Category Archives: Universal Soul

September 3, 2014 · 4:22 am

For Those I’ve Lost

This time in life is granted only excerpts from the greater toll
that beckons in its rhythm, moments for a wanting soul,
to live, to gain, to give through pain,
to know the love of those who love and in it never feel the drain
of moments bound to dust.

For time is short in living, our pleasures mount our memory,
that in the end at final breath we count them all in reverie.

The souls we touch are here for us, each blessing granted in return,
that when we give of what we know we share the things we most must learn.

Some I’ve known have slipped beyond the current’s blood of beating heart,
yet each in turn gave gracefully a blessing sweet, instilled as art
in loving what their time did grant, in knowing kindness true,
in setting place for time again to sit and talk a few.

I know in true reflection that my silence seems quite empty now,
but grief is for the living, yet through it, all I see is how
they touched me with their gentle hands, and smiled form their truest source,
so granted me a piece of God in whispers held along my course.

Yet still the echoes’ silence rings when by their empty home I pass,
and sadness fills the emptiness that I must hold for them, alas…
it is my purpose rent for them, recalling all the times we knew,
recalling conversations long, now seeming much too few.

God grant them peace and blessings, grant the love for them I show,
hold them close in comfort knowing that the best in them is what I know.

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September 3, 2014 · 3:43 am

Soul Mates

There is a line that stands in time
between two lonely hearts displaced,
there hung by clothespin’s fading care
are hopes on parchment penned by grace
that hold the sweep of hands that keep
the rhythm kind across this space,
pulls the heartstrings bound in pairs
that each will know each other’s face.

When soul on soul is granted
by downbeat of the moving parts,
there comes a living moment’s bliss
between the chords struck for two hearts.

There is a call that beckons all
to seek the gift and soul of one
whose heart in reverberation pulls
the truth of love in anxious sum,
of two that still the simple will
as resonant waves of love undone,
there calms the ether fast and full
that into each sweet life does run.

When soul on soul is lifted
by what our greater spirits know,
then shines the truth of what is meant
by “soul mates” love in what they show.

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July 30, 2014 · 3:52 am

Spanish Moss and Oak

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Bound in time immortal,
framed by bricks once placed with hands
whose duty was an honor,
whose will imbued these walls to stand.

To stand, that is, near sweet ones
as they rest in kind repose,
as stoic hallowed border,
by life entrusted, of time composed.

Time composed ‘neath Spanish moss
draped with love in live oak’s arms,
rests bathed in subtle shades of green
blushing in these southern charms.

Charms that whispered life from home,
life across a sea.
Charms that chance relayed an echo
held in life now free.

Held to time immortal,
where once this fading dream was spoke,
will to dust return eternal
‘neath this Spanish moss and oak.

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July 29, 2014 · 3:04 am

Midnight’s Cage

Summer’s rain collects beneath the edge of neon light,
gathered in a rusting pool reflecting sharp the languid night
where only lonely echoes blend last call with none at all,
beckon peace and solace from the last few drops of alcohol.

Cool the stagnant midnight air denies its musk of vapored breath,
sultry in its sticky dew attracts the lonely to a death
of dreams in steaming thunder burst, adrift in late night’s pleasure,
where sordid wisps of booze and flesh tarnish what the hope does treasure.

Beyond it all the pavement sings a wet and whining tune,
stroked by wheels of yellow cabs and puddles thick with summer’s moon
that lay the time to distance across the square through the town,
folds the lonely summer night into its haunts and sleeping gown.

Quiet rends the neon’s buzz to silence with a blink and fade,
leaving only yellow moon reflecting in the puddles made,
where summer’s rain collects in rusting pools at flirting’s stage,
lifting now the errant mask of midnight’s’ lonely cage.

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July 28, 2014 · 2:51 am

Good Summer

Softly drifts the summer’s hush
that dearly holds the moments still,
while willow leaves, in rhythm captured,
relent to memory’s greater will.

Bathed in scents of summer green,
as waning light gives way to dusk,
through garden’s verdant flush is twilled,
delivered sweet as warm day’s musk,

till here, in rest, retires…

Fresh cut summer grass,
ripened sweet tomato vine,
lavender in burgeoned bloom
adrift the dreams I call as mine.

Upon this season’s moment caught
I poll my histories’ waking,
recall these scents and breezes blushed
amidst the points of my own making…

Now sit…

Imbibe such sweet elixir,
grant my swim into the fold,
here moments passed form truth and treasure
to all the love and life I hold.

