As with all things it began small,
As a whisper, a glint, a glimmer
A distant chickadee giving voice
To a sun that rose ever silently
And a morn that seemed ever,
And ever more promising of wonder
Fleeting westward the veil’d stars
And rolling thunder
Dappling tears
That shed their gladness
The growing light abate the fears
Wrought, the wet groaning night.
And it seemed a slow standing ovation
A clatter of chirps, cars and school children
Beginning their ritual’d day
A smattering of clouds forming and deforming
As the orchestra began to play
And my window became a ringing call
Beckoning me to my door,
To turn the knob that had secured me before
Symbolizing a threshold—of a freedom
That lay beyond—
And more.
My run begins with a gentle jog along a mountain trail~
my breath is easy, my legs are loose,
and the world opens up ahead.
But when the trail tilts upward,
my lungs begin to burn, my heart starts to thud~
yet something in me refuses to stop.
Some days the trail is smooth,
sunlight dappling the ground
like applause.
Other days it’s mud,
tangled roots,
and the sharp surprise of a stone
I never saw coming.
But I keep running,
because the body remembers
what the mind forgets~
that momentum is its own kind of grace.
Somewhere along the way
I discover running isn't about the number of miles,
my speed, or crossing finish lines~
it's about the miracle of moving forward.
As zephyrs tousle thro’ his hair,
He walks along the dappling shade of trees
With a flaming lily behind his ear,
With scent of pine wood and lingering rain
On the horizon, warm oak on his breath,
He wanders freely upon a midsummer.
To be a cloud as it wanders the lull
Expanse of day, as the warmth of Sol’s breath
Scatters against the skin of dark vapour —
He is a cloud.
And on and on and on and then
He stops —
Captured by a hand that wasn't there;
The grass remembered arches after gone
And dew clung in the shape of being watched,
He could hear it clearing its throat to speak.
It passed him by as a cloud.
I love the ducks
on the pond in the park
drifting along paddling their webbed feet.
Dappling ducks feeding in the shallow water,
on aquatic plants, small fish and insects.
Amazing how the ducklings swim right after birth.
This is what created us. This light,
dappling the columned forests with petaled gold,
these nourishing and nourished streams, these bright
sun-laughing lakes, ruffling under an old
and infant wind, this intercourse of pine,
air, beam, mulch, bough, loam, moisture, say we fit
into the mothering niche of this design.
This does not belong to us: we belong to it.
If there can be a god, that god must be
what we are made to live for and within;
so in this pure cathedral we may see
our earth-determined being, and begin
to learn that we are water, light, and air:
our breath is homage, and our heartbeat prayer.
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Please note that I never have used and never will use AI to compose or revise any of my writings.
A random comment on poetry in general: All American poetry is a dialog between Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman.
IN A GILDED INSTANT
The monarch’s wings opened as a picture book, fluttering by. It glided, uncertain but undeterred, through a gentle haze of gold and shadow, the garden’s hush punctuated by the faint murmur of leaves. Sunlight filtered in rare skeins, dappling the monarch’s patterned wings as it hovered, hesitated, and then pressed onward—a flicker stitched between petal and air. The world, for one gilded instant, seemed spun from elegant silk.
Painted in oranges, kissed with black lace,
the monarch glides through the air and
pirouettes in a ballet of grace.
Oh, to witness her beauty, a fleeting affair
a living poem, a jeweled muse~
a moment suspended in delicate air.
(Poem written for USPS Stamp Poetry Contest, Robert James Liguori, sponsor)
- Not everyone is born under a starry sky ~ but climbed great heights -
quote by poet
Near the river I saw the decrepit aged man
Striped of outerwear
even though the snow reached his knees
The ground was inextricably bound by frost
Bare feet in worn-out shoes across the footpath
one shaky foot in front of the other
His body weak, but his will strong
- fighting as best he can
focused on survival
There is a lot of weight on his shoulders
The world occasionally feels as a bubble
with distorted truths,
falsehoods and veneers
Poor ignorant people
With glimmer of hope in the pitch dark
a warm home and a bottle of gin
Is that too much to ask?
Slits of sunlight dappling the lake I run.
Even dragonflies buzz about with importance.
Against all odds, I'm against all the odds.
