Thoughts of firelight drifting
Over weightless wings of flight
Unseen flying through treetops
Weaving into dreams, welcomed
By familiar faces I've loved
Between moments of madness
Mixed with simple smiles of joy
Drawn to children's laughter
And the promise of a new day
moonlight lifts stone’s breath
shadows fold into their names
a single spark remembers
what the dawn has yet to claim
The sky dones the gown of darkness,
Holding the eternal tears of stars in its bosom,
Glimmering in the lashes on the verge of a fall before sunrise.
The clouds reach out towards the moon with gloved fingers,
Stroking the dying babe fading into the dawn.
The sky mourns the fading light at the funeral of night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A crack in the sky
where stars leak through~
not enough to drown the streetlamp,
but enough to remind me
that night is not infinite.
The pavement exhales
its stored heat,
a slow sigh against my shoes.
I count the steps
between here and home.
The distance never changes,
but the air does~
cooler now, wetter,
like the breath of something
waiting just beyond the edge
of what I can see.
Morning is a rumor
circling the horizon.
I walk towards it anyway.
He put his boots on
He stares at the rising sun
A pale, strange fire
This is not the world in which he was born
A man out of place out of time
Out on the lawn, the ancient
Face hung on a tree, skeletal and forlorn
Shadows stretch into the sands
An empty beach, eternal
The sky is burning to cold ash
He walked down the pier
The Ferris wheel turns
Its light blazing into the starless
Night a void cold the sentient
Are you buzzed for the carnival
As it turns along the horizon, the land stretches
Far and away, along a wall, stands a door
A fracture, a gaping hole into reality
Beyond a stary arc across heaven reviled
A stranger stood as a silhouette stands
At twilight, a wraith upon the shore
The Stranger woke before dawn
He put his boots on
He stared at the setting sun
A pale, strange halo of fire
This is not the world he was from
Born in, nor the last
World he would tread upon…
Ode to Jim
The soul deepens night
shadows swell as sorrow stews
silencing insight
in the hours most forsaken
when heart only hears echoes
Darkness folds inward,
into a starless cavern
cloistered yet alive
with what a closed eye can't see
when the spirit walks alone
Just before the dawn
when the blackness feels complete
the soul flares with fire
in the void it finds solace
a flame that was always there
awake usual thoughts
failures made imposed
turn others sleep
those like may also awake
guilt not helping light
rest night fears conflicts
wars doubts known not
all prepositioned
keep hope peace joy love
isolated chambered atomized
quarked vanquished
Lord Jesus maybe will
many claim dead still
resurrection appendage
little importance since
not fit soteriology
identity not body
only survives death
timeless eternity reincarnated heaven
space sans time spent looking edge
those not yet arrived
waiting again undiscovering
one another simultaneously
except frozen eternity
Lord be raised embodied ongoing
time continued timely together
see those sleep those cannot
night pray
now three two hours
now one before dawn
Actual poetry form is Pensee
stillness
earth holds its breath
while all of nature awakens
there's a soft glow, dew kissed petals
waiting for the sunrise
Sometimes, I wanna
Talk. With her. Tell her my thoughts.
But she is asleep.
Or she's not, but gone.
Not available to help
Balance my wobble.
Or I have too much
To say, and worry about
My place in her world.
I forget myself.
I yearn for Hiraeth-- my love--
My soul’s safe haven.
I am stone and clay
Metal and wood, living.
Resilient. Stoic.
So, my feet planted,
Unafraid-- no, just bravely--
Facing my sunrise
I see no more dancing, I hear no more songs,
The neighbors are now quiet and the lights are all gone.
There are no soul in the streets, no sound nightlong,
Now that dullness begins to set in, I guess happiness is gone.
I thought that spring is no more,
But oh! I guess I was wrong.
I brightly smile as someone knocks on my door,
A new beginning is waiting, it was just dark before dawn.
Stillness of the morn
just before dawn
fills me with calmness and joy
blackbird is singing
attracting his mate
whilst a gentle breeze
awakens my garden gate
feeling so good
as I watch the sun rise
a gigantic gold orb from the sea
bathing all in redness and gold
diamantes glisten on the sea
just before dawn
here by the sea
this truly is the place for to be
whilst folk they are sleeping
and sadly are missing
this wonderful picture I see
there is no other place
I would rather be
just before dawn
on this magical morn
with the sun the sea and me
Written 28th May 2023
CONTEST 'A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE no 1220
SPONSOR BRIAN STRAND
6th PLACE in Premiere Contest
Before the moon gives reign to the ruling sun, I'm awaked by the crooning of a lover. Not for me does he sing, for he seeks a mate. It's those tranquil moments I treasure, when through my open my window I hear his voice. Sweet love songs in the silence before the waking of dawn beguile me as the world still dreams in slumber. I'm filled with inner peace and a sense of hope. While listening to his dulcet tune, sometimes I pretend his songs are for me. If I had wings I would answer his call with a melody of my own.
avian crooning
lavender sky of morning ~
melodies at dawn
February 24, 2023
It Means a Lot to Me Contest
Sponsored by Gina McIntosh
Countries frolicking in the sun's afternoon
While we lay cold in winter's shade.
Goodnight doesn't mean goodbye
We shall meet again up in the sky
Its the breathing of relax ! which mingle mixes beneath the roof of tamping rain drops, beyond the road salt stained glass, i know ! Its cold, of passing wheels, at early o'clock and the spitting, in crimson, spiralling, crackling music of the metamorphosis into charcoal of long past,chopped very dry logs; early o'clock cloaks me in the revolving whir of the fridge, i cannot hear the spiders feet! although he has eight scurrying in the scullery, or the plop of the tea bag and the bubbling of hot, dropping swilling and brown.
It is the gentle of Bozz and Betti snoring and my goose bumped arms scaffolding a heavy head and drooping eye lids, ah,comfort arrives in many clothes sizes and times.
But, this comfort slips from key white to key black, the dripping morning of disappointed tunes and stamping feet, blurs under the flap of the breezing yawn of letterbox joy, just a jumble of jigsawed letters missing from an eternal alphabet, i am not liking this day, to evening and death.
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