Tag Archives: Photography

Feathers

Written for dVerse Poetics and tonight’s prompt in the Poet’s Pub – “Come Fly With Me”… a prompt to see the perspective of feathers, in whatever fashion, form, or purpose. I chose to consider those that collect feathers and the thoughts that may just be connected to each one… Enjoy!
dversepoets.com

20160920_192935Feathers

Whispered in a prayer’s hope,
defined, each one, in purpose there,
gathered, placed and balanced gently
through aging dreams she holds with care.

A summer’s dream of love.
A midnight’s waltz beneath the moon.
A Georgia peach in sweetest harvest.
The one who passed too soon.

Coyly nodding to the jar,
the dusts of eons briefly spark,
acknowledging their place in time,
acknowledging this ark
where subtle memories echo,
hushed in pleasures poised release,
dancing dreams in freedom’s hope,
sparkling eyes in flight, in peace.

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Filed under Feathers, Perspective, Photography, Poetry

Her Full Moon Haunt

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Cast across the virgin snow,
a starkly naked silhouette,
contrast black on diamond white,
full moon with no regret.

Thinly, night airs acquiesce
within a hushed reluctant freeze,
draws her limbs above her,
till shadow’s edge is crisply teased.

No sound or whisper wants,
her silent solace, her lonely stead,
grief, a separate solitude
through dreams of summer’s weeping dead.

She stands alone as beauty.
She nurses bold courageous stirs.
She haunts this meadow, her duty
in echoed light that’s solely hers.

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Where First Snows Fly

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Between the hills of time I rise to meet the last of autumn still,
paused at moment’s pondering, with cup in hand near lea and rill.
The morning air does call me to kiss my love, my fall, goodbye,
to trek the path to timber’s edge, to meadow’s cirque where first snows fly.

So gather what I need and must, I set my path to cairns I trust.

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Between the hills of time I walk along the rill that whispers still,
I leave the lea behind me with grateful steps to bless my will.
The grasses dry, and seedless,enwrap the feet of aspen groves
whose spotted bark stands white and bare, midst ruddy leaves heaped up in loaves.

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aad

The summer’s scrub that once was green stands burnt in tarnished autumn red,
portrays a pillow sweetly laid in meadow grass for winter’s bed.
The silent breath of morning prays undisturbed by wind’s caress,
yet joined by quiet prattling of falling leaves released to rest.

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As the hills in confluence meet, the dell’s denied its fold,
leads me cresting rise and roll to stand at valley’s longest hold.
In the distance stand the Massives, the granite Kings and Queens of Earth,
that draw my journey westward in hope to witness winter’s birth.

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As stream’s companion through the valley, I step in quiet contemplation,
drawing every whisper in that speaks anticipation.
At Massive’s knees the valley ends with guarding alpine fir,
whose dense and stretching boughs deny the slightest wind to stir.

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So to climbing stream I must, to lead me to the cairns I trust.

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Above the stream’s sharp climb I find a path that deer and elk must know.
In steps of theirs I follow, ‘til only echoes far below.
There I find the higher road that very few have seen.
There I rest within the sight of Massive King and Queen.

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Through alpine thick, luxurious, I trod with gypsy song in heart
and sing until the green wood rings through echoes harmonized in part.

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As through last twist of trail I climb, I rise upon the final crest,
where blowing snow does kindly greet and hide the Massives grey in dress.
I turn my face from stinging snow as wind whips cold toward autumn’s eye,
now caught between the Court of Kings and crystal azure sky.
Before the stolid cirque I kneel, courage facing King and Queen,
I beseech a moment’s council and beg the sun to grace the scene.

At their feet the marsh stands still, reverent yet commanding,
as I in drying grasses claim the truth of where I’m standing.
In whispered tones and crystal light, winter’s voice asked why I’m here.
With gracious bow and nod I said, “To find if winter’s edge is near.
I’ve come to seek the point of flux where sun and storm cast crystals blue.
I’ve come to vow my love of life and give my thanks to all of you.”

aal

In sudden hush the clouds withdrew! The sun in glowing rays did stream
upon the cirque and meadow’s keep! Upon the face of King and Queen!
Awestruck from my lowly stance I raised my face to God above,
whispered kindly, “thank you! This moment blessed! This life is love!”
Gently in the warming air October’s court drew softly blue
and stood this life in sharp relief against the growing azure hue.

As winter’s force is master in October’s court of King and Queen,
with bows and some relenting, I turned to face the alpine green.
As I walked my path to home, I thought of Autumn’s fade,
knowing well her work was done and winter’s bed was surely made.

Today I gathered what I must along the cairns I’ve come to trust.

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Filed under Mountains, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Universal Soul

Autumn’s Ebbing Call

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On edge of autumn’s ebbing call
I pause to hear a solemn hush
that breathes in whispered stance between
sweet fading fall and winter’s rush.

Beyond this colored glory,
the burnished hues of tarnished gold
rouse the empty field in story
when verdant dell and rill still rolled,
when cottonwood and willow cooled the heat of summer’s grace,
when fawn and doe stood still in wonder among the shadows green with lace,
when calling birds stilled the current of summer’s flux beneath their wings,
when comfort came at river’s edge, when brooks would play and gently sing.

At edge of autumn’s field I stand,
witness to the season’s steep,
where browning grasses gather dreams and tuck the meadow in for sleep,
where giants drop their memories in gold about their feet,
where streams decline to whisper words of songs they can’t repeat,
where raining ochre golden reds dry the azure barren blue,
where every breath is held in hush pulling near each moment true.

I stand in quiet submission,
drawn in part by passing time,
coerced to close this phase of life
and calmly lay it down in rhyme.
This present held in honor,
my nod, respect, from one who knows
that spring will once more hold them
beyond the coming winter snows.

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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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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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Filed under History, Perspective, Photography, Poetry, True Love

Christmas Snow

January

Today, in winter’s first day glory,
I’ve walked ‘neath frozen giants, gold,
held to sun in morning’s story
with midnight’s snow and breezes cold.

By brook in babbling, thawing chorus,
amidst the chirp of Christmas birds,
we pause in awe at sights before us
and listen still for nature’s words.

Through golden grass, o’er muddy field,
a thin and broken Christmas snow
shines bright with morning sun and warming,
dazzling heaven in sparkled show.

My dog and I rest in deepest
woods, at frozen creek bed’s bend,
sit and listen throughout the morning,
that to our spirits this heaven lend
the peace of understanding,
the truth in balance witnessed here.
For us, this soul felt Christmas gift
recalls the blessings brought this year.

Merry Christmas…

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