True Love’s Nature

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On noble plains of grandeur swept,
knee high grasses whose waves have kept
a softened motion ‘neath mountain spires,
perched through tree line midst God’s fire,
is where this love of ours belongs…

In alpine meadow’s fragrant blush
that sets the woods and stream to hush,
where skies transform the azure, gold,
into relief’s eternal fold
of mountain ranges long –
is there where best our love makes song.

For you, my love, have granted
such pleasures sweet this heart of mine,
and in my soul have planted
truth of love and friendship, kind,
that only nature’s wild can dress
the setting honest, when by it, blessed
our lives move on, as one in bliss
of true love’s nature and true love’s kiss.

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Autumnal Dream

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Sweet the silent dew drop lies
bathed in morning’s glory,
held where drying grasses try
to sing their summer’s story.

Surrendered to this seam in time,
season’s change is thus
captured in a fleeting rhyme
reflected in the still pond’s trust.

Sacred scent in quiet kept
to stone the gold yet fatter,
coax the maple’s red, so wept,
and bath this dream of tatters

heaped in drying leaves,
seed adrift to winter’s stock,
bare the trodden footpath brown,
expose the hidden sleeping rocks.

Stolen to this reverie
the tempered sky lays best
of what so few will ever see
and grants the pond’s untold request

to drift a water coloured sigh
across this captured morn’,
bless the eyes in witness here,
as season’s change in image born.

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The Sea

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Angel’s echoed voices ring
in timbre stretched and low,
beg to call all spirits home
across the distant water’s flow.

Soft remorse in beckoning
creams the ether still to air,
draws a waltz of deafened count,
holds the note eternal there.

Softly rolls the surf forgiving
icy cold from black,
gladly bounces dusk’s last winking
as sparkled souls cross ebbing tack.

Deep the voices resonate
and dwindle closed the shrinking light,
call in sorrowful murmurs,
“all souls return, to home, take flight”.

Silence summed in evening’s break,
calm surf entreats the lonely sea
spun in threads of heaven’s mercy,
one hushed string bowed eternally.

“Quiet edge of angel’s making,
grace be called in sea’s deep strand,
bless the souls there in your keeping,
grant them peace in angels’ hands”.

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Autumn Moment

Summer’s stand in fading
draws a sharpness to October air,
sets azure to crystal,
relieves the azimuth arc with care,
till golden embers flit in longer
angled beams of sun and space,
peaks a sense of comfort
when breath stands white before your face…

‘Tis winter’s reach to summer’s feet
that stretches long the fall,
sets the leaves to amber
by the patience that it calls…

‘Tis season’s dark encroaching
on the lesser girth of day,
that sets a hearth of stone to warmth
and shares a cup with those who stay…

Imagination’s setting
by cigar and book and pen,
refines this sweet October night
with hope of snow and wind,
draws the richest pleasure midst
this chair and flesh to hearth,
longs to reach for timelessness
in moments caught and I a part.

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Desert Bones

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Wherein this babbling brook has dried
and left the soul exposed, deride
the pleasures past to hold
and so in kiss strength in repose…

Here dusty soil and stone inlay
a fabric’s pain and mystical,
so mind is held in drifting stare
and lingers, wanton, cynical…

In flaxen desert bluest sky,
the soul attached, contained, will die
and know not of the blue abound,
just dry creek, dust and dying ground.

Thus, slowest haste begins decay
on boney frame splayed prone,
and there between the cactus lay
in bleached white death, alone.

Undisturbed this relic’s scene
where distance, heat, draws tight the string,
that held in tensioned balance here
be bowed that only moments sing
beneath mirage of heat’s distortion,
culled to sound, not last,
amidst the screeching sharp horizon
draws a ghostly moment fast.

Such death in life’s sweet pain, distortion.
The desert’s source, the desert’s wrath,
bleach white these bones, so sweet remorse
in journey’s challenge and failing path.

Herein buds a cactus’ jewel,
herein life returns this fuel,
where all are part, where none alone,
one breath, one heart, one life, one bone…

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Aspen Fold

the road that beckons...

the road that beckons…

When still the summer’s air is held
and road swept dust breathes dry and fair,
when sweet the colored fall’s elixir stands
the musk to focus there
upon the change of season…

‘Tis in the alpine’s aspen folds
where mountain’s heart and nature’s soul
reveal a seam where moments hold
a secret path and reason,
as to “why” your heart is beckoned forth
to lead the path on endless course,
“why” you can’t resist the steps
that pull you toward the shadowed bend,
“why” you thrill in falling leaves
and golden light brought back again.

Drunken steps by autumn’s call
bring childish glee and fear that stalls
the moment for unknowns,
but strikes a chord of going home
when ‘round the bend the lea unfolds
beneath the mountain’s distant stance –
that there on meadow’s edge you dance
without a thought of time…

Yet still the yearning beckons on
as through the field the path lays long
and narrow –
Draws you to the forest edge
where jumping creek and hush are heard,
‘neath rustling gold and kind jay-bird –
to precipice and mountain’s ledge!

