Thy curve hath taught
the rosewood how to sing
and my fingers
long roughened by cedar
grow gentle upon thy hips
returning unto the edge of thy ebony
Through forty harvests
rain hath polished
snow hath kept
the sun made sweet the grain
Lo, the wood thrush calleth
from the bough
where once this timber
drank the morning
Thrice I say unto thee
I love thee—
And another ring
God closeth
in the heartwood
=======
Every atom and molecule
of me was made by you
in the cauldron of your womb
and these five senses of mine
are as much yours to mirror
back your majesty.
For you I assemble the morning
with its chilly wind coming across
the bay, the bloom weighted branches
of magnolia bending over my way
and scenting this last month of winter
with a promise of spring.
And here, just over the water,
great scoops of cloud
sitting like sun licked ice cream atop
of the city skyline, soft serve
for this sensory breakfast
that I offer you
lifted on the laughter of children
on their way to school,
all this a blossoming
of abundant life held in a morning
gifted me, beauty born
of such unimaginable savagery.
This intricacy, this forest
fanfare of green life, flower
and fungi, the creatures
that crawl its damp understory
of bush and fern, and above,
the wing born marvel
of those masters of the air -
cause the mind to pause
with wonder as when under
the high ceiling of a cathedral.
Here too is something made
to hold what seems holy,
an ideal blest by a notion
of some unspoiled thing.
And here too are hymns
composed out of an innate
desire to praise by being true,
bug, bird or towering tree
all sharing in the presence
of that unfathomable mystery.
This beautiful day of December is yours
we all get together to love and rejoice
We'll always remember the day you were born
The angels of heaven are here to adore
mmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmmm
This canticle hymn is about your brave choice
to enter this world like a child with no toys
The stable is lit with the flame of your love
on this beautiful day of December
on this beautiful day of December
Sometimes it overwhelms
and breaks open
what holds me,
becomes me
and I a part
of its breath
and surge, one
with no seam or crack
but whole
and giving lift
to words,
song to wind
and waves
to swell across oceans
and wash shores
not known to me before,
a crystal dream,
fragile as glass,
a shell that opens
and lets free
a living world
and light.....
and me.
Captive Canticle
David J Walker
Imagine her always dressed as summer
Perpetually blown from day to day by
A youthful song and
I could have been the singer… or
I could have been the distant canticle
Sung on her bedside radio
Strewn in rose petal expectations of the
Perpetual journey of the protagonist in
A love poem who will never be seen
Beyond the next tomorrow
The chapter ends and she remains
The captive canticle of the book
Why am I so fulfilled with love's grandeur?
Tis a question, without a clear answer!
Far too sane, to hunt for the perfect man.
Nay, disgustingly to brag,I once did.
Indeed,the treasure of treasures, the one!
That thou mayest neither touch nor to bed.
Because it is true as the rising moon.
Thou shalt not have him, not now, not yet soon.
In a castle, is our gentle domain.
His name.......a canticle for the stars!
3/22/2021
~4~
Canticle to the Stars
I cannot forget you, love, anymore than to breathe.
And when my breath is its very last, I beg God's
forbearance, please.
To bind me to you, in lovely, fragrant gardenias,
tenderly, divinely tethered.
Somewhere...we, shining with the blinding, brilliance
of peacock feathers.
Watching our progeny on earth still living joyfully,
serenely on God's earth.
Those living memories of our making love, we populated it,
with sensuous mirth.
Oh, just to create one more child, is my fondest wish.
Come to me now, softly with a brush of your delicious,
intoxicating yet oh, so holy, soft lips.....
July 29, 2020
11:30PM PST
Canticle of Two Stars
I hear the two stars singing
In daylight valleys of never ending tears
And through deep deserts of rushing storms
At midnight;
Companions on my journey,
Duets,
In perfect harmony,
Daystar at the dawn -
A light unto my feet – a morning song -
North Star for the midnight
Standing watch in darkness
So quietly humming in solitude;
Celestial melodies
Intertwined
In radiant symphonies of light –
A morning paean
To rise up in daylight
And a lullaby
To guide my steps
Into dreams
Beneath broad wings
Protection from discord -
Fiery beacons over mountaintops
Chanting life at dawn and dusk -
The rhythm of two heartbeats
Heard across the galaxies -
A rhapsody.
Yes,
I hear the two stars singing.
Warm, blue, Islands in The Stream
Immersed in your sweet bosom
I drift, slow, to your cool depths
Shimmering coral towers ...
Surround me like Heaven's spires
I reach for ropes of sunlight ...
And swallow my last ... wet ... breath.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Sevenbits" Poetry Contest, Nette Onclaud, Judge & Sponsor. ( Islands in The Stream = Caribbean Isles )
~ 10th Place ~ in the "An October Premiere Contest" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Canticle for Usquebaugh
Have you not heard the fragrant voice of Aberlour,
Soft spoken and gentle to the tongue, quiet oak
And the distant tones of bourbon, orange, and
Candied peel?
Lazy hills, with tumbling streams and silent
Broadwaters, green meadows and the glint of
Golden, shaking barley, distant to the horizon,
Harbinger of joy.
Have you not heard its seductive tones, eloquent
Words of desire and promise, singing to you,
Praising your virtues, painting a portrait of
Greatness and worth?
Aberlour.
Canticle to the Wind
This is the place I build my world.
A funny little god, fussing about the raw material
and without a clue about completion.
Beside the insistent calm, questions.
Beside answering, wonderment.
It is well; answers will not do.
It is out of nothing comes wisdom.
Don't look. See.
It is heartbeat; it is footstep; it is triumph;
it is vanity just before collapse; it is waiting.
Then...then it may speak beyond the voice of God
who can share with us one impossible reality:
exit and out
~
Here's a toast to the ones you leave behind.
To the ones who time carries you past,
spending a while with comrades
until the rivers drag you away.
To the ones who sail their own courses through life,
a far, far cry from your own.
And yet, that cry is always heard,
in the end,
for companionship ever beckons.
The lanterns on their prows
shine a light for you, always;
whenever they're near their fellow in need.
To the ones you never fail
and who never fail you;
to the ones whose separation
marks the end of an era.
Yes;
a toast to the ones you leave behind.
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