My poems

Death & Dreams
Snow blindly wisps around the freezing air,
Falling, swirling towards death (sleep).
Grey sky like eerie canvass, plays backdrop,
The oneiric scene develops below.
Slow movements of a man made with muffled sound –dirt.
The orange glow of a lantern fills space – dirt fills space of death (sleep).

Burgeoning clouds hang low,
Hovering like prophetic dreams (eternity).
They leave a residue; a film covering the mind.
One that lingers in the cold part, the darkened part,
Where it is so very hard to shake.

Cube of Time
Cube of Time, Death grows small; Figure
in the distance, an echo’ed
Shade.  Dreaming, fading bells afar,
vibrating o’er the damp’ed  land.
Fens, the Fens, moistened Fens await
as Death slowly trapes.  His black cloak
gauzily tickles the dead weeds,
and too, the mist, away, away.
Follow, with me, whispers Night’s slave.

Portion of Time, this space half-starved
with crumbling stones and filtered
light. Accompany you, I will,
through this place and throughout this time.
For this life, accept me my fate.

The mist in the heavy Air spins – small, damp light dims.
The tinny ring of the portcullis resonates – the ding of metal – it shuts.
How shall I enter this quiet place?
But, to wander on, a traveler must; crack open the gate and scrape the remains.
A crow waits, wings folded over and straight.
I leave this silence, this glowing silence not in a redoubtable state.

She Cannot Stay
She cannot stay, she cannot fight again.
Her struggle ceases, then she grows so still.

The warmth still rises from her body, but
No longer can she gaze out of brown eyes.

The red blood seeps out, stains the grass around.
Knife, silver, flashes, slices, ripping all.

A small bay, faintly, is heard from the brush.
A whimper, a whine, a sad breathy howl.

Dark shapes that surround her mother, so proud,
They quickly remove their coveted prize.

The blackness creeps in, the night insects wail.
No more can she hear, more comforting sounds.

Nudging the form, now cold, now gone, now dead,
The baby now sits, now waits with no sleep.

The days pass, nights pass, there is no respite.
The sadness is high, her hunger is strong.

Soft hands, cool water, another strange smell.
The baby is found, she is still alive.

Confused she is, and resigned to her fate.
Warm blanket, new home, some fresh tasting milk.

Sleep comes slowly and is haunted by fear.
Hands and voices offer some hope for her.

Taken out of the wild, taken her child.
One cruel act was done, let none haunt her more.

Dream (I)
Such sweet, intangible mist,
Foggy, hidden dream – I grasp at fragments.
Come back, remember me there,
Immersed, surrounded and calm –
Let me return and escape.

From a Gaul
My Lady, my Sun – here I will lay my lament:
Baubles of pearls, strung thru dark hair,
Layers of gold unmistakably threaded thru folds of muslin, sheer and smooth.
Your jewels, my duty, your touch, my desire.

My heart beats proud, your lips
Speak the same.
Eloquent, gifted, sensuous – they lay coiled in wait –
For a chance to enchant, to enlighten, to order and command the Fates.

My strength, your safety, my loyalty, your kingdom – once attained never to be forsworn.
Time will not ravage your splendid face, nor will Forever allow me to remain at thy side.

Patroness mine, you stand with redoubtable will,
Thou art goddess, I, thy slave.
Release me now from Love’s unrequited, unending grasp.

Green ‘scades roll before me, yea,
Draped in thin mist they wait.
Below lay tomb and dimly lit crypt.
Mortal flesh once; now, judged alone by Time.

Grey skies permit rain to land,
To pelt and pool on the stones.
The graves, wet and silent still,
Call out with a voice that is no longer heard.

Hear the slow toll of an iron bell;
Smell the damp, cold, muddy, misty earth.
Between realms.
Move slowly over the fields, the distance offers no solace.
There are hills and low hanging fog; like shrouds, so hazy they are.
Keep walking and there is no more sound.
The half covered sun has released you from Time.
This place cannot move, but you cannot stay amongst
Black trees, green grass and eternal grey.

