Tag Archives: The Balance

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.

Bow to time in passing tide,
as reed beneath the strong spring’s flow,
in desperate stance against the current,
fingers white not letting go.

Last summer’s ancient memory calls
of standing tall midst songs of thrush,
whistling in the breezes there
that call their tunes in quiet rush.

Autumn faded fast to winter’s
standing cold near bank and glade,
christened stiff in season’s charge,
a soldier of the browning blade.

Yet hope held fast for fervent spring
when last all dues were done,
that here amidst the daffodils
would sweetly hear the spring creek run,
that here the hard earned penance paid
would grant reward near burgeoned spring,
to rejoice “at last I’ve made it!”
while chickadees and warblers sing.

How cruel this unexpected life
that drowns him in the current now,
bound by winter’s run-off,
must to its raging currents bow.

Spring will let to mending roots
of hope now torn from place,
drawn from sun’s sweet giving life
to patch the straining tears that face
the distant threat of winter
while standing midst a summer’s seam
with only hope to focus toward
the healing of his hopes and dream.

Cruel the tide of season’s mix
upon this changing earth,
granting life and death through chance
twixt distant temporal poles of birth.

Balanced o’er the snow white glade
a crescent moon defines the shade
where shadow’s silhouetted stretch
is cast from naked woods that fetch
the sharpest contrast on the white
in shades of blue by winter’s night,
so holds a truth in frost full air
as I in nipped nosed wonder stare
from edge of frozen rill and lea.

How oddly large this moons descends
as slightest arc of gold, transcends
the bitter bite of frost and cold,
denies the naked edge that holds
every living thing in pause
with steely frozen grip, so cause
to take a body back to home,
back to hearth and fire alone,
or back to nest in loving’s keep
where calm to peace and drift to sleep,
but in this slivered warmth I find
no want to leave this scene behind
so on the bank I stay to see.

Such stillness holds the wood in quiet,
that lowly heard, in subtle riot,
the speaking stream below my feet
decries its dreams in babbling sweet,
yet muffled ‘neath the winter’s ice,
still finds the heart to whisper twice
when ask again to please explain,
she hushes out the quiet same
and leaves me dreaming of the spring
where free to jump the banks and sing
beneath the warming sun,
yet frozen here her dreams do run
and here I’ve captured mine.

This lea, this meadow, this honest seam
stretched out across this night’s sweet dream
of frozen rill and diamond dust
of snowflake’s secret love, and trust
to give to crescent moon its spark
in pledge to color bright this dark
and frozen edge of winter’s night,
where from my perch I hold in sight
the elms in shadowed contrast still
that slow the moments by their will,
so stretch the night in lover’s swoon
retreating with the golden moon
behind horizon’s line.

This moment captured, this heart instilled
and with this winter night so filled
with every moment granted true
by silver moon and snow so blue.