Tag Archives: Memory

For Paris, For Us

Bend the moment upon me.
Steer my heart to mend my soul.
Force the truth to boldly stand that I may feel its hold.

What of this hate enflamed in cause that steals the youth from ancient lives?
What merciless torture waits beyond the face of hatred’s eyes?

I stand in solidarity, but frozen to this day remain.
Can I not move to change the fabric of what this hatred’s lain?
Are words in rage and anger torn upon this page enough?
Is something deep within this well rising ‘gainst the rough
and calloused turn of man that through his selfish rage is born?
Is there nothing here to stem this growth of ancient hatred sworn?

My God! My God! What is this hell that from this heaven’s shore is breached?
Can love return upon the soil where blood was spilled, by God beseeched?

No faith I’ve lost, believe me, but how I can stand still
when through the acts of cowardice we’re forced another bitter pill?

Love, I cry, it’s love say I, that stems the hatred left in wake,
but seems to drift to hollow halls that such these shadows make.

So I pray… for peace,
for some greater understanding,
for hope of resurrection born from all our souls, demanding.

1 Comment

Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry, Uncategorized, Universal Soul

Brothers Grimm

The road stands long before me. I strain to see through setting sun the length to which I must, the pain to where my memory runs.

Cold, the anger bites my heels, clings in dust that sparks with gold. Irons clamped around each step draw blood from ghosts my spirit holds.

I stood to give you vision. I spoke that you might see.
I braved the threat of repercussion which sacrificed your part of me.

The distance casts a silhouette, gaunt and black, sure suffered thin. It stands in crooked posture, paused, disposing hints of wicked grins.

Its tilted hat hides scars of lies spilt from pain set loose. Around its neck of sinew hangs a necktie stretched, a dead man’s noose.

I kept my word to wait for you, to wait to see you rise.
I held my silenced anguish close. I kept my hope behind these eyes.

The stench of flesh decayed and dried whispers through the breathless still, to silence hounds whose snapping teeth tear at my fading will.

Tis death and hell before me. Tis hell and death behind. Yet still I pray the truth may play the queen of hearts and trump death blind.

I cast a soulful hope for you. I prayed you’d find your truth.
I gave all freedom to the pain you pierced into my youth.

Weary coursers bend the sky in streams of black on ochre stains. No step, profound in trying, draws my hopes to free or find this pain.

The road stands long before me. I pray to feel the cool dusk drawn in lengthened shadows calming blush, with you at peace, me waiting dawn.

2 Comments

Filed under Dreams, Perspective, Poetry

This Aging Garden Gate

Hung in hesitation’s poise,
this iron gate denies no friend,
creaks and clangs in phrase of welcome
whenever one walks in.

Here amidst the cold stone wall,
now overgrown in moss and vine,
hangs this aging garden gate,
held to dress this walk, quite fine.

Beneath the years of layers black
in sacred paint applied in trust,
cracks the skin of age and wear
exposing blisters filled with rust.

The slapping latch is worn quite thin.
Her angles softly sagging.
The spring to bring her closed again
strains beneath her weight, just lagging.

Yet through this temporal portal streams
the futures past in longing dreams.
Through her kindest stance has come
the sweetest loves, the greatest sums
of all a man desires…
…angels swept in summer dress…
…devils danced in fire…

Through her constant threshold drifted
words of war, hopes of peace,
worries of life’s certain failings,
prayers for a sweet release.

Now as I, with aging hand,
caress her subtle arabesque,
I quietly gather dreams recalled,
some living, most at rest.

Oh dear friend, my fortunes flowed
across your gentle grace,
calmly calling to this path
that since has aged this place.

Once more I pull her toward me,
my life resounds her echoed call
that soon our futures beckon
toward the fade, toward the fall.

God bless you little gate,
my colored life’s been marked in time
by gracious clangs and creaking,
so set, by you, to living’s rhyme.

Leave a comment

Filed under Memory, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

WWII – in memorial

Once upon a battlefield
I stood where heroes fell,
where brothers, sons and lovers paused
to hear death’s tolling knell.

Once upon an open sea
I sailed where deep remain
the bodies of courageous men
who, by war were sadly slain.

Once upon the azure blue
I drifted through the crimson cloud
where valiant fighters dealt with death
to die alone in sullen shroud.

I’ve felt the moments summoned.
I’ve seen the grave despair.
I’ve witnessed every breath so gained
and every soul laid bare.

I’ve shed a tear not meant for me,
but for the uncaressed
that ne’er again felt warmth of love
before their final rest.

To their souls my prayer,
my honor and my truth,
that they be blessed eternal,
and blessed in memory’s youth!

26 Comments

Filed under History, Memory, Poetry

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.

2 Comments

Filed under Memory, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

The Rose, The Table, The Love, The Time

In ageless hesitation,
the pedals of the rose caress
the lines of time held sweet to rhyme
there poised across the oak’s duress,
that hold this ancient table
as art above its form
and echoes sweet the whispered times
when love engaged it, warm.

Now ‘tween the grains are softened waves
whose crests form black and knurled,
midst stains of life and living spilt
across an age unfurled.

Sweet the musky rose entreats
the golden oak with peace,
dripped from fallen “love me nots”
and broken heart’s release.

Silent stands the aged stem
whose vase has dried and browned
to contrast kind the porcelain
in fissures where life’s time has drowned,
and left the finest web enwrapped
about the fading glaze once white,
now aged and thin as are the hands
that nearby hold one pedal tight.

Held quiet in reflection,
dreams of love entwine her thoughts
as lines of time held sweet to rhyme
drape long across this moment sought,
as oak and rose sustain her
and hold her saddened form,
while echoes sweet in whispered words
enrobe and keep her warm.

4 Comments

Filed under Perspective, Poetry, True Love

Grandfather Clock

Silence drones the space between
the ticking of the clock,
grants eternal patience
swept in pendulum’s play to mock.

The tension of the winding spring
stands the air to crème,
as hopeful hesitation calms
the pensive chimes to dream.

Built to serve a purpose.
Left to witness life.
Counting every breaking hour
twixt sweeps of joy and strife.

Dusted here in tender care
by shaking grey and lucid hands,
in hopes to hear its chimes once more
and toll this hall’s passing, grand,
for yet another hour.

2 Comments

Filed under History, Memory, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul