A multi-faceted Nature’s rite
In Spring can be zephyr
Soft and sweet
As bird’s flight
Or on an Autumn day
Exhilarating delight
Yet in Winter
A chilling, freezing
Storm’s cruel bite
But then, sometimes
in Summer slumber
the wind becomes a mysterious
whisper in the silence
of the night.
#NaturePoetry
I heard an Aunt say, long ago
that she was happy she had only girls
No boys to go to war
She could not bear the thought
of battered bodies and broken bones
of the cold quiet of memorial stone
I saw her girls march off to unknown foxholes
O, was is hell, all right,
as Sherman said
It is of some, but little comfort
to me that my aunt was spared the pain
of knowing
that her girls marched to anguished drums
in silence felt the cannon fire
unseeing saw the blood run red
and wounded, fell in bombed-out shelters
with shattered hearts
O, yes, war is hell,
as Sherman said
Time has found me unfulfilled
Yet, withal, I can keep dreaming.
Why not fairy castles build
Even though it’s only seeming.
For when spatial spires go towering
And the magic spreads its spell
Surely, then, there is a powering
Greater then mere words can tell.
Hope is flowering.
Days
sun-burst
night stars swim
their eternal
rounds
While within
the cocoon
something changes
form
There spellbound
in trance-like
state, enfolded
sleeps
The
hidden
mystery
the chrysalid
heart
The
magic moment comes
when time-dreamed shell
parts
Then
wings forth
life, flight-light
unencumbered
FREE
My daughter, oh, my daughter!
She weaves her dreams around romance plays
With candlelight and strange old tales
Of phantom ships with silver sails.
But
My son, ah my son!
He sighs instead for pirates’ ways
And blood-red cutlasses gleaming bright
In the glare of a pillaged town’s firelight.
Beautiful names of Yucatan,
Agua Azul and Kukulkan,
Land of the Swallow, Cozumel
lilting sounds in bell-like spell
in Spanish, English and Mayan they sing
dream-like songs beckoning
the arm-chair traveler whose heart thrills
to Loltun and City of Hills,
Palenque and Quintana Roo
calling, calling to one who
dreams and dreams with book in hand
of voyaging to an ancient land
with mammoth monuments ages old
and mysterious past in mystic hold
Chichen-Itza and Izamal
who could resist the luring call
of songs like birds winging time’s span:
the musical names of Yucatan.
For the fishers of the dawn seas:
Lonely shore
Frail net
A catch of changelings
#Poetry #ShortPoem
We struggle with the
Metaphor
We mail it out and
Head it for
That unknown gent the
Editor
Who wonders what we
Said it for,
And what, in fact, he
Read it for.
#PoetsandRejection #PoetryHumor #Poetry
From fountainhead
the iridescence springs
no sooner born, beheld
than slipped the fragile snare
#Poetry #ShortPoems
A poet is born, not made.
Yet the poet must be made
once born
the leaven and slow rising
the kneading and shaping
and the baking
heat from the hot, hot oven
before the hunger ease
which is the sharing
the time of feasting
when piece by piece
bread from the heart is torn.
#Poetry #PoetryCommenatary