|
Details |
Time
Poem
Night Comes
Softly and sadly
Up on the knoll;
The vesper bell
Begins to toll.
Lock all the doors
Blow out the light;
The hour is late
Sleep comes with the night.
Close all the windows
Smother the fire;
Sound slips into silence
When mortals retire.
Downstairs is deserted
No one in the hall
Nirvana of sleep
Rules over all.
A day's work completed
Now done like the day;
Rest is now needed
For those made of clay.
How soft is the night
Where dark shadows fall;
The seduction of sleep
Captures us all.
|
Details |
Time
Poem
Cry of the City
We will walk then, you and I
When daylight shuts her weary eye;
Down the streets where beggars sleep
And drug crazed addicts spend their keep.
On streets that wind through thick and thin
Past monuments of broken sin
The painted whores who smile a lot
A rejected child that time forgot.
The evening hymn that sorrows sing
The call to prayer that church bells ring;
The sounds and smells that rape a city
The calls for help that won't find pity.
Do we have time to heal the curse
That captures all the universe
Or would it really be worthwhile
To quell the question with a smile?
But we have walked these streets before
And hoped our ears could dim the roar
Of silence gripping cold nightmares
That come unbidden up the stairs.
We share the night with lesser fools
Who stake their plight without sound rules
For each new challenge finds old pain
That lives to give then comes again.
|
Details |
Time
Poem
The Clouds
THERE HE WAS HOLDING OUT HIS HAND.
My voice=
God can I hold your hand and go with you?
Gods voice~
My sweet child, it is I who will walk with you now! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across earth... Your love and devotion is what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You always ran up to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles of tribulations. We could not speak, but it was my light that would not allow you to get weak.
My voice=
Is this that dream of beauty? The one in the book my preacher spoke of.
Yes! I remember it now it is call paradise. I felt this company once before, Lord.
Many times, I have forsaken this light, and still it never left my door.
I felt it the day I was born, and the day I became baptize in your holy name.
I felt this light before, can you explain it some more?
Lord please clarify that day I fell down to my knees and accepted Jesus as my savior?
Every day since, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my own failures’. Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"
Gods voice~
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road. This light never left you.
My sweet child did you not listen, Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible. My child you were not searching for the right answers.
My voice=
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray right?
Gods voice~
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself, which left questions for someone else.
At times how could I answer when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your souls disguise.
My voice=
Lord, I have other questions to ask.
What should I expect out of my personal sins? My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand.
My mind and my hearts inner core were wicked since my adolescence days.
How is it that I am in your promise land?
Gods voice~
Getting right with me is brought you here!
My voice=
One more question My Heavenly Father.
Can I see her? I meant, could I see them? My Daughter My Mother and My Sisters~
|
Details |
Time
Poem
A Solstice
.
Thoughts of death mourning a loss,
one after another, like falling hailstones cracking the tiles
of the substance of things not seen but feared. I could Care less
God... it's the longest night of my years Caught in the toils
of doubts, of despair, of the sound of falling ice
that reverberates inside my faith in sudden slices
and outside this pen for sheep-raising still in fertile soil
I fail to get over the fence without a stile
Impotent to kiss resignation's toes
advocated by those who want my obedience and my tithes at all costs
A version of the interpretation of the oral traditions already translated into lies
Greeks, Romans, Monarchs, Despots, Rulers, Reformists, Stoics...
Impotent to listen to the duty of the silken stole
that pulls my crackling faith into its coils
Impotent to accept sacred writings chosen by lot
Impotent of praying more and thinking less
Impotent to breathe, to see, to walk through wind-blown salt and s i l t
measuring a time...dark and lost
A profuse bleeding from a ruptured soul refusing to clot
Thoughts of death like tears of ice
when the electrocardiogram yells h h h
e p e p e
l l l p ...Where will be the lice
to suck my sins and tics?
to cough and gag and vomit my unfulfilled temptations into a cist?
My time of death has expired long time ago. Do you noticed it?
Do you care about it?
Thoughts of death tickling upon my bare soles
I'll be nobody without a tag swaying from my toe
The night at its farthest point from the Sun and still so close
I need to believe it
God, You need to believe it
I can kill you if my faith is lost
.
|
Details |
Time
Poem
Recording/Re-playing/Recording/Re-playing
The farm
and the porch light hums
the sound of another
orange dawn.
Burnt up – crisp
aching new reaches
of the imagination turn
from corn
to wheat
to the pungent shade
of dried blood on hands –
kissing corners of a mouth
never kissed.
Sweeping ‘cross in whispers
two thousand years
and more, come
words on the flat-line horizon,
dripping sideways,
like a red cat's eye marble
on a circular seesaw
that knows no bounds;
rolling infinitely back
and forth -
ringing through ears that were once
in that ago (can you hear it?)
hearing the coming of a storm
being heard
by another set of ears,
in some other when –
some other marble.
