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Best Poems Written by Luther Seahand

Below are the all-time best Luther Seahand poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Spring

The finest day of spring
petals dance on sudden gales
counting every one
before the sinking sun
fly, fly little wings
like love that never fails.
 
Shadows begin to wake
to a chorus that is the night
crickets fiddle, slow
warblers whistle, low
shine, shine velvet moon
till last you fade from sight.
 
Hear the sea in song
where the swallows play and die
starlight in the haze
flicker fireflies, ablaze
stay, stay gentle dream
beneath the candles in the sky.


~ Luther Lynton Seahand ~

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Summer

Summer 


This glorious time of year
grace is in bloom, divine
supple spindles gleam
by golden beam
waltz, waltz June fairies  
from dandelion to lofty pine.

Off on a stroll above meadows
scented wisps, a tryst, oh my
sandalwood, sweet
fair mulberry treat
swoon, swoon ethereal swans 
into the mild, evening light, of July.

Stirring for summer's farewell          
frail wonders, tulips, up high
butterflies pair  
with delicate flair 
steady, steady August delights                                                  
primroses await your slumbering sigh.
               

     ~ Luther Lynton Seahand ~

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Lonely River

yoru no âme
nagare hitotsu ni
haru toushi
 
night rain meandering
down the banks of the lonely river
spring is distant

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Shades of Autumn

At last, a welcomed light Autumn breeze,
Whistling passed steepled roofs,
Gently lifting branches of the bowing sycamore trees
Lining dull gray sidewalks still toasty warm
From the sweltering heat of the day before;
Departing summer flees threads of deep purple clouds
Leaching westward from the eastern sky,
Inky streams clawing their way into lighter shades of dusk,
The new season has cast her dye.

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Mice

A Scotsman's daughter named Nelly
drew pictures of mice on her belly.
That night in a dream
she squeaked out a scream
and woke with a tail in New Delhi.

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Winter

Gray is the season that withers
blossoms dulled by satin frost
how they sadly fall
cruel chill, it breaks them all
rest, rest immortal doves 
while winter feigns treasures lost.
 
Crystal brooks still as dusk
mirror figures warm at heart
oaks over icy knolls
sprawling old souls
flutter, flutter leafless arches
for that single spark of life to start.
 
Blushing through frozen woods
morning hints at splendor, frail
a starling in the snow
sleeping on her bough
wake, wake feathered angel 
sing sweet trills of the nightingale.


~ Luther Lynton  Seahand ~

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My Sunflower

A Sunflower
Every hour
Smiles brightly on the world
 
Shadows creep
Sparrows sleep
Not so, her petals gold and cheery
 
I’ve often thought
Of you a lot
As wonderful and caring

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This House

Clouds are weeping at my door
Puddles tearfully trickle in
Moonlight falls, whisper thin
 
Shingles chatter on the roof
Winter sends her lonely kiss
Restless winds, a soulful hiss
 
Tousled twigs caress the windows
Shattered leaves sorrow down
Willows writhe, orchids frown
 
Shutters sigh outside these walls
Thunder moans in evening gloom
Wilted love, she cannot bloom

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Somber Parting

There are so many people I miss, especially my wife, and the very exciting things we used to do together. Sometimes I am sorrowfully speechless at the thought of them, and often drowning in a pool of private tears over the loss of my one true love. She looks past me as if to see through me as anything and everything deserves her attention more than I do. However hard I try to pretend it isn't there, a gnawing heartache lingers through the day from the hours of crushing melancholy in the night, seeping into the tone of my voice, fading the vivid colors of the world to a drabby gray. Even in laughter, I have to fight the dark clouds that threaten to cast a shadow in my expressions. Can't pull a rabbit out of the hat anymore. No more escape tricks. I am, fresh out of hope, physically exhausted, emotionally defeated to my core. It is a very lonely place where all the doors have been shut and bolted from the outside, and the four baren dingy walls that fill my vision in the dimming landscape of life are a stinging reminder of my failures as a father and the inability to measure up as a good husband. That hour is here, I knew it would come. I'm off, to a better place. Goodbye.

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Last Stand

When a horse is on his knee
Don't shoot him till he stands
One so proud, a final plea
Is his to stay your hands
 
Will you drag him when he's dead
Should you tear his flesh and mane
Leave him there to shed
His glory in the rain
 
For when the clouds have risen
His figure leaves his voice
Painted in the prison
Of life without a choice