A stealthy tiger stalks his prey
His eyes alight with cunning gleam;
And tho' the world may peaceful seem
The lissome springboks graze and play --
The danger lurks, not far away
He crouches low, his muscles taught
While calculations fill his mind
The perfect arc of force to find;
His quarry, still without a thought
Of what design the tiger sought
The tiger springs, the creatures flee
His mighty limbs with awesome force
Perform their planned and deadly course;
Now lies the springbok piteously
Forever torn from things that be
And o'er his corpse presides the prince
His solid jowls bespecked with blood
His razor claws in crimson flood;
He glories in these trickling glints
That show his skill in ruby tints
And when the prince has et his fill
The birds descend to eat the rest
To feed the young ones in the nest;
But on the tiger roams at will
He's free to wander, hunt, and kill
Written on the twenty-eighth of July, 2013
It’s nice to get away
for a few hours or a day
As soft breezes stir night air
And salty mist clings to your hair
Stirring memories of Adolescence at play.
It’s nice to have the chance
to hear the song, to do the dance
And though we far exceed our prime
We light our path with love, stopping time
stopping space, and fuel the flame of our romance.
It’s nice in morning rain
to find that spot on memory lane
To look at who, what, where we are from.
While waves and breeze and the noonday sun
Sooth and calm, tan, bleach and burn away our pain.
It’s nice to turn away
From the things old and gray;
And we miss those times at the shore.
But truth is, we like our life now lots more
And we won’t trade tomorrow for all of yesterday
Feb 21 2010 Charles Henderson
Where dawn is born and clouds are spun
To clothe the sky in golden lace,
The sea ignites as currents chase
Soft morning light that's just begun
To wake our love, caught in the sun.
Encased in earthen form, I rise,
held chest-tight with fear my eyes belie.
Tumbled stone and ancient steps so steep,
lead to a mound and valley deep
where I let loose my song to sky.
The song resounds from crag to peak
a lonely echo blue on green.
The soulful song from quartz careens
and shames the hillside cold cheek
returning brazen, seldom meek.
For once sent forth, it must return,
its formless flight, a brief sojourn,
A repetition not unique,
a hollow copy which respeaks
of lovers lost and trust unearned.
Wet colors blended into one
New creations beheld in awe
Artistic beauties without flaw
Eyes behold glory as the sun
Textures combined into such fun!
quintella 8 syllables each line
I fell in love with a tree stump.
A quite curious stump was he.
No branches to thump.
No fall leaves to see.
But a very special stump was he.
There in the woods, other trees grew tall.
Swaying their limbs and leaves in the breeze.
But one special tree stump won my awe.
Once, tall and stately was he, before the freeze.
Now, short and sad hearted because of the saw.
I was weary, downhearted, and lonely.
When, I spotted that stump beside a pile of wood.
A perfect place to rest, it seemed to me.
I rushed right over as quickly as I could.
Then, sat right there, relaxed, and feeling so good.
While trees all around made their showy stance,
I sat and enjoyed from my comfortable stump.
He had no limbs nor leaves to wind-dance.
He had no branches to thump.
He was there for me to rest myself…by chance.
Pining alone, I fell in love with that tree stump.
A quiet refuge was he.
No longer sad, life became plump.
And my soul soared higher than one can see.
For he was there when I needed him…and he needed me.
© October 28, 2010
I wish you love my valentine
I wish once more that you were mine
Gone are the days when you did care
Gone is the love that we once shared
For you I pine sweet Valentine...
The anvil wallows on his heart
His dreams, trodden, alas depart
Pride triggers a cursory front
The fierce justification hunt
He steps to nowhere from the start
The mild Cape Town winter weather
triggers blooming of the Heather.
The Erica shines their lanterns
among the Foxtail Ferns.
The white clouds overhead feather.
The Silver Trees create a foil
against which the flora toil.
The King Proteas are gearing up
to supply a feast for birds to sup.
The Cape Cobras in slumber coil.
The Aloes have many a use
and can withstand much abuse.
The fiery red Cape Honeysuckle
led the cultivated hedges to buckle.
Mountain fires lit by the obtuse.
Our proud heritage was in full bloom -
a rambling pathway the only room.
Scorched earth, naked and black;
sustenance of the soil now sadly lack.
The canon on Signal Hill booms.
Official New7Wonders Inauguration of Table Mountain in Cape Town: 2 December 2012
Picture of the King Protea, the national flower of South Africa:
a tender touch ignites romance
fluttering flames create love dance
gentle caresses, tasting bliss,
intoxicates juice of sweet kiss
as hearts entwine, hypnotic trance.
*For Andrea's Catch Phrase, Dazzle Me Contest.
*Dec. 22, 2012.