… then as you flush in hesitation… it’s there…

across the valley’s whispered song
an honest spark of soul sings on
and thrills you to the marrow!
… and with your soul entwines,
returns the truth you long to find,
graces calm your weary mind
so grants you not a care…

So should it be your soul is called,
or by September’s drive you find
that sweetest gentle winding road
that exits from the corner’s blind…
There be sure you wander wholly
to where your heart is stirred,
and find your simple nature solely
in autumn’s musk and aspen’s word…

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The Parting

A single star on edge of night grants a tender blush to snow
that flits above a granite spire,
caught in dance ‘neath full moon’s fire,
enrapt by starlight’s dance and flow.

A tender love for deepest winter spawns a ray of fire light
that graces full the midnight sky
in brilliant arcs of short lived sighs
and colored wakes of blue and white.

Polar lights court the single star’s ambition toward the north,
so pulses bright in trepidation,
pulls the wind’s anticipation
in dancing snowflakes spiral worth.

This simple star, this hallowed night, atop the snow caked mountain,
holds the blossomed heaven’s smile,
blessed in frozen winter’s wile
that burns the heavens white in fountains.

Lo, the east grows rosy red, burgeoning morning’s call.
This single star drifts to the west
holding midnight winter’s best
and to the mountain appears to fall.

Old Sol in true love reaches forth with kindness toward this one
that reaches back in glimmers
through timeless snow flake shimmers
and blows a winter’s kiss to sun.

One last stretch across the heavens pulls a brilliant arc of light
that lends the evening’s dance to day,
mends the mountain’s cry to play
and sparkles deep for morning’s light.

Through subtle warmth in rising and all that morning keeps,
it’s sadness in this golden charting
that points to two true loves in parting
above the snow blown mountain steeps.

Inspired by the musical composition “The Parting”, by Michael Hoppe

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Bone White

Chattanooga National Military Cemetery

Chattanooga National Military Cemetery

Atop the knoll where cannons keep
a watch for those here lain,
I cast my eyes ‘cross this expanse
of hills where once stood grain.

In aging testimony,
this hallowed ground is turned bone white,
an endless sea of crosses roll
through oaks and summer’s light.

A gentle whisper calls a tune
in timeless, ageless memories,
thus stirs the oak and ash to grant
a moment’s cooling breeze.

The summer’s heat peaks weariness
across my furrowed brow,
yet begs I cross the distance
to feel the hearts around me, now.

To count the rows and call the names
through every battle fought,
to share the living knowledge gained
these wounded hearts have wrought.

Bone white and worn, fading names,
others only numbered souls
lost to season’s secret,
held here ‘tween the oaks and knolls.

‘Tis sad, this lengthened journey,
when reach the distant rows,
many hearts and souls here,
many that I feel I’d know
if only for this fleeting glance
between these steps of mine,
graced to sense their wounded hearts,
touched but for a moment’s time.

Contoured to this hallowed ground
across this rolling distance,
blessed in blood through those who gave,
these crosses bear true witness
that gratitude and honor
are distilled from hearts that fell in fight.
To them this simple blessing,
“God bless these souls beneath bone white”.

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The Mighty Quill

Grand! The mighty feather tears a flurried wind cross the page,
tip of quill enticed to drink, and drunken pours it out in rage!

Rips the fabric white in arcs that smolder in the drying!
Dips its nose again to sneer, and smears emotions in the trying.

Pen in thoughtless hand so stained and blotted by the pain within,
against its will is forced to kill the very page with sin.

Seduced in errant commas, gastric spelling of acrid words,
then bends to touch the love therein with gentle kiss of humming birds.

Then splash! Again is wrought in flurried panic fanfare.
Scratches out a misplaced phrase and stands amidst the blotch to stare…

And there the heart is landed, softly in a sudden thought,
that to the page the pen, in grace, pours a drop of love there wrought.

Tis nothing short of miracle, tis nothing less than mad,
but through the pen and paper, the hand dispelled its core of “sad”.

So the page in smoking honey, grants the pen and quill a rest,
gives the binder’s due in running scratch and scrawl so acquiesced.

Down the pen, corked the well,
closed the book and candle shelled.

Peace… at last.

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This Life Is Proof

Where does the dream of mankind fly,
midst doors of giants and windowed sky?
How deep the love and longing keep
his soulful patience reaching high?
Where does the loudest lightening strike
that draws the heart of man to wake?
And what in fragrant forests keep
his love of nature for his own sake?

‘Tis here in mountains current sweep,
where blood runs thick from heart of God,
where rock and tree and sky compete
to win His smile and therein trod
the open eyes of man in wonder,
upon the depth of love so true,
that kiss in lightening and shout with thunder,
“This life is proof, no more need do!”

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