Peter (a birthday gift)
having not met in this reality
knowing him only by words
and the images captured
like still painted souls
in the magic box
I am free to dress him
in whatever thought
captures, as still life
in my bag of words.
scent of wind and heather
precedes the form as it coalesces
from the fog of imagery
rough coat of tweed
in blues and browns
carries the breath of gods
from distant times
the song of the carders
the slap of the shuttle
as it wends its singular way
between the fibres upon the loom.
he fills a room with presence
hilarities tumble across the threshold
laughter greets all gathered there
and mystery follows close behind
tagging at his coat tails
impatient to be etched across
white sheets of memory
yet like craggy cliffs his brow descends
when deep in thought,
far away in times unwritten
searching for his grail.
Categories:
hilarities, birthday,
Form: Free verse
As I move forward in this life,
I continually remember what's been done.
Hilarities and happiness, sorrows and strife,
ever feeling like yesterday's son.
Some time ago I felt constrained by such,
as if yesterday's gravity held me fast.
Since, there's been happenings much,
a gradual release from chains in the past.
Yet I find, that release is part ruin, part reprieve,
from moments wholly sweet, wholly bitter, some both.
Some yesterdays I'd gladly of myself bereave,
while others, to divest my soul of, I'm loath.
I wake others in the night, cursing my post,
while I still sleep, plagued by today's grip.
In comparison, to the hardest yesterday I'd be host,
if only the Corps being a part of them, could I slip.
In every way, despite looking to tomorrow,
I seem to embody those whose course has run.
From yore and those before, words and ways I borrow,
ever and anon feeling like yesterdays' son.
A soldier, sailor in search of his song, seeking shoreward,
yearning for his own while echoing tales already spun.
He may be looking back, but is always moving forward,
and in this way I feel I will ever be yesterday's son.
Categories:
hilarities, future, memory, remember, time,
Form: Rhyme
HAPPY New Year
Happy hours whole-heartedly hold to habitual hilarities.
Abandoned attitudes and aspirations are assessed as antiquity.
Party partakers posing for pictures postpone philanthropy.
Preliminary performances playfully present pasts poetically.
Yesterday's yearnings yield to Yuletide yelps for yonder years.
Necessity notices not nations’ nicest New Year's nights.
Elegance eludes excessive extravagance effectively.
Waste not… Want not… Work lots… Win!
Yesterdays years yielded yellow-yarrow yawns.
Every exploration envisioned endless eons.
Annual ambitions are articulated, and appraised.
Resolutions 2010 respectfully resolve righteousness rules!
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 20, 2009
Categories:
hilarities, family, holiday, people, social,
Form: Acrostic