Will you linger with me when July graces
the spring- dew of my breath
hailing the glow of spring's flowering?
How about the end of summer wind gliding
on ember of hope burned
by the heat of season's nights?
And come bitter November,
would your hands cuddle mine
in withered age when flakes wheeze
of a hundred vague symphonies ...
except for unsolicited embraces
ready to enfold you when
winter candles wax the torpid kiln of infallibility--
If so then lead me on, on...
while autumn spirals through
pensive intervals more frequent
than the drift of upturned leaves in a space
of unknowing-- how much more
can the eternity of seasons etch
the piercing trance of time's flames
courting moonlight's evanescence
where forever is but destiny's kismet, not ours ?
Tell me about ever after...my seasons
are hungry again.
The Trees ¦¦¦¦ Tassels -- hit -- and swung --
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ to ¦¦¦¦ a Tune
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Accompanying the Sun --
Far Psalteries of Summer --
Enamoring the Ear
¦¦¦¦ never yet did satisfy --
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ -- when most fair
¦¦¦ Sun shone whole ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ --
Then Half -- then utter hid --
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Estates of Cloud
Sufficient to enfold Him
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ from view --
Except it were a whim of His
To let ¦¦¦ Orchards grow --
¦¦¦ Bird sat careless on the fence --
One gossipped ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
On silver matters ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ --
Bright Flowers slit a Calyx
And soared upon a Stem
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ -- Sweet hoisted --
With Spices -- in the Hem --
'Twas more -- I cannot mention --
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ -- ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ --
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Of Nature's -- Summer Day!
(Blackout of The Trees like Tassels -- hit -- and swung -- by Emily Dickinson)
And what, other than a God, should say
why days begin and nights enfold?
Could any sun, rightly, determine such a
bright thing,
with his blushing moon, while on a typical
night-fling? Perhaps a depth-sea, on a map flat,
bragging lifts of surf its tides, should determine where
and when, day rises or hides?
Maybe continents of mighty slips and slides,
would sufficiently declare if day lights~ thus
illuminatingly abides?
Independent of a God could man learn to reign
totally Free, each his own crucifixion
then clemency? Best that a God continues to keep all course,
determining when light to dark is lost. Myself included
judged by degree~ how Fahrenheit or centigrade a soul’s
eternity.
My feet are cold as they have always been
since time began
and they are strong, and my legs are long
and suit my purpose.
I have a large sharp beak and I spear things,
and then I’ve eaten, and I don’t do much really
I stand amid reflections.
I have large blue wings that enfold and carry me,
and it doesn’t seem like much —
just standing here quiet and still
but I’ve seen men gasp
as if they caught a glimpse of heaven
I am the Great Blue Heron.
Surround me with your twilight kisses,
enfold me with the lights of your soul,
encircle me with your warm smiles
tonight and every night as the drift comes.
Hold me, pull me closer,
speak a million words for me,
kiss me with your subtle lips and
dream…dream with me.
Make me breathless as you reach for my hands;
cover my eyes with your charm
as we vividly float
into the beauty of the day.
Place me within a bubble and
let me be blown away by the beauteous breeze,
place your hand in mine and
fall in love.
Come to me when dusk is silently creeping,
whisper and captivate me
as we lose control and
fade into each other.
The world is turning furious and fast,
A story told in storms and sighs,
But I have left the shoreline of my past
And all the hollowness of my eyes.
Let others count the letters in the stone
And hug the coldness of a distant sign;
I found the boardwalk where You made Your throne,
And reached across the dark to gather mine.
Now take this weary heart and fold it deep,
Where mercy runs too thick for words to measure,
Past every promise that I couldn't keep,
Into the gold of Your unchanging treasure.
Oh, pull me closer than the breath I breathe,
Enfold the center till the boundaries break—
A multi-layered cocoon of pure relief,
Where love is all that stays alive, awake.
No curb can hold the bruises of the throw,
No winter chills in the nesting of Your wing;
I simply walk the way the wind will blow,
And let the silent heart begin to sing.
Wrapped up in You, with mercy all around,
The storm can roar against the outer sea
But in the middle, on this sacred ground,
There’s only Jesus, and the rest of me.
Along the quiet ocean shore,
Where restless thoughts are heard no more,
The silver waves in gentle rhyme
Wash worries from the sands of time.
The gulls drift softly on the breeze,
While sunlight dances on the seas;
Each foamy crest and whispered spray
Invites the cares of life away.
Barefoot upon the cooling sand,
I feel no need to understand
The hurried world that lies behind,
The sea brings calm unto the mind.
