Tag Archives: journey

The Weathervane

i can promise nothing

i am a rusted weathervane

atop a crumbling church spire

spinning with random gusts

tethered tenuously by tangled wire

..

the shingles below marked by ferruginous stain

a sparrow shelter…a splintered domain

frail fledgling filoplumes gather

in the shadow of a chicane

..

i know not which way I will turn

aligning east, yet… how I yearn

to be free of memory’s corrosive burn

as sunset’s halycon hues

will my flaked metal

suffuse

..

 

The Worm

are you acquainted with tales of tenderness?

voluble versions of vulnerability

from the pen of one

once a child

who would stoop for the lowly earth worm

on a perilous concrete passage

returning him to lush, moist loam

ending such an errant, wayward roam

..

what would you do with him?

alter the cadence of your stride?

..

and what of me?

for I am in your path

and the day is warm

offer me your shadow

there, a soothing darkness

or

threaten me with careless boot?

i’ve crossed such paths before

lulled in poikiloform torpor

..

no, gather me

my annuli traverse your heart line

your palm sensing shuffling setae

tender me to your love…

in tepid torpor, on soporific soil

tangling in such terrestrial toil 

Threnody

some divinations in tea leaves dwell

but I prefer the delicate scatter

of incense flecks on rib curves, swell

the breath between gasp and ashen matter

..

furtively I reassemble the dissonant cinders

yet they meld in stubborn sapient array

the pattern sought, lady destiny hinders

granting one final passionate foray

..

each second embraces a hollow echo

our sighs shaped in somber elegy

lips lock, such a lacquered libretto

will to memory languish, lamentably

..

as eyes fire in this breath held night

we suppress the urge to weep, so fight

against the approaching call of light

then bid you farewell

sweet acolyte

The last word

what shall be your last word spoken

what shall be that last word said

will there be a soft one listening

there beside your final bed

..

or if you would leave on some non descript day

will the word be a mumble as you rush on your way

as you kiss her, fleeting, on a passing cheek

“pickup my dry cleaning, it’s been over a week”

..

week?

..

so much hurrah over baby’s first word

yet of grandad’s last, who knows; no one heard

no one leaned into the crackles of fading breath

to decipher his utterances

welcoming

death

..

what shall be your last word spoken

what shall be that last word said

speak as if that last day arrives

so fleeting is life

on fragile thread

..

For Soriah…. I was listening x

A very special lady joined our Wordpress family less than a month ago…. making immediate friends with her warm words, encouragements and vivacious soul.

Soriah is now preparing her final journey from this mortal coil, and her blog “Poetry and Chocolate” has disappeared into the digital ether.
I was able to briefly re-blog one of her wonderful poems before it slipped away too.

Please wish her well….

Soriah, best wishes on the journey. Remember to dress warm … heaven is surrounded by vast tumbling, iced clouds sweetheart ….. ❤️❤️

Lustre

to the sunrise deprived

and the sunset depleted

rest your eyes, listen to me

make sure you are seated

..

your anemic soul wears aura pale

thirsting for answers of light

circadian constrained, faltering, frail

pupils dimming, desperate for sight

..

so let me describe

in this most wistful scribe

blissed, burnished memories held

of sun’s exquisite horizon meld

..

my beloved misanthrope

these heavens are a pastiche of your dreams

through my exuberant eyes you will gasp

at such

phantasmagoric

scenes

Wilted

I have all the time in the world

for you

Which is to say

I’ve found a little fertile patch of ground

Sheltered from the sear of the day

And there place, with gentle press

You, single seed

In state of pre-pumule* undress

..

But the early spring

Is cooler

than most

And the frigid ground

a near inhospitable host

for your translucent roots

..

So you turn from my hesitant gaze

You course through weeds,

their maze

a convolute of root and thorn

such wayward course, I try to warn

..

you

wilted shoot

I shall not mourn

*The plumule is the part of a seed embryo that develops into the shoot bearing the first true leaves of a plant.