In fated inclemency
leading the charge
each push
deeper into the fray
The sound of the bugle
the call of the wild
where death lies afloat
in the quay
Each choice made to question
each vow pledged in blood
with very few
seeing the dawn
But onward we push
the bold and the meek
with our swords
and our bayonets drawn
The enemy fronted
all cannons in tow
the smoke makes things
harder to gauge
As destiny waits
on top of the hill
and the battle
continues to rage
One time looking back
the bodies lay piled
like toy soldiers
once toppled and strewn
Afoot in the madness
alone in the dark
my horse lying dead
— in the dew
(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)
The staff of my Father enjoining the past
futurity’s herding a bleating morass
The bloodline of orphans forever is linked
tattooing the flock with invisible ink
The first time the last time when nearing the end
tomorrow’s ungifted excuses portend
And times better nature is better untimed
beginning and ending forever conjoined
Eternity’s fenceposts hem in with disdain
all future inclemency fire and rain
But just as that last final sheep stays unsold
— my Father returns to re-shepherd the fold
(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)
Tempests of
inclemency
Cyclones filled
with pain
Tornadoes come
and go at will
With nothing
to remain
Caught inside
their whirlwind
Whose spin to wreak
and hurl
A demon vortex
roaming wild
Destruction
— to unfurl
(The New Room: April, 2025)
A red-throated hummingbird, betrayed,
begins the annual rite of packing up his nest,
in response to the mercurial spinning of winds,
and the twisted temperaments of weather.
Distant friends once conspired together, chasing sunbeams,
beak-seeking nectar beckoned from blossoms' tease,
thoughtful temptations from the breeze who taught him to fly.
Without warning, save the predictions of history,
the wind turned her shoulder, hiding the cold,
smell of snow on her breath belying denials of inclemency.
Taking only what he needs, tucking it in next to his breast;
an odd stick, a tuft of newborn lanugo for the sake of nostalgia,
unhatched plans of a portico he had intended to build.
Red bird perched on bare branch, in morning bids farewell,
takes flight on desolate breath, his load less heavy now,
having left his heart with the unsteady humor of sylphs.
In the chapel wherein Joe laid, his son stood, those final moments, needed.
A reflective image of one’s boyhood flooded through his mind,
fourteen years he has lived, yet somehow a hope of emulation to carry on
with a family tradition.
nature needs balance
a wild beast if uncontrolled…
dawn’s chorus each day
His Mother, has need of him and his five sisters, two of whom as yet
school age. The happiness they knew was to till the land, dwell within nature’s simple things, but many tears hamper this midsummer day, leafy pasture Joe knew so well, allied, his roses dip their heads in a suave way, the village folk salutes his final ride. Yet no more time to grieve, next day animals to feed, pastures to be hoed, seed to sow knowing he’d understand, if winter’s inclemency stretches into spring.
at the end of day
sunset rolls along the moor…
a time to reflect
© Harry J Horsman 2021
HAPPY HOLLIDAYS
~~~~~*~~~~~
Storms in summer not nice!
Torrents falling as solid ice!
Holliday makers pay the price,
indoors now, must sadly suffice.
Oh no, lightning and thunder,
made this holiday a blunder.
Stuck indoors not on the agenda
Altercations, yes! I do so rememba.
Another night, please not like the last!
In each heart so much hurt has past.
We all shout but mostly cry.
Another bad day and we'll surely die!
A week to go, some are packing up
no longer can they this inclemency sup!
All this congealed poison in one cup!
Turned on the radio, hell-bent they listen.
One would think they were on a mission.
Heard the words they needed too,
next day, sun, skies of diamond blue.
Next holiday that they'll be booking,
It'll be based on what the weathers cooking.
On the world wide web looking, searching.
Happiness, the daylight sun permanently perching
Where the dusk horizon is always glowing red.
Where lust is satisfied, then it's off to early morning bed!
After a good, fun night's drinking!
Hey, come on! What were you thinking!
Biting cold, blustery winds,
Ever the way January begins!
A time for snow and frozen rime,
That sees me composing rhymes
In scathing censure of its wiles!
Needless to say our snow piles
Get much higher, and faster when
January, returns to Canada again.
As furious blizzards rage uncurbed,
No one remains calmly undisturbed
Unless they move closer to the Equator,
As do Snow Birds! They will return later,
Relaxed and rested from warm, sunny days,
Yet we who stay, must face winter’s ways!
Seeing them return, reminds us we survived!
But for now we stay silent, on memories revived,
Lest acerbic retorts, from lips, frost bitten
Unleash outbursts on how we were smitten
Every day, by January’s harsh inclemency!
Spring’s return, is always a joy for me!
Rhymer. January 30th, 2017.
Everyone must walk in
The footsteps of someone
Who has gone on before them.
Sometimes they can
Continue to greatness,
Sometimes those footprints
may lead you astray
The footsteps I leave are sometimes
Muddy at the crossroads.
When You get where the
Mud gets thickest...
Pivot change direction-
Choose another road.
Even when the road has
Been paved- read the signs-
Find out what it took
to clear the paths.
Respect the sacrifices made
Of those who have left
Footsteps for you to study.
Though they have Transcended
Their Spirits cast big shadows on
The road of the flesh dwellers.
Communicate and forgive them-
Communicate and thank them-
Communicate and pray that
You both can be free
From inclemency, that
Bind souls to torturous memories.
Untie them so you too be free
So, that our future Spiritual
Footsteps, lead our loved ones
toward "Peaceful Promises"
Of thus... Our Creator!
MEGALITHIC TREES AND US
IN VIRGINIA WINTER
The inclemency of winter
has stripped the towering trees
of their peacock foliage of fall;
gravity sucking them back
to the womb that gave birth
to their bare breasted branches.
Yet these pompous zombies of nature
stand poised like wooden megaliths
winking and smiling at the sun
peeking through stilled clouds
lingering in stolen spaces between
shades of blue and gray chilled skies.
In the irony of this scene’s prelude
to nature’s power of resurrection,
we stoked the hungry fire and fed it
another log; and warming away the cold,
we waited with the trees to greet the coming snow.
This craggy place
vehemently clings to
dawn’s perpetual shadow,
the desolate wind arbitrates
with the warm body! Mine.
To the west grey stone
fuse with inhibited sky,
within the brownish bracken
sly vixen gives me a second look,
possibly doesn’t like
my scar fell face!
Alpine flower reaches out
to a watery sun for life,
soon to be put on hold,
but surely an end to
one’s misery?
The fragrance of the morning
send the beast to the wall,
no need of the weatherman
up here. The kennel next to
the cattle grid remains inhabited
the doorway of jute guards against
inclemency.
In this isolated place,
the riverbanks expose all
to winter, cheerless waters
witness a cortege of inanimation,
many shades bestowed by nature
in respect to this
cycle of the seasons!
© Harry J Horsman 2000
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