Heralds of Heaven – heed my Cry!
I sit down at the end of the row
bowing patiently before
storm approaching
stars bemoaning
all the raveling
these times are suffering
for the pattern groans
the lines deepen
upon her brow how long
oh lord how long
the corn’s a tasseling
lift up your heads
and keep the oil at the brim
not long now
will you sing with me oh stars
will you cry the chorus
the answer comes back cold at first
then clear as heaven’s night
we will sing yes we will sing
no one will be able to stay silent
the everlasting gates fly open
some will wail and some will shout
we the old ones tell this story
yes we will sing when comes
the king of glory
Alleluia Amen
Tag: poetry
Honeycomb
the forest meadow calls to me
in all its sweet wildness
in all its raw simplicity
so i heed the summons
let’s dance amidst the butterflies
let’s soak up the last of summer’s sun
perhaps you hear the thunder roll
and wonder at the storm resplendent
but please my love don’t tremble
i’ll do my best to keep you warm
we sit on a log at the end of years
fingers interlaced we talk of this and that
perhaps you’ll turn to me and smile
rain on canopy above goes rat-tat-tat
today you’re soaked in autumn’s tears
tomorrow perhaps you’ll turn to me and laugh
Lighthouse
Attend to that light upon the horizon, my friend or else-
you know the tales of course
crashing upon rocks and cries of the doomed
fire below and fire above
and on high the keening wail of angels
so what say you so what?
Attend to that light is all I ask
Trust the keeper and keep a firm hand
Dawn comes but not for all
Attend my friend, attend.
Potter’s Wheel
morning light is sometimes like water trickling down the side of the brick
not quite enough to make a difference
yet beautiful in the way it teases the solidity of the earth
and there is a hello goodbye quality to it if you understand
nighttime stillness broken with the mumble of a tired greeting
spoken by the girl in her bright red hoodie
eyes spark in recognition of the immortal soul that passes
and drip drip drip falls the light from heaven
upon my upturned face and i drink it up
Hourglass
One strives for the sublime and hopes dearly
it is not only a dream or a mirage
perhaps the feelings stirred mean nothing
of what is real and what is not
a strong possibility one may say
especially considering the heart is fickle
in all things
yet does this mean that there is no solidity
on this rock on which i stand
the faint wistfulness i feel now
at the aroma of fresh-fallen rain
do i dream of the seaside for no purpose?
or is it true that the earth turns
in service
and that the stars sing in harmony
a truer song than i can yet fully understand
i tilt my head upwards and look and whisper praises
and shiver at the touch of autumn’s kiss
of course my dear one of course
now i know what true love is
Upon the Brow
Hello friends! A quick little post this evening before I dive into a bit of reading. I have just started a re-read of Name of the Wind and oh I had forgotten how much I love it. I am delighted anew as I read the words dance across the page. Yes this series may never be finished but I’m ok with that – the beauty in this book alone is enough. So yes, reading time awaits. It’s been raining much of the day and so it’s been that grey kind of day that lingers in the bones and makes one linger in the moment and ponder what’s come before. I am happy though and even pleased that I got to write a bit earlier (scroll down). Don’t take any of it overly seriously – all the writings were just little pieces of imagination attempting to let my creativity do something worthwhile for once. Not entirely sure I succeeded with any of them, alas. Especially the poems were something dreadful now that I look at them in the harsh light after the fever has worn off. I don’t know what’s going on, poetry used to be my bread and butter and now it seems a bit drab and off and doesn’t flow as well as it used to. My prose is where I live these days and I suppose I’m grateful for that. But I’m tempted to focus on poetry more now just to see if I can reclaim the flame and dash off some lines that make me smile even after the fact. We shall see, we shall see. Anyway, I’ve talked far too much about writing and not even sure why I decided to write this piece at all. But I will let it live, I suppose. Thoughts on the page are a reflection of lightning in the mind and I am grateful to have these odd writings to look at after a time. Whenever James-of-the-future re-reads this, he will maybe be puzzled at the existence of these lines yet I urge him to think that in this moment I feel at peace and oh so very alive. It is these quiet moments where the candle crackles and the music floats across the room and I look to see my wife smiling to herself that I cannot deny the magic of this life that I somehow have been graciously given. It is good for us to be here.
Eighteen Summers
condensation on the glass
smoke swirls up from the candle
and music hums in the air
and in this moment of all moments
my yearning grapples with my pain
and i shake in silent angst
droplets upon the page
nervous wipe them
before it stains
never mind just my tears
let them forever testify
to what i have felt this day
To the Brim
she walks up to the lighthouse
as i in fear linger behind
dare i follow or speak a word?
or would it be folly to presume?
and so i watch her step up to the door
in a second she’s gone inside
and i tremble and look up to the stars
even as their beauty overwhelms me
my thoughts flee and i let out a sigh
no matter where this day ends up
no matter if my heart stays broken
i still am anchored by the oath i have given
and held tight by the love i have known
and i too am counted beautiful
and named even as the countless stars
so i name her now in my heart of hearts
and hurry up the path she trod
Jester
The giant strolls across the moors
and I point my hand across the way
see there he is!
see there he goes!
see there the clouds raised
by his mighty toes!
I sit against the rock on the riverside
and pen a ballad to be sung that night
I wonder if she’ll be there
that lass I love to mad distraction
that lass of the chocolate eyes and raven hair
but now this tale may end in abbreviated fashion
I jump up with alarm as the quaking grows nearer
the giant has come to investigate it seems
why a shepherd boy lazes away by the stream
I hoped to avoid his notice
but alas it seems this tale will have an ending different
than the one I would preferred to have written
instead of the mighty warrior holding court as his words hold sway
we end with our poet lad running fast away!
Oathsworn
Why do you scribble so furiously she shouts in agony
see here all my tears upon the page
they are for you my love for you that’s all
well then please turn your eyes upon me
let me see their grey
and I turn from the stained paper and she feels my gaze
why do you tremble so my honey
what makes your eyes spark in the candlelight?
you know my love i never was much good at talking
why do you think i write so many fevered words?
give me a minute or two and you’ll have your answer
i understand yes i do for you i’ll wait
i’ll sit here upon the crook of the moon
and i smile with that fresh imagery and i answer
you have my lifetime and all my best stories
and yes you have me too
Something Weird 