Glistening listening to love laps.
Lush rushes of hot air.
And wet lips with slips and rips and ripples,
So sleepy on a summer day.
So nice for you and me to stay.
Buzzing bees
pollen covered bee
flits from flower to flower
nature's matchmaker
Camping
frogs croaking in base
crickets chirping in tenor
camp with nature's band
Midnight swim
reflecting moonlight
lunar cool lake shadows dance
dappling your sweet face
My little Eden --
before the fall
a screened porch
in the shade of
an ancient
overarching
fig tree
small wonder
Adam and Eve
needed only one each
to hide their new
nakedness --
chicks in their spring nests
chirping away, feeling nurtured
and protected
oblivious to the serpent
apples not his only ripe
fooled by his appealing strutting
fruited limbs and tasty appearance,
Lucifer, the cat, a black joke of
mine, stirs in my lap only slightly --
he is asleep for full – while I, a rival
fig picker, finish my second cup of
coffee…
my Eden has a thousand garden poems
and their seasons, come and gone,
one would think both heaven and hell
satiated by now
the many morbid failures and bright
triumphs~ despite the thick foliage
I try to write of dappling sunlight, dabbing
word-glistens, here and there, on my crinkly old
face
unkempt growth bleached but yet hopeful
Written: October 30, 2023,
______________________________________
When the sunlight rays dawning to decay
Within the scenic shade of the tall trees,
Foster felicity flows forth and fray,
Dappling the vista with a subtle breeze
Casting twirling shades in the woodland floor.
Vintage music stirs up forlorn desire,
A ceaseless mixture of light and leaves tore
Pith pearl persuasive pontoon painted pyre
Consume the elixir of leaves and beams
Light and bush rattles pulchrify the earth
Soak in the luscious komorebi gleams,
Ineffable grace, a trice of high worth
Light and leaves exudate a calm aura
Time seems to pose in gossamer flora...
1st place contest winner
Co-Exist, Neither Of Us Fear The Knife
I saw the crescent moon in dappling sky
Gentle wind danced about and moaned
Earth spoke quite clear and told the crescent moon
Let all liars that lie now be stoned
Does not the wizen owl straight on home fly?
I saw the vast crowd of bright twinkling stars
They danced to tease the dark looming night
I ran with fast wolves, our hearts beat as one
We watch the Heavens and saw all was right
And fought not to create vicious scars!
I saw life ebb and truth sat there quite clear
Nobody cowered, nobody fears.
Heart and spirit seeks wisdom and true life
Co-exist, neither of us fear the knife!
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet
Feb. 12th 1972
Note:
Inner Peace Quotes:
“Never be in a hurry; do everything quietly and in a calm spirit. Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset.” —Saint Francis de Sales
“The life of inner peace, being harmonious and without stress, is the easiest type of existence.” —Norman Vincent Peale
“Do not let the behavior of others destroy your inner peace.” —Dalai Lama
Dawn gently woke the sun on this humid morn
He yawned with splayed fingers of tepid light
dappling brown cattails along the lake's edge
and golden wings of a dragonfly ready for flight
A tint of rich ochre glossed over the water
suddenly rippled by strokes of a bull frog
and a blue heron appeared for his breakfast
Quietly, I observed them through wisps of fog
Upon the calm lake at this birthing hour of day
Nature reveals the ambiance of her majesty
In pastel threads, tightly woven with her breath
she creates sunrise scenes like those of a tapestry
I wander within the flowers of my mind
following the paths blind footsteps find
amid the flowing scent of rise and fall
sweet mystery of nature’s siren call
for darkness shrouds the vision that I seek
as flowers paint in aromatic brush
upon love’s petaled winds as if to speak
of color that would cause the sun to blush.
Thus, do I sit in darkness bathed in light
tears of memory dappling silenced ponds
inspired by such color to take flight
lay claim to sightless vision without bonds.
To be at peace with darkness, let it be
and share with it a dream it cannot see.
John G. Lawless
©12/28/2021
Dawn gently woke the sun on this summer morn
He yawned with splayed fingers of tepid light
dappling brown cattails along the river's bank
and gilded the wings of mosquito hawks in flight
December 17, 2021
Bite Size Poem #30 Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
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