Category Archives: True Love

Wedding Poem

In union here, two hearts entwined,
steeped in richest colors shown,
two folds of love, one spirit known,
thus, the braid of life is thine.

Thy spirits and the counter-force,
so juxtaposed in holding fast,
form in circling, reaching dance,
do center love to grow, so cast
a running wake, eternal braid,
till age extends your youth,
and so you’ll live this loving truth
with histories’ smiles behind you laid.

Like sparkling waves, where diamonds cast
of starshine, or moonbeam on a summer’s eve,
your hearts, in bliss, herein conceive
a lifetime’s journey, a sacred past,
that future nights, through eon’s flux,
will so inspire a single star
to shine in kindling, loving fire,
there show your spirits’ love at dusk.

Through this union reached,
this dance of love, your own,
as hearts of two on summer’s beach,
today, this union’s future shown,
your loving light, eternal…

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Daffodils

Where daffodils
once graced the hill
and held the silver rill
compliant,
now rests defined,
through waning time
and starves the course’s rhyme
to silent.

When once across
the lea she tossed
a heartfelt kiss embossed
in love,
now blows a wind
whose stark hands rend
what memory mends
beneath the glove.

Nearby stood
a quiet wood
whose home was good
and honest,
now fills with ghosts
and empty hosts
who echo whisper’s loving toasts
yet fearfully immodest.

Tho’ no truth rolls
across the folds
of meadows in the tolls
of time,
‘tis still these lays
of poetry stay
the lifelong play
of love in rhyme…

For even as the eons blend
a passing state of heart,
heaped upon this histories’ pyre
are hope and dreams, and true love’s start
that held the pausing when he claimed,
“you are mine, eternal”,
and bent the ether’s honest waves
when sure her heart felt love still vernal…

Today is just soliloquy…
today an echo of regret…
today an ancient memory,
passed closed doors that ne’er forget
the daffodils,
the singing rill,
the kiss cross meadow’s lea,
the forest sweet
with cot complete
and every verse of poetry…

It holds the ether’s silence calm
to those who pause to feel…
It offers what is true in love,
for those who need to heal.

In honor of Robert Burns and his “sweet Mary”

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Georgia Station 1943

This summer night so softly calls, beckoning hearts to stay one more, as coyly baited anticipation pulls her past the station’s doors. Upon the platform, stalled in silence, the blue rails disappear through trees that hold this summer’s boundary, that hold this town where loved was pleased. For here life slowed its errant rush and dreams suspended moment’s splendor within the kiss of true love’s blush and all that truest arms can render. Slow and pointed, every kiss, so softly laid in Georgia’s moon, eternal, every moment’s claim, yet still this summer passed too soon, when through the southern pine the call, the orders came and he was gone. Stemmed along these rails of chance, their lives, their hopes, in whispers long.

In full moon’s fire the clouds broke bright in iron blue and angel white. The scent of pine and clay’s red rust held her captive as it must. A long low calling whistle echoes o’er some distant hill, shuddering her stoic courage, flirting with her iron will.

The platform mostly empty now, her one lone bag next to her side. Gabardine in blue and pressed, the rose he gave her tucked inside the fold at hat’s fine piping, that as she stood there still, its fragrance mixed in Georgia pine, stirred by full moon’s hope and will.

And so with time, as time does bend, her fleeting moment’s grasp did rend an echo along the steel railed tracks, that in each passing second stacked each moment spent, each sleepy kiss, each spark from every ember’s bliss, to well a tear divine.

The steam in angry spurts and spouts softened hard the whistle’s scream, as pounding out eternal hopes and stretching long arrival’s dream. The quiet night escaped the scene in unfamiliar porter’s rush, yet… from steeping recollection’s blur, one steam bound sigh reduced to, “hush!… feel the Georgia moon pull strong upon this liquid steel and night, blue in hopes and promise, red in love and blessed in white… hush!”

As she stepped aboard the sighing angel’s bluing heat, she heard her true love’s whisper, faint, “hold my kiss upon your lips until again we meet”…

Slowly left in silence, the platform stark in summer’s moon, as distance dims the pullman’s lantern, this summer’s bliss returns to June.

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One Meadow

What distance does the meadow grant when o’er its lay the anvil sounds in single hammered pings?
What journey does this plea incant as from this village home and ground the smithy’s hammer sings?

Ah!

Such bliss is this sweet pealing kiss of home and all I love.
Yea! My heart, in longing start, carries on the wind as dove.

For there my sweet, in song’s repeat, sings to my soul and to my mind,
that I may soon return to her and in our cottage garden find
her blushing in her quiet song,
singing soft and singing long.

Rapture! Cross this meadow long that carries length upon my stride,
as coursers swift in covenant, will bound me home unto my bride.

