for upon this autumn evening
when the air is really rather fine
and there is not even a hint of rain
i hum a tune and unzip my coat
now it’s time to let my thoughts tumble
as I walk down winterstone lane
i hear the click clack of my boots upon the cobbles
and brush my gaze past the shopfronts on either side
and now look up to see the twinkling streetlights
see here night is almost nigh
and surely this is a night that’s ripe for poetry
and i say that last aloud as she walks up to where i wait
she pulls her hands from her coat pockets and swiftly hugs me
and i hear her smile as she replies
every night is a night for poetry
especially where you’re involved
so write me something please but first maybe let’s duck in here
and grab a bite to eat
i’m famished and could really use a good beef stew and perhaps
some mashed potatoes too
you read my mind my love
and inwards we go exulting in the warmth that flickers from the hearth
we grab a table by the fireplace and i take her coat and drape it over her chair
and then she sits and then i sit and then we laugh
what now she says tears of joy shining on her face
let’s exult in the glories that surround us
let’s meditate on the paths that brought us here
let’s rejoice in the God who made us
let’s talk until the stars grow faint
and after that let me walk you to your door
do you consider that a proper plan?
i have no complaints she says her eyes sparkling
Tag: poem
Climbing the Old Brick Wall
here we go – a meditation on finer things
maybe a well buttered baked potato
or perhaps lilies and buttercups
or maybe just coffee on the end table
and a candle gently flickering
for it is early enough that my mind still dwells
on last night’s dreams
and the fact that throughout ran a common theme
a light in the darkness
and through the forest running a silver stream
shall I follow and see where it leads?
I turn another page and see words blazing forth
speaking to me of kingdom far
but somehow also near and present
for as my mind dwells on the already but not yet
and ponder on what has been and what shall be
I push aside the thorns and thistles that attempt to bind
and now think on the beauty of Jesus Christ
for i am his and he is mine
and i need no lesser glories
it is only grace that holds my hand
A Mighty Fortress
i would like a dollop of whipped cream this morning good sir
perched on top of my coffee and promising bliss
and then i hope for that wonderful moment
where the dark black bitter swirls with the manna from heaven
and on my tongue it sings
yes please
and across the counter he hands to me the cup and smiles
take this with our compliments you come here often enough
enjoy this on your drive and think of us here toiling
and come again some time just to read and chat
and listen to the morning murmur
i’ll make you another coffee just the way you like it
a new pot from fresh ground dark roast beans
strong and bold and piping hot
and yes with extra whip
She Understands
it’s simply grand sitting here under the big oak
feeling the warmth of the sun upon my face
as i close my eyes and smile
but can it be
i hear music upon the breeze
it sounds of violet and crumbled dreams
violin achingly played
i know the feeling
for sometimes my heart breaks like that too
Forever Next Door Neighbors
red blossoms upon her cheeks
as she exclaims in tones of ecstasy
see here i left only a few hours ago
and now the kitchen sparkles
but more than that
a pot of sauce on the stove
and i see a freshly baked loaf of bread
and some garlic butter
and a wedge of cheese and is that wine
well i do declare
i suppose it just may be dinner time
Alternate
maybe tonight the cafe won’t be empty
for she might walk in that door and make
my day
but perhaps not
i suppose i might make it to the end of my book without being
interrupted
at least i’ll know the ending
Faded Jasmine
I compare my stanzas to that woman’s prose and instinctively feel the gap between
Us that stretches and towers over like a giant sunflower mocking me
Maybe yes it is true that her wells go deeper but that doesn’t assuage my sense of supreme
Inadequacy that simply weighs upon me as a hand upon my shoulder a finger
Scrawling that I am found wanting but perhaps that is ok if my emptiness is filled by the divine
Everlasting water even if she writes lines of such exquisite beauty and did when she was only eighteen so what good am I
Scribbling stories still to be told I suppose and so for now I’ll just turn the page and read another few sentences that play the ivoried keys ever so
Sweetly reminding me of the open door to home at which the candle
Flickers
Signpost
request one more time
kiss upon the brow
see how the stripe splits
the asphalt
blue blinks to green
foreordained
sprinkles of cinnamon
Betrothal
he swirls the spoon around the cup
in counterclockwise circles
as he gazes blankly down
at the countertop
blackness formless may be
but light spoken forth
sparks revelation
a child’s heart turned
a place prepared
he takes another sip of coffee
mind spiraling in clockwise
meditations on eternity
Fading Away
on the rooftop she sits
gazing wearily at the stars
they’re cold she says
just like me
yet a spark of fire
just like me
as she lets drop her hand
brushing the slate
and breathing deep
smoke and fire on the nighttime breeze
Something Weird 