Best Blithe Poems
My daily walk for exercise has changed;
for there are souls along the path
I have not seen before. Oh yes,
the regulars are there,
and smile at me, too often share
my miseries from ice and snow
and muscles slow to dance in synch
with my advancing age, but these!...
the shy ones...they who subtly appear
before I am aware, and then are gone.
What can I make of them?
They're at the borderline of sight;
they catch that old third eye
designed for sensing—clusters
of old friends at points along my route,
then family I supped with
while the energy of breath prevailed—
the ones I didn't get to say goodbye.
And there they wait
to see me make my rounds,
and Zounds! I don't know why.
Perhaps it is because
I soon will join them
on their vaprous other side
and want to get me ready, or
more probably it is another way
to let me know that they are there,
to catch me in a time when I
am not preoccupied with pleasures,
pain, or measuring my own
crude mortal quest to reach them
from my sterile room.
For on this mobius circle of my walk
I have the luxury of silence plus
the absence of demand, and they are free
to stand beside my route
and unassailed, stretch forth
the lavish purity of love.
~
["Poor Dean", you say; "he's cracking; we'll be gentle
with him, let him keep his imaginary friends. They
are harmless, as is he, so long as we don't get too close."
Ah, fare thee well, my friends, I promise not
to drool on you. And I don't really see them...ju
st 'almost'...
and that was enough to bring on this crazy poem.
Yeah, I think they're there, all right, but I don't stop
my circuitous rounds long enough to talk to them. It's just
that I never knew ghosts could be quite so much fun. :-) ]
the half moon, content
with itself...though incomplete
it grins, nonetheless
high up in the cold
starless, pitch-black firmament
yet blithely smiling
Date written and posted: 05/04/2019
The Enamoured Worlds of The Blithe and Reckless Heart
“Kiss.” She said
we kissed long deep kisses
sighs of breathing wrapping phantasms around us
of womanhood of manhood
Isis smiled “such a sweet doom to be talked to so.”
“Have you any secrets ?” she asked
“Only one.” I said
“And which one is that ?” she asked
“I can’t,” I said, “its an enigma.”
She laughed then
warm air and hot sun blew our bodies through our hair
like autumn leaves we fell we fell for each other like autumn leaves
just as we had fallen in the summer with sky painted sun
Looking at her I thought of winter
trying to look like a snowflake and kiss her
she shivered clever girl
smiling looking like a Daffodil
I looked out my window,
At the gloomy grey sky.
When I saw a butterfly,
Flitting blissfully by.
Unfettered by worries,
Not shackled by woe,
A blithe Lepidoptera,
And its aerial show.
The patter of raindrops,
Fazed it not a bit,
Blithely it glided,
On my window did sit.
Ever so nonchalantly,
It fluttered its wings.
Not a care in the world,
What a fortunate thing!
If only my soul,
Could a butterfly be.
Gallivant in my small world,
Unburdened and free!
Amongst the living there walks the dead
No blithe spirits will be ever found
With envious eyes of crimson red
Shadows the living without a sound
In limbo cast to raise Hell on Earth
No longer a furtile life to make
They hunger long for a new rebirth
And an endless thirst for souls to take