When, speaks the unspoken.
When, treads where none may tread.
When, grips the barren outcroppings of space –
playing the unending moments –
where no other question hence forth
can grip.
Night sounds come in floods
of mauve,
and quiet apricot;
slicing through oceans,
unsung,
where no ears hear.
The farm: echoing, lowing and fawning –
Trying to stay true
to form,
bleeds into the fibers of a dream
once lived –
recognizing its existence
through the act of a moment,
lived.
The girl turns to face
the enormity
of all she has yet to hear upon
the brazen, blazing horizon;
she strips down to goose bumps
on the skin
that God gave her;
opening her mouth to hear all
that she is –
breathing in the dawn
as it breaks.
The farm notes this coming.
The sky knows;
The wind knows.
The earth knows - relaxing
at her feet
exhaling
through her soles,
resounding through the mouth
of the un-kissed,
breathing through this land;
humming through porch lights,
spinning through atoms,
sifting though heavens,
recorded through lifetimes,
and through into another’s
open mouth.
© Kristin Reynolds 1/9/09
|
Details |
Time
Poem
September
"September, beautiful month of my birth, is nigh, but I cannot feel glad."
September, drifting in with glow of moon,
you stifle Summer’s ardor. . . and she grieves.
In guise of fire, the Fall comes all too soon.
Your breath grows cool. You’ll blow and loosen leaves.
The hills and woodlands will reflect new hues.
You stifle Summer’s ardor. . . and she grieves.
In Autumn’s chill, the colors are a ruse.
For as you pass, the trees are set ablaze.
The hills and woodlands then reflect new hues.
Though warmth may linger through your final days,
old Sun is waning, yet he still seems strong!
For as you pass, the trees are set ablaze.
September, you’re a melancholy song.
Though time be short, you paint a brilliant dusk!
Old sun is waning, yet he still seems strong.
October looms. . . Your ending will be brusque.
September, drifting in with glow of moon,
though time be short, you paint a brilliant dusk.
In guise of fire, the Fall comes all too soon.
by Andrea Dietrich
For the contest of Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
"A Poem, Please"
|
Details |
Time
Poem
Spring Bud
My
breath
shivers under
a rug of loneliness,
a sleepy heart huddles
against such memories
of togetherness and not of
goodbyes, hating to disperse
the fiery rhymes of your lips,
as well as the warmth of its
sweat...tastes like red wine,
then it beats...and beats
gently, as it envisions
you, in an early
misty
s
p
r
i
n
g
|
Details |
Time
Poem
Your Child's Eyes
The innocence lost so long ago
The undying faith we used to know
The gentle rain of a summer's skies
You can find it all in your child's eyes.
The world was right one time it seems
And we could reach beyond our dreams
To meet a challenge of any size
That fire still burns in your child's eyes.
In a world of anger and miscontent
And the frustrations of a life misspent
And you wait in fear as the storms arise
You can still find peace in your child's eyes.
Take the time for all those things
Hear his words: feel the joy he brings
There is no hate; there are no lies
There is only love in your child's eyes.
|
Details |
Time
Poem
Moonlight Madness
MOONLIGHT MADNESS
The moon follows me like a secret above them frisky clouds.
Day and night the stars accompany me in crowds.
Like a shiny diamond, I can't stop staring.
Lost in that moment that has no time sharing.
Holding on to the tree limbs like a puppeteer.
I can hear the words the moon whispers into my ear.
TONIGHT!
I will illuminate into a world only I know of.
My very own little secret sparkling island getaway.
A world where beauty hides the beast.
I'll be the only exile under a sunless night feast.
TONIGHT!
I'm gonna give all my secrets away, as I wear my dreaming moonlit gear.
Comfort upon this mundane wonder, astronomical sphere.
TONIGHT!
I will look one last time at the mooned night,
I will close my eyes, and find myself in a box kite flight.
TONIGHT!
I will lay myself down to sleep,
Not allowing my imagination to runs off with wild sheep.
Like a Nightingale, I rather sit and serenade myself to sleep.
With the refreshing thought, the moon is like the pillow I keep
In this mad, mad world!
The moon seems to be the only object that holds it's sanity.
Arousing me with it's inner peace and spirituality.
by;PD
for contest~
|
Details |
Time
Poem
Windowpanes
An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the
evening to be appropriate for the purpose.
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by
our café.
When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew,
I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true,
A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent
Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent.
I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more.
Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore,
The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry,
As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by.
The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane
As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes.
The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave
And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve.
My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war
But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before.
She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside,
And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride.
Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart,
For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part.
Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear
That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear.
The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years,
Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears,
When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew,
And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.
|
|