Best Passing Poems
When the crimson rose has faded
And our day at last is done;
In the forest dark and shaded
Blows the tempest, dims the sun.
When the night holds us together
Shall forgiveness mend the past
Will despair bring sunny weather
And heal our hearts at last?
If we hide within the shadows
Will you stay here close to me;
Will we walk forgotten meadows
Or sail a foreign sea?
In vain the hour must reap
What we gathered in the sun;
And love's harvest now will weep
For the battle never won.
Within the world's disgrace
In the hour of Nevermore;
Will there be another race
To a far-off fabled shore?
We promised love tomorrow
We preen with pride today
Now pride and love will borrow
The tears of yesterday.
Our pride we now confess it
Is a sin that couldn't last;
Our passion if we kiss it
Is like a dream now passed.
While fragrance scents the garden
And the misty moon rides high;
The wind whispers a pardon
When love goes passing by.
Behind our house, below the deck
with its pleasing benches and sylvan view,
the back yard we have descends steeply
to a little stream called Chimacum Creek.
It is September, so the Creek’s waters
are shallow, so shallow that
little music from its ripple and flow
rises to meet our eager, listening ears above.
Any day now, the waters will surrender
their serenity and in noisy salute
yield to thrashing thunder,
as salmon spawn and meet their demise.
Sheltering us there from summer’s heat
and winter’s chilled and rainy drench,
a little family of barred owls often call and beg,
their nocturne nearly undisturbed by our home's intrusion.
Outside, my wife stands in solitary contemplation,
for this is her temple, and she its worthy guest.
Yet the minutes and hours pass so slowly now,
as grief stands weary watch with her.
We had grown so accustomed to our dear child’s
heartened ways, as ever eager to greet us
at morning’s hesitant, uncertain dawning glow
as at evening’s surrender to curl upon our bed to sleep.
Jet black hair and soft green eyes—her special dance
each moment to delight us so, we had never ever
thought today would bring us only fading echoes of
all we held so dear in this sweet and tender form.
No matter that she had a tail and two more legs than us,
she lived and loved and spoke with such eloquence
and grace, the best of us were shamed.
Angels withheld not their envy and begged for her return.
So grieve with us a moment, for fled is now
that little feline snowflake in our hand.
My rhyme is vanished; my muse is stilled.
Shadow was her name.
As every drop hath magic of its own,
And yet within a river finds its whole,
So are our lives of merit all alone,
And yet a facet in a greater soul.
Or as a shard of light that shines in spring,
Within the fabric of the dazzling day;
We are like notes with which a choir can sing,
But having sung, like notes, we fade away.
Strange thing our moment’s glory is not long,
Is but a passing glance within the all;
So great the wealth of beauty flowing strong,
It little cares that you and I shall fall.
As when at last the final ember’s gone,
A bird is lost, and yet the flock flies on.
Distrait within the dismal night
while drifting down deserted track...
Beyond the bend, a lantern light
illumed alone the vacant black.
Such are the tricks that fate will feign
with passing trains in winter rain.
The darkling sky sighed, dripping dew,
beguiling to the trek anew.
Through diamond dusk old demons came -
There was no dread, there was no claim,
for distant thoughts will entertain
on passing trains in winter rain.
Through shadow’s fog a form appeared
(which slowed its pace as morning neared),
a lonesome, meek and wistful thing,
like fallen bird with broken wing.
Such are the shapes and weary strain
of passing trains in winter rain.
We paused a moment, side by side
confronting Fate in eventide.
But Passion’s Pains of yesteryear
left youthful Ardor draped in fear -
We had our courses to maintain
like passing trains in winter rain.
I often harken, flashing back,
to sense the formless twisted track
muse “Few have loved though all have toyed
inside this vast and vacant void -
The reason why ? At heart, mundane
as passing trains in winter rain” ...
Aimlessly wander veiled memories of yore
Each passing cloud subtly brings to fore
Recalling regrets, where laments agonize,
Thinking of you, searching forsaken skies,
Muting spent emotions of anguished eyes.
O how we rejoiced in blissful sunny days
When dawns arose on glinted arc ablaze
As golden beams pierced shrouded haze
Defying onslaught of darkened malaise
Intent on blotting zealous romantic phase.
Recalling ardent dreams with you I stroll
Where gleam of your smile brightens soul
As allure of amorous past feelings cajole
Emanating from desires heartbeats extol
In language of passion yesteryears scroll.
Every cloud etches effigy of love gone awry
Yet, thunder of stygian vibes fiercely I defy,
For return of clear skies in your longing I vie
Denouncing certitude hosting forlorn sigh,
Remorseful of ego that callously bid goodbye.
March 8, 2023
Placed 1st: Each Passing Cloud Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Brul
From obscurity come the strangers
Fading away, like old dangers.
Walking the street of flowers
more people pass every hour
A few are pleasantry exchangers.
Near my porch, robin sings
Beautiful music for summer swing!
Red berries in a bowl
Kelly green butterfles, on patrol
Noontime's for swaying and musing.
Passersby, smiles of the moment
Starry eyes, upon distance fervent!
Jasmine fragrance in the air
Pink hummingbird is stopping there
Yellow balloon wafts by, silent.
There's a river winding gently through the pastures on the flats,
collecting tributaries of little creeks that the lower ground attracts.
