© 01-22-2013, G. V, All Rights Reserved
erewhile = until now
and post notes and photos about your poem.
The sea birds sat upon the wharf,
my only friends have been the shades
and the transmittance of our days,
floats on the nightly waving surf.
How beautiful the words gather
to build my solitude - her form,
rose petals dancing in the storm,
- was I her soul's ideal lover?
And when the bells of Sundays ring
unfair's my thought while flowers bloom,
where time's apostasy's my doom,
my words' approach in airs shall cling.
How Oxford blue, the harbor is,
up where the stars behind clouds hide,
fair constellation - unknown bride,
Athena's blest and soul's aegis?
Sea birds have sat upon the moors;
the waves explode to windward foam,
my eyes upon the landscape roam,
erewhile withdraw to verse detours.
Along the aural sceptre of morn,
(Soft and inspiring silence is!) ,
you send across the waters bliss,
heart beats like cymbals of times' mourn.
Maybe if I prayed to the sea gods,
they would revive our school years play,
return that celebration day,
up where my lines bedizened flawed.
Maybe if I smiled to wharf's sorrow,
you would return and join in mists,
amid blithe rhymes and palms kissed,
our celebration tomorrow.
© G.V. 01-22-2013 All rights reserved