Looking over my northern shoulder
at the changing shades of day
a weak winter sun turning twilight grey
teardrops of rain on the window
the gentle sigh of the wind
storm clouds in the evening sky
bring it all back again
poring over unwritten letters
in the solitude of night
a dim lit candle shining star white light
telephone silent unanswered
candlelight quietly dimmed
unwritten letters to no one
start it all over again
I don't want to be lonely
for the rest of my life
and if I love you only
will you stay by my side
Poring over the holy books
Hoary heads, stroking their beards
Calibrating ancient laws for 2022
Eschewing payment, revered volunteers
A warm October day finds me on the couch on my porch, poring over magazines which have stacked up for a year. Getting ideas for poems, for lesson plans, for possible future books or paintings. Something catches my eye, and I look up.
There is a glorious eagle, soaring. A sign from God that he has this? I like to think so.
a warm autumn day
my errant eye turns upwards
bald eagle soaring
Heart raptures are often revisited,
When poring over the things He said;
And as a rousing drama replays again,
All evergreen is love's aged domain!
Words of prophets in the mind recur;
The divine tales of each messenger-
How Moses by God obtained the law,
Then merciful Jesus, who had no flaw.
When evening comes quite softly and,
Blossoms His shadow all over land,
When hoot owl and all creation sighs,
Prayers rise to purple satiny skies!
His story is warm as sunshine gold,
And our destiny His word had foretold,
Like fireflies foreshadow the night,
And as excessive darkness heralds light!
He revealed the way to live in love,
In beauty joyful as rampant foxglove!
It's no wonder all of nature sings,
Crypts of saints have eternal spring!
sitting on the steps
of the Winthrop Baptist Church
observing the trickle
of treasure seekers
poring over the detritus
of trinkets gadgets
broken tools
unfinished projects
games used toys
assembled into a motley melange
best discarded or given away
a boy appears
and sorts through a pile
of dusty 78 rpm records
excited about what mysteries
he might find in the worn grooves
of these scratched treasures
and antique sounds
of a former time
distant and remote
from his world
yet he claims these relics
as his own
and tells me he has
a machine on which
he can hear the sounds
cradled in his arms
takes the pile
of shellac memories
to his father
gets in the car
turns smiles and waves
as the past
goes down the road
into the future
Apples and oranges are different
It must be the color
They sell at markets at low prices
Along with all other fruits and vegetables
Who have no souls to bargain for
Atheist to the core
Kissed by the sun for warmth
When apples and oranges are pressed for information
Truth and juice ooze from their pores
A real taste for justice must be explored and savored
When cut into slices
Displayed at parties openly
You find out what they really are
But the difference between oranges and apples
Poring over and over again in the mind
Remains a mystery
Oranges are orange
But why are apples red
It must be their color
But that's just a guess
Liquid she Strived
Liquid lace heavenly dream.
She has been caste out, my princesses to be.
Angels of life keeping her needs.
When I find her - her soul will be set free.
Liquid of life poring over her through the night.
My dream sees clearly visions of sights.
Plated with steel - master of sword.
I have came to save her with my extra horse.
I followed my heart then found my way.
There she was, asleep with liquid spay.
On the horse there we go.
Happy ever after - our love forever gold.
dedicated to Kerry
The literal closet in which she dreamed
Visions of a world that outside teemed
Whilst poring over texts and theories
Cocooned her life from freedoms’ wine,
The taste of which fermented bright
In the chrysalis cauldron of her mind.
The motors that hummed beneath her skin,
The restless throb that pulsed within
Desired release to spread her wings,
For soon the spring brought summer after
As greyest days she turned to sunshine
By way of gentle wit and laughter.
The butterfly girl one glorious morning,
Felt the joy of life transforming,
And she cast aside the red-brick past,
As beauty reigned upon her form,
She chased the pleasure that is life,
And soared beyond the rain and storm.
For now the future beckoned glowing,
The earth in splendour hers for knowing,
Even though she gleaned vulnerability
And how she all too easily cried,
She prepared to engage the roughness of life,
Betrothed to the world a butterfly bride.