Till there upon the garden gate, my longing will no longer wait!
Unto my arms, in blushing charms, our hearts and souls in bliss,
witnessed by the meadow’s cheer, held in love’s eternal kiss!

… beyond it all, a simple call is carried on the wings
of anvil sounds cross meadow’s grounds, whereon the smithy’s hammer sings.

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Passion’s Tide

Stalled in waves of motion,
seduced in grace of ebb and flow,
called to shore’s sweet passion
while caressed in wanton’s undertow,

stacked in silver lines of strand
held free in jealous prison’s hand,
marked by courage fear had won
recalling futures yet to run…

Sordid space between these poles
where earth and time dismiss
the temporal call of love’s red blood
to grant this weightless moment’s bliss

that draws the arc from then and there,
suspends the dream in thoughtless care,
entreats the mortal soul with peace
exposing heart in sweet release…

Bound in breakers, pain of life
demands our courage take us there,
to trust that hopes defined in strife
remain as faith in tatter’s tear,

that we may yield to freedom’s tide,
harbored in the ebbing wide,
beyond the rocks at danger’s peak,
to find the love and truth we seek…

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One Note

Stretched along horizon’s view
resounds the hint of love’s sweet song
that sings the very truth of you,
that holds your note, vibrating long.

In resonance, only purity,
no dissonant echoed tone,
but by your heart’s sweet surety
does hold my heart’s vibration ‘lone.

Beit fate or time surpassed
that keeps this vision clear,
‘tis from this distance you, my lass,
hold me in your one note, clear.

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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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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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Of Greatness Calling

What follows is a Heroic Crown Sonnet (Sonnet Redouble)
The Heroic Crown sonnet is based on a Crown of Sonnets.

A Crown is a sequence of Sonnets usually addressed to one person and/or concerned with a single theme. Each sonnet explores one aspect of the theme. The last line of the previous is used as the first line of the next. The final line of the final sonnet is the first line of the first sonnet.

The Heroic Sonnet then goes one step further in that it consists of a Crown of Sonnets containing fourteen Sonnets. The fifteenth Sonnet is literally the first lines of the previous fourteen Sonnets.

In the case of this Heroic Crown Sonnet, the structure is of an English Sonnet:
Octet (1st 8 lines) in abab, cdcd
Volta (turn)
Sestet (last 6 lines) in efef, gg

~ please enjoy ~

Of Greatness Calling

Sonnet I – The Seed

Herald kings in knightly squares
where light may shine on youth’s one chance
to leave, to hope and earn such wares
beyond the pale eyed squire’s glance.
Find amidst the people’s crowd
one blue eyed boy, blonde and tan,
whose heart beats strong and sorely loud
with dreams of knighthood as a man.
So be a dream at gate’s parade
where sure his heart must hold him still?
Yet dreams tonight in summer’s glade
grow amid his strength and will,
that from his stars and purpose torn,
where through their very nature, born.

 

Sonnet II – The Dream

Where through their very nature, born
are dreams that fatten deepest rest
in granting day and work till worn
that character will strengthen best.
At the plow or cutter’s wheel
the hopeful heroes often sum
in misty bouts of strength and steel
as victors stand and maidens come.
Yet here within the toil of day
the spark of dreamer takes its hold,
begs the boy not look away,
tho’ strain runs deep in winter’s cold,
and pleads to dream beyond such cares,
to hold in hand all virtue’s wares.

 

Sonnet III – Struggle

To hold in hand all virtue’s wares
he scoffs at such inside this fate,
curses that not one star cares
nor grants him more than gifts in hate
that stem from pompous masters,
that coldly leave his scars and burns
that drain his hope in thatch and plasters
within the trades he hates, but learns.
Yet quietly does his courage hide
within the fabric of his heart
that lends acceptance where deride
the work he does in place and part.
For deep within some spark is born,
yet for truth might still be torn.

 

Sonnet IV –Love

Yet for truth might still be torn,
tis love that slowly bends his heart.
By virtues steal and passion born
he dreams of one, and hopes the part.
Yet fancy free is she, he spies,
determined to her eyes impress,
through courage show, yet truth decries
his poverty witnessed in his dress.
Tho’ she’s captured in his smile
she knows no way to meet,
as she is king’s and fortune’s child,
so certain seems her hope’s defeat,
for to her stead and stage be true,
counted royal blood in blue.

 

Sonnet V – Amiss

Counted royal blood in blue.
he slowly comes to know her name.
The princess?!! How could this be true?
So to his cursed stars lays blame.
“What manifest of hope is this
that drains my very heart life’s blood?
When true love granted found amiss,
my stars, my fate is serpent’s blood!”
Yet strength in spirit pure and strong,
he holds to values truth and kind,
hopes still she feels and so does long
to one day be the love he’ll find.
Yet hers in marble stone and wood,
upon ancestors’ greatness stood.

