Tag: poetry

So Neatly Written

James HoganLeave a comment

Hello, dear friends, and happy Friday! I sit at my desk at work, minutes before the clock ticks over to working time, but I couldn’t resist just saying hello. I’m drinking my peppermint mocha and pondering deep thoughts, like say…what shall I do this weekend? Actually, I’m a bit stunned – I’m going to be in Houston all weekend, a shocking development! Been traveling so much lately, it shall really be quite nice to be at home and get some proper rest. But for now, one more day of work, so no rest for me(yet!). Have a most blessed and wondrous day, my friends.

Fingers drumming on the tabletop,
coffee mugs littering the counter,
clamorous chatting fills the kitchen,
Something comforting, this home sweet home.

Penstroke

James HoganLeave a comment

A morning where a
darkness reigns throughout the land
and yet there is a wind that blows,
a return of sweetness and decency
mayhaps.

A morning where a
bowl of oatmeal upon worn table sits
and brown sugar swirls in dreamy paths,
a return to first love and hopes fairest
maybe.

A morning where a
moonlit herald sings in quiet wonder
and I hear a call to that far country,
a return to truest tales of yore
perhaps.

First Blush

James HoganLeave a comment

A mount untraveled,
a tree not blooming,
a flag yet unfurled,
and the sweet colour
of the pale of dawn.

I look upon a crescent moon
and I sigh
in unbridled wonder
that there could be such
beauty.

And behold
tulips blossoming in purest white,
stars singing sweet and strong in dazzling night,
fields of wheat rippling in warm sunlight,
that music bliss and those blue eyes bright
oh behold!

Beauty
that there could be such
in unbridled joy now
and I sigh –
I look upon a waxing moon.

The path is winding through the wild moors,
The trees stand tall and kiss their brethren,
And upon the terrace of brick and stone,
look and behold the aching sweetness –
oh the tale of dawn.

Unwilling

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Dirty feet and
dirty floors,
See how all the
filthy money pours
across counter-tops and
tables stained,
not a cent is clean
or rightly gained.

Who dares overturn
our ways,
crack the whip
and halt our days?
Who dares let his eyes
grow sharp in rage
Who dares shout aloud
and then say,

This was to be a house for prayer,
but upon this holy ground
your dirty feet quick into wickedness
have trod;
This was to be a house of love,
but upon the poor and weak
your dirty feet quick and merciless
have trod;
This was to be a house for peace
but now comes near a sword and flames,
oh how I weep,
return, return,
come nigh to God.

Soul Power

James HoganLeave a comment

Morning all!! It’s Monday morning once again – the beginning of another (hopefully busy and exciting!) week. I’m sipping on my hazulnut mocha and enjoying the slow lightening of the western sky as the dawn continues its inexorable march. I really don’t even have that much to write about(since I just posted two days ago…two posts in three days – shocking!), but thought I would at least say hi.

A slow and ponderous turn of earth,
seems so heavy at times,
so full of nickle and iron
and far too many broken dreams.

Yet soaring through the not quite vacuum,
Soulful dance of nebulae and stars,
Not so heavy now, see?
Tapestry of space flutters,
dreamily.

The Ceaseless Sound of Rain

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Oh hello there my darling,
Didn’t expect to see you today
Didn’t expect to smell your perfume
Didn’t expect to feel your gaze

And now my thoughts are wandering
Yeah my heart is pondering
And I’m truly wondering
What is that which binds us?
What is that which keeps us close?
What is that which twines our dreamscapes?
What is that which holds us close?

I thought you’d had your fill of me
God knows I had my fill of you
Yet you walk into my coffee shop
Just as if you were meaning to

Your lips open and say hello
My hand tightens on my coffee cup
And I give some blithe rejoinder
That my mind blankly summons up

But if you look into my eyes, my darling
You may just notice a shade of fear
I don’t know if I can take this
I don’t know, I truly don’t, my dear.
And so our words do dance in tandem
And so our eyes do dance uncertain
While my heart begins to tremble
Oh love, no need to dissemble

Remember those sweet days of autumn?
When we talked all day
And yes danced all night
And you wore that plaid shirt just for me?
I remember, oh I remember
I wish I don’t.

So now my thoughts are wandering
Yeah my heart is pondering
And I’m truly wondering
What is that which binds us?
What is that which keeps us close?
What is that which twines our dreamscapes?
What is that which holds us close?

Don’t think I don’t still love you, my darling
Don’t think I don’t still miss your sunny smile,
Yet now I just can’t talk and be all normal.
Someday, maybe, but for now,
Farewell.

Orange Shades

James HoganLeave a comment

A needle scratches
vinyl, loss of notes so warm,
a needle patches
ripped spot in his jeans well worn.

He smooths that charismatic carpet
and so
he crooks his elbow in sympathy
just so
and rests his head upon it
like so
and he ponders the stars
dancing across his eyelids
for so
he knows
a secret.

Away spins the music down the
alleyways of his most treasured
memories
and yeah,
away spins his boot across the
vinyl, floor masquerading as
polished wood
and yeah,
away spins his thoughts upon
the streets of the true promised
treasuries
and yeah,
away spins the weight of glory,
away spins the long told story,
away spins the
song of stars,
a mystery unfurled.

Song of stars and stars of light – what promises do you tell this night?
Remind me dear and draw me near – what sweet mysteries will blaze to life?
Veil of linen and veil of stars,
one to herald, one to hide!
One proclaiming and one declaiming,
One no longer shines with light.
One veil yet whispers, whispers
Whispers to that wistful sight.

The needle trembles, I stir,
Awake my soul.
Carpet smooth under my head,
Be still my soul.
Away spins the long promised song,
Arise my soul,
For so
I do desire a better country
Just so.
Just so.

Tennis Court

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Softly drooping willow fronds and
lonely little gosling feathers
and a concrete bench perches
upon the brink.

Singing these songs, we wait
for a silence to break
all these words tumbling over
each other
ceaselessly.

You can say you’re sorry
and that you love me and
that everything will be all right
and I know that you’re not quite wrong
but you’re not
quite right.

So keep singing these songs
and we’ll wait
for a silence to break
all these words tumbling over
like the tapping
on our phones.

You can grab your coffee cup
and lean forward on your elbows
in that special way you do for me
and I know that you’re not quite wrong
but you’re not
quite right.

And yeah be singing those songs
and we’ll wait
for a silence to break
all these words tumbling over
in sync
like these beating hearts.

You can put your book down
and cry your tears and my honey
I know it hurts I know
and I know that you’re not quite wrong
and you’re not
quite right.
It’s alright.
It’s alright.

There’s a cold bench
somewhere
sitting atop a brink
somewhere
and goslings under willow trees
somewhere
and it’s alright.
It’s alright.

Smoldering

James HoganLeave a comment

A riot of watercolors
and tapestry of tears,
a whispering of smooth jazz and
a slow dance of the years.

A subtle raising of eyebrows,
and dizzy sparkling eyes,
a conversation of laughter
and a slow dance of sighs.

Sitting under maple trees
in lush autumn and
drinking tea with
purest honey and
feeling the sweet caress of wind off the sea and watching clouds dissolve in unprovoked giggles amid the rain falling from hooded eyes of
the storm
and feeling the
warm blush from
sun unveiling and
watching the stars
write a new symphony.

A soulful lilting of trumpets,
violins sing that tune,
two hands now clasped lovingly and
slow dance under the moon.