The distant horizon, vast and blue,
Speaks ancient truths forever new;
No voice is raised, no burden pressed,
Yet all within is soothed and blessed.
As evening paints the sky with gold,
And twilight's peaceful arms enfold,
A quiet joy begins to bloom,
A sacred stillness fills the room.
Near ocean's edge I gently see
The gift of simple harmony;
And in the rhythm of the tide,
Serenity walks by my side.
The somber sky falls flustered,
wrecks the crown of bejeweled night.
The sickle moon slices its glow,
dissolving at the brink of blue.
In the depth of opaque onyx
ground hears the footfall of stillness.
Glacial sense of chilled passion congeals
the exposure of lonesome secrecy.
The broken wings painfully curled,
can’t fly in the lacerating chill of winter,
enfold the frosted psyche,
fervent warmth freezes unfelt.
Frail emotive candle flame flickers,
the wind of cold abandon blows it out.
Morose mist enwraps the winter nights
within desolate distress innately framed.
The sky of longing falls frozen
on the permafrost of arctic silence,
with the icy torrent of the forlorn heart,
buried deep in the gelid blue of seclusion.
Stay for love
and fragrant jasmine
spiced buns with dainties
lovingly showcased
in a vibrant tableau
on country lawns
amid the whispering trees
and rippling brook
diamond specked
at the radiant close
of a summer’s day
when shadow dance
must come
with chilly winds
to rock the tender buds
and enfold dear younglings
in ancient lullabies.
When crossing the road
or walking the sands
come rain or shine
we'd hold hands
less a habit more by design
I'd gently enfold yours in mine
and while sitting on the sofa
always held you tight
wrapped my arms around you
as we kissed goodnight
then dancing to the music
you were the Belle of the ball
it looks to me we seem to be
in a holding pattern after all
Upon the edge where fading day departs,
A silver hush descends, the world grown still,
Soft shadows gather close, in gentle arts,
And wistful breezes through the hollows spill.
The golden west surrenders light’s bright thrill,
As dusky veils enfold the silent land,
Quiet longing as the heart beats at will
While stars awaken at the night’s command.
Memory drifts as grains across the sand,
Dreams emerge from twilights enchanted scheme,
Uncertain futures waiting to be planned,
As hope and fear entwine within the dream.
So stand I poised, as twilight claims its right,
To cross the threshold - on the edge of night.
How do you know the discomfort is real,
If warmth or coldness wraps their faded appeal?
We turn the heat on; we turn it off—
That’s the demand of the sick and the frail.
What comforts to offer, what food to provide—
Will he eat soup or just a small piece of bread?
Is there a way to bridge this divide?
Are the blankets soft, do they gently enfold?
Are they too heavy or light, not keeping him warm?
The clothes feel uncomfortable, like stones in the morn…
Are the pills sufficient for health to be controlled?
The worry of caregivers wears heavy and long,
Yet each loving effort feels never quite strong.
With frailty and age, they wrestle with pain,
In their silence, the echoes of sorrow remain.
They cry and they cry… what a life…
You offer your heart, but it feels all in vain,
For the weight of their grief is a never-ending chain.
But know that your presence, your caring embrace,
Brings moments of comfort, a small healing space.
Though your best may seem lost in the shadows of night,
Maybe your love is the gift that will shine.
Night, friendly night
On lone walks past
Whom I've divulged, through no ' boo!'
My secrets to
Enfold me now
Low-boughed for pine.
A moonless grove's! Trackless sought;
Midst airs, o'erwrought.
Friend, spouse! To hide
Each fright away.
Day-faced, when at me glaring
World, felt odd in .
In the end
there is only
one truth
In the end
one Voice
coming through
In the end
a chorus
of joy
In the end
His love
to employ
In the end
alone
with my thoughts
In the end
no longer
distraught
In the end
all fortune
beholds
In the end
His arms
— to enfold
(First Book Of Prayers: December, 2025)
The heat has stung the lizards numb, Elli,
the white church scours itself with glare.
Ecstatic mules devour the afternoon
by the rusty fence where poppies smudge the sun like blossoming wounds,
and your arms gleam bright as dew on a dragonfly’s wing, Elli.
A god dreams on in the olive tree’s angry womb,
the balcony’s shadow slices the street,
and your body is sweet as a knife, Elli,
your flesh is a casket of flowers.
In the valley between your breasts I hear your heart pump molten stone.
Enfold my breath in a rose of musk, Elli:
in your black eyes I see my death, Elli.
---------------------------------------------------------
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: I'm not interested in poems that try to make me understand the person who wrote them; I want poems that make me understand myself.
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