Jardin des Tuileries
Closed eyes, warm breath of air;
Envelopes this bright Orb.
City of Light, City of the Golden Day – and all that shines;
Your constructed effulgence pays this wild Beauty her dew.

Continue down the avenue of leafy sentinels, the tan Earth
Softens your footfalls and leads you onward.
The soigne statues gaze downward, while the spouting fountains spray into ocean blue pools.
To smell the air delights the senses; another place no one can take me that is more fair.

Shimmer on the sea of thought,
Gust of air on the beating heart.
Sweet aroma that intoxicates the bones
Of a lover full of hope.
A touch so soft, it could be missed,
Be ever mine.
A love so strong, so deeply destined, to elate while the
Stars fell from the sky.

Rays of sun, droplets of rain.
Spring winds move the water and the still-bare trees.
This milieu of forces cause one to see slightly differently,
I see, before me, only infinity.
The colors, hazy, form an arc across the sky.
The colors of light were made before eyes were able to see them,

Light, colors, made for all eternity.
The dance of drops and sun defy mortal imaginings,
Destined to endure long after we leave –They linger in their graceful pattern; as has been done
Since Earth’s time began.

I meet the passenger as he passes by,
There is no better greeting than to sit upon the stones
To chat and converse a while.
The breathy air, however moist, can send a chill.
But notice not we, that can tarry and make merry for a bit.
Far away you can hear the crow’s caw, loud and shrill.
It remains hard to tell, sitting amongst the hedgerows,
Whether we shall happen to greet again.
Matters not, this; right now we are amongst friends.

Spain (I)
The blue grey horizon kisses the
Brown, dusty hills.
Short shrubs, dim light and
The day starts anew.
Travelling I am, Traveller I will,
Be, across this new land – dotted with small trees.

If I could jump into Woman’s head, I’d ask her to say her name.
I’d insist she yelled it back to me. Owning.
And I would say to her,

You are yours, and yours alone.
Nothing you are, nothing you give, nothing you have belongs to another.
You are yours, and yours alone.

The grievous moment when you lost your voice, humanity lost its way.
The askewed ages we’ve endured, were never supposed to be.
From that break in time, humanity has lived wrongly, badly.
Know that, and know the power that comes from it, your power
Is essential.

Your worth is immeasurable, your value is unknowable;
No one can put a price on the life of a giver, a creator, a doer, a lover, a healer.

You are yours, and yours alone.
Nothing you are, nothing you give, nothing you have belongs to another.
You are yours, and yours alone.

Now, understand with me, that it is you who are important, you who are deserving.
You have a right, a right to own;

Yell back to me,
I am mine, and mine alone.
Nothing I am, nothing I give, nothing I have belongs to another.
I am mine, and mine alone.

Yell to me your name, Woman.

A path
A path is not always straight, and never quite clear.
My footprints leave marks in the soft earth, but with no guide,
where shall I tread?
My tracks split off along the way,
and unsure.
Some trail quickly,
others reluctantly,
back to my life’s muddled road.
Some, go ever on their way, still walking beside me.
My path is hidden, that I know.
Full of shadows, full of hope.
Do I trust my heart to guide me?

Snow (I)
Snowflakes swirl, bounce and drift.
Falling, full of Grace, Serenity, and
Endless circles, written in columns of air.
Building, one flake at a time, a blanket below.
Full of Peace they float, sometimes slow,
sometimes fast.
Their landing, a quiet mantra of snow.

Aware of me
My breath, makes me aware,
allows my mind to speak from the deep.

It rouses my soul, stirs my heart.
Connecting my fibers from this world, to That.
In and out, up and down.

The gathering presence swirls within me, amongst me, through me.
My heartbeat and soul are connected at last,
And I am aware,

Snow (II)
Out my window the snowflakes dance.
From my tower I watch them fleet,
fly –
on the frosty back of the Western Wind.
Their mistress is fickle and cold, not caring where they blow.
Chaos; wonderful, unchecked, to the ground below.
My mistress is too, as frigid; but I am frozen, slowed.
Left to regret a life owed.

