Tag Archives: The Balance

November

Strained across November’s sky,
unbroken lines that haunt the sigh
of coursers’ wings in gentle hush
that to this barren day give rush
of blood to see them there.

Silver hints amongst the trees
where forest kneels to open lea
to hear the prattling golden grass,
hear each whispered breath sneak past
defined in winter’s care.

Tho’ burgeoning from November’s mood,
the cold and hollow bend the wood,
hold the stoic silence keen
where few a passerby are seen
and fewer yet remain.

That tho’ denied, the autumn’s musk
enchants the air from twig to husk,
mends the turn in hope decayed,
holds to season’s last breath played,
that by the winter gain

a promise for sweet spring’s reprise,
by still endurance and patient eye
may push a sprig through warmer duff,
mix the autumn’s scent with stuff
to bless life’s cycle spent…
fragrant blossom, fragrant scent…

Yet here today hold fast in hope
amidst this season’s depth, must cope
and through this pause remain.

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Grey Wolf

Frozen stance and frozen gaze
held against November’s haze
that claims the forest’s silver blues,
enrobes his shape within the hues
till seems he’s near forgotten.

First good snow, first good dance
that softens rich this lea’s expanse
against the stark November sky
and captures cold the reasons why
he’ll pause where no foot’s trodden.

He claims a step, he claims just two,
lifts his nose to hold in view
black lines across November’s sky
in angles long and hushed wing’s sigh,
he hears the geese in calling…

Calling home, calling free
to stand at forest’s edge and lea,
to hold November’s first white blush
beneath the gentle downy rush
and winter’s season falling.

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The Arc

Spun between two points in time,
vectors balanced to purposed end,
hold truth to chords of life once struck,
and reach to ancient hands does lend.

Therein lies the arc of present
stretched in frozen moment’s flux,
whereby decisions roll the view
to what we witness, what we trust.

Amidst the ether, frozen there,
the works of man and nature framed
in temporal need and thoughts of God,
summed in living’s passioned flame.

The arcs of all free willed in living
do stitch a common temporal fabric,
that pulls, as gravity, twixt motioned arcs,
to influence “now” to peace, or tragic.
There are no failings of interaction
for influence is a duty, thus
enhance those close to see the truth,
share the witness, share the trust.

Peace, compassion in calmness lay
where flux amidst the ether stands
to give a grip to hopeful point,
to shape tomorrow by merit’s hands.

In every moment’s fractioned fraction,
points of choice give rise to lend
every soul a chance to change
the path to future’s arc, and bend
the fabric to a peaceful state,
smooth the wrinkles, soften lines,
there change the world to what we choose,
stretch the hope beyond our time…

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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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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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Alpine Kiss

Across this windswept grand horizon,
nature’s form in lover’s bliss,
mountains stand ‘neath sun in rising,
entreated by this dawn’s sweet kiss.

Rapture lain around my feet,
great blankets green of fir and pine
awaken to this morning’s passion,
call for love of life, and thine!

How shallow could a man’s life be
if not entrusted to nature’s bed
where sensuality heaves in motions
of grandeur swept and sweetness led.

Here in the heart of love’s emotion,
breathing calm this morning breeze,
kindly granted sun’s sweet kiss,
enrobed in green and mountain, pleased…

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Filed under Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry, True Love

Embroidered Soul

Every moment’s living
pull’s a thin red thread of time,
unraveling temporal precepts,
stitching worldly mind.

Embroidered concepts fall away,
their threads drop to the floor,
imaged history just remains
in stains once stitched before.

Collective soul is fabric stretched
across the living span,
tensioned smart by good hearts there
and held by loving hands.

The tapestry, taut, is ours to fill,
ours to so design,
to color by our soul’s sweet purpose
and stitch in finest lines.

Yet blunder we, in stab or two,
tie a knot where none was due,
prick a spirit’s finger there
hope forgiveness grants repair.

But loving souls in holding taut
the fabric of our lives,
do guide the pattern’s tender care
if we, with open eyes
move on toward dreams with love,
move on beyond the fear –
trust in truth the needle’s dance
will grant good stitching here.

On walls in heaven’s quarters hang
the fabrics of our lives,
meant to show our purposed soul
embroidered by the dreams we try.

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The Grebe and the Cat

Upon an autumn’s trail I’ve found
two odd, in strange acquaintance,
a cat and grebe paired face to face
relaxed and in repose,
comparing notes of season’s change
and summer’s last remittance,
conversing deep in subtle tones,
two friends here, I suppose.

The cat an elderly tabby,
scarred from years of living wild,
the grebe with strong appointed brow,
yet mannerisms mild.

Upon my frozen stance they stared,
me in my surprise,
how could man’s wisdom dare compare
to such a meeting wise.

They did not move, but simple gesture
requested I not barge in,
with nod and smile I backed me up
till quietly the two conversed again.

Now could it be in autumn’s magic
my ears and eyes deceived?
as quietly I stood and stared,
their conversation I perceived.

The cat recited Aesop’s story
of the crane and wolf and a bone so stuck,
that from the depth of the wolf’s keen jowls
the crane reached in and the bone did pluck.

The cat went on to warn the grebe
that nature’s law shall be upheld,
and so the wolf might eat the crane
while in his beak the bone he held.

The grebe shook his head and exclaimed,
“Above nature’s law few friendships made,
but you and I are one exception!”,
and so sat down in the autumn shade.

I stood in distant disbelief,
how could a friendship as this endure?
The cat, wild and cantankerous
would love to eat the grebe, for sure.

But there they sat in kind repose,
enjoying autumn’s calming prize,
so I returned upon my path,
with knowledge gained of friendship wise.

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Mountain Valley

Stretched across this mountain valley
and verdant sweeping slopes,
my soul relaxed in ether
bathes in nature’s loves and hopes.

Rich the forest floor in duff –
Loamy scent of fir and earth –
Harmonies on summer’s breeze –
Life whispered in the pine’s true worth –

Mountain meadow flowers bloom
in dreams of water colored hues.
A magpie perched as stoic guard
protects the “awe” ‘neath azure blue.

Through every tensiled fabric,
I sense this life, this current’s blood,
that into this I’m welcomed, drawn,
as soul and heart expand in flood.

Granite spired backdrop –
Sentient babbling brooks –
A pawing fawn yields a nod,
returns my loving looks –

Enraptured here, my spirit slain
by mountain’s giving life,
that I may see the thoughts of God,
and count this land my nature’s wife.

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