter’s breeze, broken sun and sienna shadows – coats and scarves and dresses blow, flapping black, midst watery eyes and reddened noses. They wait… we wait… to humbly let us in, by our own stiffened procession, past memory cards, photos, guest register and pen.

In the distance beyond the foyer, his image pronounced largely midst flowers, lights and the wall, past the glass curtain set there. So many, so full, yet behind me the line is eternal, of those here to pay their respect, to trade a sorrowful heart for a memory, trade to hope from regret.
I wonder if I’ve grown calloused, my emotions are real and on my sleeve, but this pain is nothing new to me. So many I’ve given back, so many, so close…

Yet in this crowd of caring souls I see the faces of children I know, now grown, now boldly standing in their own paths – young adults bound here, for this moment, this January afternoon, as one. I see Seth and Alex and Gabe and Chris and Matt and so many more… and Ben… I recall them young, unaware, unafraid, children with a safe home calling – warm, quiet, confident home… Yet today – they stand as men… together and yet alone. Each on their path, seeing the world from their own eyes, through their own life’s experiences. Together, facing a reality none ever expected they’d share. Their faces are long and somber – their youth denies them their age, and moments turn to eons before my eyes – they all look so tired, so old. In these expressions I see their pain, only relieved by the stories of memories shared… of the one now gone… laughter, tears, gasps and grappling for strength to pull them forward… they each see this from different eyes – yet all the same – collectively, as something more beautiful than the whole – it’s love I see – for each other, for life, for what they’ve lost, for the trials, the triumphs, the lessons learned from mistakes – but mostly for the hope that they share, a better strength and hope for tomorrow…

… names are called, and answered in roll… standing one by one, … but one … “Benjamin Scott Brooksmith”… again … again … The momentary silence between the calling crushes my will to endure and the tears come – and like a heaven sent thunder, bagpipes begin… “Amazing Grace” pounds like the beat of a heart in despair… The young men stand there, endure their own grief… some wavering, some grasping to stand steady, some with head hung long, and some tall and accepting… The pipes end and I feel weightless, off the cliff and over the edge – it is done…

We gathered to remember, to share our grief, to find consolation for our souls, to seek an understanding…

We found the strong echoes of love!

I found these children grown, baptized by life, confirmed in peace, and set free as a generation.
The cold day hasn’t changed outside… January sun betrayed by her bitter wind. Hugs and whispers… tears toward the door…

The walk back to my truck is empty – carved hollow by the blank echoes of footsteps – retracting to the fabric of life… moving on in time without choice. The moments have come and gone – only memories remain… … as I drive, it seems that all the world is empty and everyone I see grieves with me, and understands – The music playing seems to speak to my aching heart, my vision of those young faces… every lyric seems pointed in meaning – and the voice there dips in and out of the voices of my long passed brothers, father, mother…

.. the day is grey with January sun and cold… I fell tired, I feel old…

God bless them all –

God bless Ben.

J. Blue – 25-Jan-2010

In loving memory – 3 years later – the young men and women I know, have all risen to the calling of each of their lives, although two more left their midst in that time. I’m proud of them all. Love them all dearly.
J. Blue – 20-Jan-2013

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Filed under Family, Memory, Poetry

Heart’s Red Leaves

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Red along the pond’s edge path,
reflections stolen, frozen fast
in glass, in trance against this sky –

Contrast white on blue –

Polished chrome, no stone
disturbs the water –

Heart’s blood leaves
in quaking, heave
a whispered drift to set a subtle wrinkle,
throws the blue on white to stand,
calls me, takes my hand
as golden drops in feathered flight
alight.

All sight is here and for, around me.

Echo still the silent rill
by will of hills
so scaped to cut the knee high grass –
tumble silent to pond below
slow, and show the truth of what I know.

This moment’s gate surrounds me.

I unleashed in metaphor
imbibe in tide of temporal flux,
the crux of just what is,
or gone.

Alone or one, unknown.

Yet summed in seconds dreamed,
redeemed in holy solitude.
The sky, the wood,
where heart’s leaves stood
to dance and so entrance me.