Snow (III)
In the cavernous place where I house my old memories,
I regularly, easily, can recall one.
Of childhood, and snow; of cold, and warmth and nights below.

The light spills onto the snow, down from the bright moon.
It illuminates the ice crusted night.

Then, a dark, second floor room.
A  radiator streams out warmth.
In my small bed I lay next to it, listening to its gentle clicking sounds.
A soft green Christmas candle is lit, shining from my window to the world beyond.

The houses on the other side, snow covered and still, waiting.
Resting.  They are suspended in this Time.

The shock of cold when I touch the pane.
A world, hushed.
Unmoving for coldness, night and snow.

Looking out into the night, my child-self is awed.
So cold and distant is Out There, so warm and safe In Here.

When I need to, I recall that scene, touch it, and draw it close.
I close my eyes, and I’m looking out my bedroom window on that eve close to Christmas,
The stillness, perfect. The fallen snow, peaceful.
A memory forever locked in Time.


Snow (IV)
The sunshine seems to slow the flakes.
They halt their dance,
and glance,
for a moment in space.

The oak’s bare limbs scatter the early Spring light
onto tender greens.
The lichen observes
the rabbit, and waits.
And the trees listen.
The last chilly breeze means nothing
to the wing of the robin.
Poised, she sings.

Wedding poem
Let the lovers walk, side by side
forever towards eternity.
Confident together, defy the ages of Time.

My demons drip down greened fangs,
tarnished with time;
that grip and strangle old dreams,
that slowly die.
They feast on my wants, on what my soul craves;
They devour my being and destroy my flame;
Incessant, they linger,
they lurk in my thoughts,
they prowl on the edge of awareness.
And clamor with the chorus so strong:
No. Nothing. Gone.

The end of days,
An end to time.
Banished from this place,
I welcome, just fine.

Here is where my torment stays,
never touched again; supine.
My heart speaks, it is no race,
simply be, and find your divine.

Winter Solstice
The shortness of the day
The bleak midwinter gray
Glints of light
from the tip of the icicle
To the hard earth
pooling and collecting, they lay.

Appalachian Air
Cool smell of the air
breeze moves the fir trees, and parts my lips.
Drops of water gently slip onto the old stone.
Moss grows slowly– and stays.
I’ll wait.

Memories on my tongue,
Embraces long gone
Heavy thoughts like the rolling mountains,

Day Before Thanksgiving

Racing home down the hill at half day,
It was time for Thanksgiving holiday.
Fun with cousins was on its way,
Along with turkey, light shows, campfires, and loads of play.
Who let me grow up, and let my spirit drift away,
Left with memories, I wish could stay,
I wish it could repeat, but it won’t, no matter how I pray.

To a friend
Loyalty is earned, and not easily restored once lost, or forgotten.
Moving on doesn’t destroy it, neglect and willful ignorance aide with that.
Once a fiercely burning flame can die off over time if not cared for, and loved.
It does not fleet back, restored, and young again at a willful beckon.
It feels disingenuous to return, to pick up, after so much time and silence has gone by.
There’s so much to be said that never will be, that cannot be.
Times moves us all along.
But don’t ask me to pretend.
Loyalty cannot be faked, and I will not wear a mask.

Going Inside
Voyage inward to see your mind’s eye,
from the inside out.
Your voice resonates,
in timbrous echoes.
Hear it,
as it moves through the depths of your soul,

The mind and body are connected,
by this sound
floating in the sea between consciousness.
It happens in a moment,
a single breath.
It can last for eternity
when stillness is welcomed.

A Breath
Infinity rests between the crests and troughs
of a wave.
It is measured in the stillness of morning,
before the birds awake.
And it is heard in the silence of time,
when flowers reclaim their space.

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