Bare trees anticipate
holding snow – amassed
in silent devotion
to the aesthetic
adorning the view
once green – now
lifeless and worn-
white poinsettias look best
when surrounded by red,
reflections from polished silver
are most notable
in darkness.
dropped ornaments
that shatter live on
as recollected ones,
objects to decorate
our mind’s branches.
between the nothing-dom
and something-ness
the lumens lean,
twisting axes-
a helix
in ideal darkness.
visionary – for both
a twinkle of wonder and awareness
of position-
modest in winds and poses
that once in a blue moon
align with man’s sense of mystery
on a coiling staircase.
shameless, peel back
in brazen arcs your wings-
dormant no more.
eased and alarmed
fire and calm
dark matters-
lights palm
her secrets.
glitter gold,
and watch reflections
patter on,
as specks surround
and attach beyond.
scintillate,
in flashing glows
the ions of your
aureate tongues.
move,
and flicker
until your crests
bestow a shade of flare-
and spread this frenzied
throe upon the night’s
affair.
glisten-
shine so bright,
open up your heart
and write
your songs. They carry on
in spite
of rumbles, chatter,
hate and fright.
envision-
all the world
in cheer
with ringing tones
-crystal clear-
a clarion for all
to hear-
a star
a beacon
-listen.
whereabouts, then do you see
your comfort, lazing –
hushed, set free.
Among the forest wood so tall?
you’d have to climb to view it “all”
And next to this an open glade
with grass and shrubs and little shade-
surrounded by a green brocade.
I’d seek the quietness in space
with wild oats, primrose, queen anne’s lace-
So lay with me in flower blooms
in this, an isolated room
away from plain, removed from fear
staring at the sky, austere
at its inception-
this poem for affection.
In a field of flowers, blue
she wanders free and rapt,
taking in the fragrant hues-
a path she had not mapped.
Gentle hands reach out to blooms
caressing each in passing
and her random walk resumes
in heaven, without asking.
In the same field, ambles he
who takes a different way-
Spying first the large oak tree
that lingers by the quay,
Stolid-fixed- he moves toward
a vast expanse that speaks-
an oceanside of blue has lured
him to the edge he seeks.
Each, their own entrancement made
as journeys intersect-
She, from wand’ring wood to glade
and he, from larger treks.
Both gone seeking greater things
away from their familiar,
Habitating different strings
yet seeking bonds that whisper.
And there on cliff-side, past the glen
two lovers stood, amore and yen-
led there in divergent ways
and destiny to laud and praise.
it is only this –
a single droning way,
a backdrop for breathing, luring and lively
all in red or green or blue-
pink or yellow ribbons that remind us
of someone lost.
it is only this.
a surface, serene and affable
sometimes glowing and thinned
infinite until shattered.
and you step out
bleeding a bit of color
fresh from a palate.
it is only this.
Here I sit, invoking morning’s grace
without a photo to remind me of your face,
I realize each feature in my mind.
The light appears and outlines all the trees
your eyes-they blink, the soul behind them sees
and opens up to me, and then I find
the sky- expanse- turns light from dark to blue.
This advent of your beauty so accrues
and imprints on my memory, all combined.
The subtle pink that sunrise paints a-sky
reveals a blushing temperament, and why
I can’t remember it – in kind.
The flowing chestnut curls that so beguiled
my colored dreams, the shadow of your smile-
they fill my morning view and so remind
me of the gracefulness I laud and rhyme.
Rolling on the floor, a speckled ball of yarn,
chased by cats, and batted back and forth;
’round the chair and wedged so not to budge.
Provocateur, unravel as you will-
the line of thread that travels here and yon-
a serpentine attests your elegance.
A moment’s play- your coil and path supply
diverting pleasure – here and there – unwound
around and ’round the floor you dart.
Between the wall and shelves, in spaces thin
since come to rest – and sameness- yet again
Await to wind and wrap – your future holds
another track, unfurl and ring and flaunt.
*********************
I set out to write a sestina this morning – quite a challenge for a Saturday morning- but the word scheme never quite worked out for me. I ended up with this, which has no formality to it, other than 3 line verses and some nice lines, alliteration, and hopefully some back and forth in the poem. I don’t own a cat, but I suspect watching one play with a ball of yarn might be enjoyable. I was thinking that the yarn might get bored easily if all it had to do was be batted around and unwound until it found a resting place – waiting to be rewound and put into play again.
In a variegated way-
it whispers, being
between the green and cerise.
The faint curls into light
-rhapsodic.
The noise and resonant hinge-
lingered ’til the next breathing sound,
upon which it leans
-rushes-
hasty and crimson into
collections of cadence.
And hushed, redemption
mixes with the blushed-
a new shade of stillness.
********************
Poet’s note – Lest someone reading think that I can’t spell. I wrote this, and then couldn’t think of a title. The poem seemed a bit uneven to me, as I attempted blend sound and color and feeling. I’m not sure I achieved any of it. The whole thing seemed very erratic to me…oh wait… a pun. Great idea.
Taps and Ratamacues 