When storm clouds gather
overshadow the sun
and darkness overwhelms
has me on the run
I look on you as the lodestone
to a sense of calm serenity
see you as a compass of my own
to a place of quiet tranquility
when hard times follow
in the wake left behind
and troubles overtake
only to remind
in a yearning world
with all its sadness
and is out of joint
on a burning world
in all its madness
you are the still point
Categories:
lodestone, for her, how i
Form: Rhyme
"If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold
no fire can never warn me, I know that is poetry."
— Emily Dickinson
When I begin a book that leaves me cold,
with Emily, I soundly disagree.
I put it down to read something more bold
great poetry must spark passion in me.
Unlike Ms. Dickinson who is famous
I 'm not listed with poets well-known.
Not that I am some dumb ignoramus
but her poetry - absolute lodestone.
My poetry, somewhat common, lighter.
I am plain, short of three-dimensional.
Unlike Ms. Dickinson, a skilled writer,
Her acclaim, very unconventional.
Her century, frozen by handicap,
she missed out on the technology loop.
Between Emily and me - a big gap -
the warm audience at Poetry Soup.
May 12, 2022
Categories:
lodestone, 11th grade, appreciation, emotions,
Form: Quatrain
deep in thoughts
are memories of you
lodestone of dreams
that waft on by
like a log in river
tossed about
spiraling
in and out
of current
wandering
through the deep
dark depths
of the a journey
unknown
only resting
in the consciousness
of morningtide
awaiting
to be swept
away again
in the depths
of dreams
)9/03/2021
Categories:
lodestone, dream, journey, memory,
Form: Free verse
Here we lay etched upon the grass
The sun rained down in broken rays
Seared to smudges, fried-onion brass
The colour that will haunt our days
Here we stood carved into a tree
Wobbly letters at the ends of a spear
Driven through a heart doomed to be
The lodestone of every shattered tear
Here we sailed forth in a cockel-shell
Round the world, round and back again
Here the ocean sounded its old knell
Whirled us back into the old pain
Categories:
lodestone, beautiful, blue, childhood, color,
Form: Rhyme
LOST
When she is away
My bubble of life will sink
And move but heavily in the sea’s sway,
Her return an eternity’s blink,
My sphere all but lost.
Horned-helmeted Norsemen at night
Drifting too far south o’er the horizon,
The peaks of Spitzbergen out of sight,
Watched without hope their lodestone,
And longed to see the stars of home.
Categories:
lodestone, analogy, sea,
Form: Verse
I was born of the Eternal Flame,
forged in the Fires of Divine Will;
I was weaned in the fields of gore,
learnt to walk on the odes of yore..
shooting 'fore i learned to walk,
shooting fair an' shooting well;
I was weaned in the fields of gore,
bore the brunt of bards and lore..
i could tell a grenade from a pear,
knew a bullet 'fore i knew rice grains;
I was weaned in the fields of gore,
my milk was taint'd with bloody spore..
walked the fields than mama's cot,
stones for a bed, not velvety rest;
I was weaned in the fields of gore,
strong as iron, like lodestone ore..
Categories:
lodestone, child abuse, conflict, holocaust,
Form: Rhyme
He speaks of the weather, of family and friends...
anything to fill the spaces, and I wear his
words like my favorite sweater-
but not all spaces need filled with words.
The gaps are welcome, as I listen to the
fall of rain, the trill of songbirds,
the brush of leaves against the pane.
He continues along about the garden,
the dog and such, as I watch his lips
and his eyes, until I can no longer
disguise how tired I have become.
I smile weakly as he squeezes my hand.
He fluffs the white pillow as I close my eyes,
drifting into dreams, not knowing if I will awaken.
My body is a glass doll one might keep in a hutch,
but my heart is a lodestone drawing in his love,
clutching onto his strength...as he does mine.
I sense his tears perched, ready to spill.
I can feel his breath in my hair. He reposes
inside my heart, crowding out all the sad places,
all those empty spaces.
The artist can paint his love on canvas.
The singer through his songs.
The dancer through plies and croises.
But he paints more than the artist,
displays more than the dancer,
imparts more than the singer-
for he is the song.
He fills the spaces.
Categories:
lodestone, caregiving, death, devotion, love,
Form: Free verse