'Tis the river that the angler seeks - the stream where pools run deep and slow.
I net the crayfish just for fun and there I let them go.
Kiss by the Passing Breeze of Awakening
Dust of divine whimsy
Flutters softly on unconscious cheeks
With ephemeral dawning
Fleeting like the flash of silver sandals
In moonlight - here then hidden -
Stepping out of the opaque
Soul stirring from oblivious daydreams
Stepping into moments of classical
Lavender-rose moments.
The leaven of breezes in stardust essence
Flares in lambent clarity
Caches of chimera, that drain the heartbeat,
Shrivel in bursts of cheeky shooting stars.
Aroused from the depths of sleepwalking,
Grace notes float on rose scents
Harvested in potpourris for strangled screams
Scrambling through midnight fogs,
Sentience revisits in soft swirls
Awareness, roused by reveille,
Stirs caressed codas in soft preludes,
Awakes in fresh mindful raptures
Nurtured by a passing angel kiss.
The velvet sky was strangely quiet...
The Earth still and hushed beneath my feet.
No mountains groaned, no crumbling stone
Giving voice to my defeat.
The lake... calm and placid like mirrored glass...
Not a ripple to be seen.
Two loons at play had flown away
Leaving a tranquil pastoral scene.
Birds would sing to mark this day
As beasts roamed throughout the land.
I was not impressed and most distressed...
Nature's laws seemed well in hand.
The morning scented with a familiar air as
Meadow flowers made good their vivid fashion
But in my grief, there was a unyielding belief...
Nature should be gripped with far more passion.
I wanted Earthly reprisals and thunderbolts
To lash out their.. mournful roar.
I wanted winds to squall and towered trees to fall
And huge white capped waves to lap their shores.
I wanted the land to wither and blow away
Where wilted crops grow stunted for the year.
Where the force above... feels a desperate shove
And an unplumbed chasm then appears.
But then again... on further musing,
Such sights would not honor her at all.
We had oft discussed... there be no fuss
When she answered Heaven's call.
No trumpets roared or melodic lyres blurred
As a callous Nature missed that special day...
But Church bells rang and sweet Angelic voices sang...
When my dear Mother passed away.
The End
Children playing, picking flowers
on this April afternoon
up and down the grassy hillside
shadows will be fading soon
As the sudden storm approaches
all of nature darkening
the children dashing homeward
to their mother's call are hearkening
The rain begins its rhythmic dance
as to their back door they both race
once inside they make their way
into their mother's warm embrace
Perched beside a picture window
fresh hot cocoa for each one
they sit and watch the treetops blowing
passing storms can sure be fun
Breaking clouds give way to sunshine
beams of light go flowing by
and like a heavenly artist's brush
they paint a rainbow 'cross the sky
Children sit and watch in wonder
Mother Nature's wrath subside
as dazzling buds and fragrant blooms
beckon them to come outside
My God, let my body break in cold months.
The first flurries look further than my white —
Where my form sink under this frozen touch,
Winter's last, return my kiss back to light —
As the snow beats into my epitaph,
I'm still on the mound, outside my last gasp,
My little bit of snow laid in my breath,
For heaven was created before death.
It's hard to believe that there the cold stays,
This frost's inner hurt buried in a grave —
Winter memory breaking still lingers.
A stone cross's statue brushed my fingers
Rubbing dust on dust; turns to my soft glow
As remembered as footprints in the snow.
I used to be creative,
I was crafty with the pen
People liked to read my odes
And would praise me now and then
Yes, i would dive into the river
Where the creative juices flow
My pen would seize the moment
And take on a life all its own
I would scribble til the morning
And sleep would pass me by
But i had to react to my calling
Until it was emptied from inside
Some folks say i have a gift
And should sell a book or two
Ive never heard of a rich poet
Maybe when we die we get our due
So one day some years from now
When my name is etched in stone
Perhaps my odes will touch one heart
And the gift will carry on.
I felt the cool of a morning breeze
As it rustled through the poplar leaves.
It may have been urging “come with me”
As it swayed the flowers around my knees.
I tried to discern but could not see
Nor mark its transient destiny,
And if to follow I might have yearned,
But its passing left no void in me.
To exotic affairs I might have turned
Or intrigues of state I might have spurned,
But would I be wiser for all I had learned
Once having departed and then returned?
A silky moonlight the water walking
As lovers entwined their lives while talking.
Spring softly warm, blossoms upon the air,
Time's gentle memory when she was there.
Stars bright after sunlight reveled in youth
Or might we more have considered the truth
Of philosophy and kisses so bare
That perhaps we gave too much to the air.
To summer we could not forever cling,
Must autumn mean loss, must it perforce bring
A harsh threat of change, hint of winter stark,
As a cold, still gun may glint in the dark.
All energy we find within a thought
Of what Fate bought, of what we might have wrought.
Inside of me, there is another me
Observing, as I act upon life's stage
My mind is where he hangs his open cage
To him that is the same as being free
I keep him in touch with reality
At times he claims to be some sort of sage
At other times he doesn't act his age
What's best, is that we never disagree
But he is really not like me at all
He's innocent with curiosity
Where he is quiet, I am always loud
To him the moon's a flying orange ball
He does not see the ugliness I see
He flies above it, on each passing cloud.