 

Sonnet VI – Fate

Upon ancestors’ greatness stood
the core of king and valiant knight,
where truth and valor granted good
the courage favored through the fight.
Upon a thatched and chimneyed roof
assassin’s arrows were aimed with care
in hopes to kill the king on hoof
as paraded in the courtyard square.
Yet here with purposed work in hand
his stars set blade smith skills to bear
that caught in eye, assassin’s band,
undone before all witness there.
“Dear king, my service bound to you,
by life and living, impure or true”.

 

Sonnet VII – Knight

By life and living, impure or true
the king indebted for his life,
granted knighthood to this son
and gave his daughter’s hand, as wife.
Amazing stars that bend and tell
the story of this poor boys plight,
that brought a heaven from his hell
and granted him his dream of knight.
Be known that he was more than man,
as came to lead a legion’s war,
respect and love at comrade’s hand
propelled in honor something more.
Yet love for those by which he stood
left dead in battlefield or wood.

 

Sonnet VIII – Battle

Left dead in battlefield or wood
were sons and fathers, honest men,
that through each death he understood
the pain of war and battle’s sin.
Into his soul grew great remorse
that questioned why a tyrant’s pride
would rise to steal, or plot a course
to enslave or kill where freedom’s cried!
Till standing tall against the burn
of blackened hate and tyrant’s rage,
his sword raised that all would return,
laid hate to waste, with final page!
His mortal wounds defined it all,
truth and valor stood one tall.

 

Sonnet IX – Death

Truth and valor stood one tall
that free men could denounce the reign
of selfish rage against the call
to live in peace and truth again.
By mortal wound his breathing faint
at deathbed with his wife and love,
blessed by heaven’s stars and saint,
he gave his last to God above,
“I am just a mortal man,
a simple child of your soul,
granted truths to understand
and find the purpose in this role”
Thus passed in arms of true love’s wife,
that songs of glory blessed his life.

 

Sonnet X – Honor

That songs of glory blessed his life,
they sung throughout the village square.
Where now his saddened love and wife
was gathered with her father there.
His honor held in victor’s glory
through poems spoke ripe on every lip.
His duty blessed in valiant story
called from mead and every sip.
Yet still memorial must be true
and captured in the point of light
where what was shared between these two
would timeless stand for honored knight.
So lastly stood in canvas’d call,
in portrait’s frame and honored hall.

 

Sonnet XI – The Portrait

In portrait’s frame and honored hall,
commissioned from the artist’s hand
that knew the boy when once was small,
now knight and honored o’er the land.
With gentle stroke and greatest care,
through eye of love and pigment pure,
brought to life the noble pair,
brought to heart this greatest cure,
that once beheld by king and queen,
once revealed in public square,
could only hold what true loves glean
when hand in hand, ascending there
on stars of love and sweep of life,
ennobled with his queen, his wife.

 

Sonnet XII – Legacy

Ennobled with his queen, his wife,
in portrait’s honored canvas mount,
granted all great hope for life
to strive beyond the simple count
of stars cast far in fate’s lone sky,
to rise to what is great in each,
to never falter or question why,
but rise in spirit and stretch in reach.
For theirs was more than glory,
more than songs and honor’s dove.
Theirs was one of life’s true story
cast from hope and truest love,
that in the couples’ eyes of mirth,
here all shall know his honest worth.

 

Sonnet XIII – Promise

Here all shall know his honest worth
much more than any since before,
as his was granted by his birth
and by the stars from which he tore
a path against what laws had deemed,
a chance to fight for heart’s desire,
the strength to rise when hope it seemed
abandoned heart and life’s bright fire.
Yet here his echo lingers on,
cast that all may rise in same,
that we can fill our fate’s sweet song
and to our better stars lay claim.
So count our souls in honest worth,
by values truth through death, from birth.

 

Sonnet XIV – The Calling

By values truth through death, from birth
we stand to do what’s right.
In such, our voice knows true its worth,
that with that truth we stand to fight
as free men in a world of hate
where tyranny must surely fall,
and loves be lain at heaven’s gate
when heaven proudly gives the call,
that we are bound to life in love,
that we are here to give and learn,
that guided by sweet heaven’s dove
will stand in place, will stand in turn
bestowed with honor’s glory there,
herald kings in knightly squares…

 

Sonnet XV – Crown

Herald kings in knightly squares
there through their very nature, born
to hold in hand all virtue’s wares
that for truth might still be torn.
Counted royal blood in blue
upon ancestors’ greatness stood,
by life and living, impure or true
left dead in battlefield or wood.
Yet truth and valor stood one tall
that songs of glory blessed his life.
In portrait’s frame and honored hall
ennobled with his queen, his wife.
Here all shall know his honest worth
by values truth through death, from birth.

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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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