I do not know?
The land still held in wint'ry grasp.
Against the chill my breath did rasp.
When for a moment my eyes did see,
A fair maiden dancing nakedly.
Nary a stitch nor thread on her wond'rous shape.
As she beckoned I could naught but gape.
When she spoke her voice was a melody,
Promising things that I only dreamed.
I went to her in bewildered awe,
And this is suddenly what I saw-
White roses tangled in her flaxen tresses,
A thousand poppies at her feet,
Fairies danced in diaphinous dresses,
With sunlight was the scene replete.
On she led o'er field and meadow.
Where she trod the spring would show.
With love and joy my heart did swell,
For this maiden had rescued me from winter's hell.
For hours we laughed and sang and such.
I would gasp and tremble at her every touch.
Not once did I think to inquire her name,
Nor did I ask from whence she came.
We rested at length 'neath a stately oak,
And this I found when I awoke-
Gone was my maiden and the spring she brought,
Frozen were the fields and meadows,
Simply a dream, or so I had thought,
Yet clasped in my hand, a single white rose.
I return each day to this lonely place,
Hoping to glimpse my fair maiden's face.
Low does the sun sink in the winter sky,
When I turn home with a tear in my eye.
For once again she has neglected to show,
And left me this wretched ice and snow.
Yet I musn't believe that she does not care,
Lest I should let my heart despair.
For she will return again one day,
Turning as she goes, December to May.
Your love song lapsed into ancient French that April day.
I only understood the words of spring and heartsore
lapsed. Only love and heartsore, I understood your ancient
words of the spring-day song into that French April.
You fabricate my pauses into repetition, silence speaks
of ages strung to rhyme in love’s difficult service
you strung into pauses in service to ages. Fabricate of
love’s repetition, rhyme speaks my difficult silence.
We practice tedium of vows till language breaks apart.
As if art should aim at science, rigorous, quantitative,
rigorous language breaks tedium. Science vows a part of
quantitative practice till we should aim “as if” at art.
Till we lapsed into language. As your ancient ages only
fabricate quantitative French strung to that difficult
practice, science speaks of tedium and understood rhyme.
The spring in service of love’s rigorous vows. April
pauses, heartsore. You and I, apart. If love should aim
my words at day, repetition breaks into silence of song.
I do not know?
From bright colors even the brightest blond turns grey.
Grown men now stand.
Were once young children did play.
The once new cover.
Is now tattered and torn.
time has all but erased the oaths once proud men had sworn.
The field now overgrown still haunts memories of the blue and grey.
Old worn headstones markers of were they'll forever lay.
No bell to ring no voice shall call.
The ghosts of the past erased by spring summer and fall.
The old porch stands hidden by a overgrowth of vines.
Now blank are the boards that once were painted signs.
The blood followed swiftly from the wound of the past.
To forge a path to a time that could never last.
Gone is the tree that once stood so very tall.
Forgotten by time
So is the legend of spring summer and fall.
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
The Black butterfly waves away her adorations
All she seeks is seclusion, subsuming slave to mortification
The Dear Air is all she can breath, captive of imaginary dreams
The Beacon resonates, but the hope isolates
The Wasteland's silky fingers caressing the virgin's face
So she is now, the covet of the damned
Programmed to every victim's pain
Carrying the weight of every sorrow
Drowning in wrongs she does not know
But paradise is at loss; she must go
Nature sighs after the bite
All my hopes fading
Don't look at me with those sorrowful eyes
How do you know exactly what I'm feeling?
I'm just the ghost flower passing by
And you can hear nature's sigh
On an early spring day, washed brilliant with clover
In the land of the sun, and sweet cherry blossom
A tremble, a rumble, that rattled the earth
Cracking open the spring day, like the devil's own plaything
Plates of dispute, on the edge of destruction
Beneath the sea’s surface…anger's wrath lies in waiting…
It came with no warning, …a mighty surge of horror
A tower of strength, to this tiny island flower
The harsh call of nature, came boldly from the shore
Relentless, the shaking, battering to the core
And altered the earth with a shattering shrill
Spilling despair, in a pillage of flurry
Killing the helpless, yet… leaving the courage
O’ land, of gentle people, wearing dignity’s expression
Those from afar, watched on with compassion
We gasped, then we cried, yet are awed with impressions
How hands helping hands, and courage ensued
Kind hearts, claimed the bruised, and calmed the confused
You banded together…helping each another,
Balance of elders, will hold you forever..
Grace under fire…. with honor we brand you
You raise up the spirit with hands of the valiant
Respect you have earned and honor you wear
The sun keeps on rising…..and will shine ever more
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
Spring Rain For Hindenburg
2 Spring fronts had gathered on the East Coast
Creating an overcharged atmosphere.
Germany to 'Jersey'--3 days at most--
The "Floating Palace" had Max Pruss to steer.
804 ft. long! Quite Gigantic!
With 97 passengers and crew,
78 ft. shy of 'Titanic',
16 cells of hydrogen's how she flew.
200 ground crew (soaked) cast mooring line
As 12 hours late, she came in high and game.
The Hindenburg: "Titanic of the sky"...
Took 35 souls as she burst in flame.
~by deborah burch©
You never did see spring down here
With Bradford pear in full bridal wear.
Redbuds in attractive bridesmaid attire
Painting the scene with glorious fire.
You never saw the daffodils make merry
Laughing at the exuberant pink cherry.
Light hearted pansies giggling through the day
As boisterous squirrels come out to play.
Stately trees don their cloaks of soft hued green
Multi-colored birds that twitter and preen.
Everything getting ready for their chance
To be invited to springs celebration dance.
And yet I sense your presence on the breeze
Hear your soft whisper in the rustling trees.
I'll never know why you set your spirit free,
Sure wish you could savor this spring with me.
I don't have time to watch it more
- the crooked clock of ironed past -
I don't believe I can feel spring
Unless I grab your hand and jump
Together in the blossom maze
Perhaps we bring ourselves alive
In poison-free redwoods up north
And secret Jacaranda wonders.
If eyes don't open - I understand
You don't need them to see our Heaven
But bear with me for falling seconds
And hope cocoons will burst and open
I sprout again through solid pavement
Against the reconstruction site
And I do know I can bring spring
Together with your warmth from Heaven.