Good summer…

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June 23, 2014 · 4:01 am

Grace

Simple tho’ the waves retain their calling of the shore,
they bath in love’s inflection, reflected through the wanting more,
in constant gentle lapping, in soft seduction’s kiss,
they fold, unfold, recede to rise with purpose toward a dreaming bliss.

Coyly how the wind implies its gentle hush between the trees,
whose leaves reply in simple chime, quaking in the rhythm’s breeze,
yet holding fast exhilaration torn between the mounting gusts
that bear the point of rushing love, that blend the balm of forest’s must.

Lonely how the night awakes when to a full moon’s rise it bends
horizon’s light to welcome home that love the night will bright transcend,
and yet again as daybreak threatens night’s sweet secrets held,
it shades the sky in lover’s red and hints of lonely love now quelled.

Sorely how this nature’s want reaches through each passing phase
of light and wind and sea’s emotion surmounting all the lonely plays
that ride on every moment, that hold each flashing point in light,
that dream a dream of exultation, granted by their living right
to love, to want, to feel embrace
and through their own sweet blessing grant this living planet grace.

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June 23, 2014 · 3:03 am

Gossamer Thread

Spun in silence, a silver rhyme
stretched across a pedal’s pose,
captured small in non-assuming
glimpses of a summer’s rose,
whose fragrant folds in burgundy
entreat the kindest living heart,
who gently pulls a threaded line
that there upon sweet life takes part…
in morning’s captured dewdrop,
in midday’s buzzing busy bee,
in evening’s calm and respite…
no grander world or scale will see
or care to ponder longer,
or dream beyond with longing eye,
for by a gossamer thread and rose,
all life transcends us by and by.

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June 17, 2014 · 3:17 am

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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June 11, 2014 · 3:07 am

Posthumously

How do the fleeting moments slide beyond this desperate errant grasp?
How does this waning life of rhyme find a single point to clasp
within the hopes of purpose lain, within the humble want
that dreams of words in echo there
among the flaxen hopes, that haunt
the fabric of every day?

They dance in ether’s lacquered musk,
seduced by what the poet knows,
drunken in their wanton lust
that to the world, designed to show
that every day is bread and wine,
every day mundane,
repeated work in value’s void
is stiff and slanted highway rain.

But there the motivation comes
in anger of such wasted schemes,
that force eventuality paused,
suspended near the hopes and dreams
that greater purpose pricks the poet,
greater purpose pulls his soul,
greater meaning meant for others,
posthumous drifts ‘tween the poles
of temporal lines in lingering,
gestalt wrapped cross the evening sun
that folds a sinner’s dusk in death,
that drives the length toward when it’s done.

Are there points reflected in the mirror of what is God?
Are hints divine across the fabric strong in even, weak in odd?

Is it just too much to dream that sacrifice and duty’s truth will open doors while living?
Or is it just that what is blessed, is best when long since gone, it’s giving?

Oh! How my aching heart decries the hateful mourn of working day!
Oh! How the empty echoes pain the tasks that for tomorrow stay!

How can the soul in living form adjust to less than spirit,
when robbed of moments fleeting points, that ears left passed are few to hear it?

Sad the poet’s recompense that draws the bitter coins to purse,
leaving only two for crossing’s price and dues to pay the hearse.

Yet there upon the rippled Styx the faintest whispers heard,
repeating every lay and rhyme, repeating poet’s every word…

…posthumously.

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May 14, 2014 · 3:44 am

Eyes of Soul

What do I see behind these eyes,
enrapt in living’s echoed timber?
What source in strength of spirit, I,
that burns the questions from mere ember?

What of these eyes that come to me,
in passing daily actions bent
to find their own known mal-affection
that from their living purpose rent?

See do they? See do I?
or do we think we see?
When yet our soul’s sweet purpose rings
in spirituality.

Unknown to me each presence.
Unknown, the purpose each heart seeks.
Unknown, each soul’s sweet resilience.
Unknown, each journey’s triumphed peaks.

Yet to their eyes I look each day
and try to bring approval,
or maybe just a passing smile
for souls behind each pair’s perusal.

I feel the great connection,
the fabric spun from God in life,
in which we bend reflections to
the solving of each other’s strife.

I know sincere inflections stand
in spirit, soul, and human hand.
I know we blend to form the truth
of what is truth, of what we can.

Here now my day light passes,
that from my walking presence lay
a spirit down to sleep in me,
and through my lips in conscious pray,

“Blessed I am through kindness given
and that which I return.
Thankful, as I am in living
for what’s been granted, and what’s been learned.”

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