Dream be mine, of life or death,
and yet I can’t recall
how tall I stand or stall
on feet to greet unworldly wonder –

Soft thunder welcomes aging ties,
belies the moments temporal –
leaves a hold,
draws warmth from cold.

Heart and blood so vernal,
autumnal, eternal –

In quiet grace, I face this whole,
my soul embraced, my heart’s blood full.

Herein peace be mine –
of what I am,
what I’ve been through,
eternal blocks of time –

all of me, this rhyme.

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Filed under Nature, Photography, Poetry

Eternal Walls I’ll Climb

In ancient times I’ve held you,
I’ve traveled far, upon the sea or over fields of green,
to return to you from conquests vast,
as viking, knight, and warrior seen.

I’ve traveled through millennia
to right the wrongs of an endless love,
that’s been tragic, lost, removed too young,
yet no distance quells this love.

Neither time, nor earthly displacement
can conquer this kindling fire,
for ours, the very words were written
of a passion and desire
that others mimic Shakespearean,
or prose there crafted on a moonlit night,
for ours, the fabric through all time
to lovers lost or tragic, have bathed in such a light!

Our story lived throughout our lives,
in every historic setting,
has found us here, in each other’s arms,
without a thought’s regretting,
for our story must be told!

For you my love eternal,
eternal walls I’ll climb,
to find you and to love you,
this love is ours, sublime!

Eternally yours…

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Filed under Poetry, True Love

Chapel

Chapel

Steel gray stare,
slunk into the second pew from front,
cold gray skin, gray coat too,
collapsed in disbelief, full slump.

Painful hush of vaulted ceiling,
a breathing, heaving soundless rhythm
silenced by creaking of old pews seeking
another passion gestured hymn.

Golden glow of ancient woods,
framed square to arch kept heights
bathed in shapes of cornice,
hold thereby, chapel ceiling lights

that fold white beams of reflected sun,
break shades of burgundy and amber,
where brilliant smile of brass and gold
defines a humble servant’s candor,

relaxes heart when pains are sold
or drawn toward the highest bitter…
so cry a stale and stupored gray,
to warm a lifetime’s winter.

If there within, such peace be found
where gray despondent days can mend
a frozen soul’s indentured fate,
then rebuild the strength to live again.
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Wyoming Winter Approaching

Milk white sky, foreboding black
looms low, such clouds near mountains rise,
at valley’s edge, these jagged giants
relent to being swallowed whole,
by winter’s snowbound skies.

Where from my lonely perch
atop this valley island mesa,
feel winter’s bite upon the wind,
as errant snowflake passes,
and gives rise to thoughts
of silent nights near fire, hearth and love,
while deep in winter’s thick of it,
snows rage on howls above.

Yet, first courting, this approaching kiss,
of winter’s sweet relenting,
that softly draws a blanket
o’er these sage brush plains, contending
the season’s silent change…

I, in deliberate witness, thus,
watch storm roll out with stealth and hush,
so befriend the valley whiter,
there beckon winds an edge to carry,
in frozen kiss, approach the wary
life that stirs before her…

As the gale blusters forth
and silence holds the white approaching,
my dog and I turn from the north,
descend toward home, with nature’s coaching,
painting winter on its way…

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Voices

I have a voice, it’s mine I know,
distinct to me and for no other,
yet similar tones to mine are shared,
from my father to my brothers.
Yet, my voice in daily trappings
folds, through pitch relaxed or hard at work,
so bends its tone from strength to stress,
and there, behind my true voice lurks
with my heart, and’s rarely seen.

And as my heart, in truest passion,
exudes itself from me, to share
the values I hold close,
to bestow with loving care
upon the ones I so inspire,
or who inspire me,
my voice, does too, exude its truth
when released by heart, its tones to sing.

There within the timbre rings
the truthful tones of who I am,
and how my purpose crafted,
for unique in song
my voice is drawn,
through such, my soul is drafted
into the mix of heartfelt tones,
my diaphragm thus reaching,
to share my soul in spirited voice,
through cambered heights of preaching
strong the craft of God,
in soul felt song,
and there bestow
a voice that’s more of who I am,
and what my soul should show.

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Filed under Family, Poetry