"Reach high, for stars lie hidden in you. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal."
Rabindranath Tagore
Soul seeks splendor, sweetly sent stream.
Destiny delivers drab dismal dream.
Dictating, dawn's dew delight.
Raptures reminisce rivalled respite.
Flowers forever freed.
Sycamore scents send somber seed.
Supreme silence, so softly swept.
Goodbye my little August
Here comes your time to fly
I’ve loved you, to be honest
Much better than July
September’s on the threshold
The summer paid its price
The autumn wind blows cold
Precedes the winter ice
Though many autumns I have seen
And winters in their prime
I couldn’t imagine it would seem
Like a delayed goodbye
More nights, my darling, without you
More leaves at your back door
But memories remain like new
We thought they would, before.
The calm skies welcomed a light rain that lasted
a while, but suddenly natures unpredictable flare
gathered its clouds and burst into a heavy storm.
With intense luminescence of a lightning-lit sky,
the soft light precedes the shatter of thunder that
pierced the heavens with an iron bolt; and again,
repeating its uproarious cry until Zeus was satisfied.
At the storm’s climax, mirroring each other’s motion,
aligned together, our bare homologous bodies
in full sway intertwined under blue satin skies,
synchronize as an unwritten symphony, a bohemian
rhapsody of involuntary euphoria that seems to last
forever. When the storm finally subsides, relaxing
in each other’s arms, in search of a resolution unlike
the placelessness of other times never visited before.
Our eyes shut, the words “I love you” yet unsaid.
Rabbit,
run, run!
The farmer doesn’t sleep
while you eat
Run, run!
The storm precedes you,
as it always does
Run, run, little one!
Your heart, like mine
is merely meat
still beating, and warm
inside its fence
We are both
constantly
hungry for something
your red leaf,
your romaine,
your fur-covered flesh is in the dirt
eating away at itself,
so is my colder skin
Little rabbit,
little soul,
my warm-bellied love,
aren’t we both true hunters
of the sodden earth?
the goldfinches,
the steady warblers,
always stop their song
in the stabbing brambles
count the syllables
of silence
in perfect time
making way for thunder
God announces
himself
Where ere befell a guiding light
Shining eyes beheld a glory
Holp toward a muted purpose—
A distant feigning glimmer,
Beyond the pale of words.
An aching need to be remade,
A sculptor's hand; a brutal vision
A child; a blank canvas,
A naivety, a submissive nature,
An eagerness to please.
Lead them to a dimming light,
There amidst our dying shadows;
There betwixt the Sun and Night,
Where line the winding gallows.
Where shame forsakes the birth-right
That a darker voice be heard.
And offer up their souls of light
Like the flourishing of birds.
The blinding faith sees not the wraith
Whose night has coiled a cold embrace.
The sun shall nevermore break
Where the twilight, some sayeth,
Precedes its visage upon the lake.
Darkness shall have usurp'd the day
And those who needed believe
Shall have naught to say,
Atop the boroughs as they grieve,
Bearing the known regrets
And we—
The freedom used to deceive,
To let embolden depravity,
To watch the flames spread despair and misery.
The freedom to preach hate and heresy,
To wrongfully endure—
For which we all shall sorely pay.
knowing heart’s desire precedes thought
just pause the cause and hush the blush
no mind battles need to be fought
poised in stillness, soul lets joy gush
with each breath reborn we sail on
God is the helmsman of our ship
though darkness of night precedes dawn
bliss mists effused is our worship
The eyes of the day are open
She has awoken
Sun shines in her imagination
The light of illumination
A living presence
She’s nature’s essence
Her true beauty precedes
The dreamer believes
Hidden & concealed
She will be revealed
Just one glance
She is the eternal dance
The spirit in us all
She’s nature’s call
A light within
The truth in everything
Dreaming the dream
She’s nature’s Queen
A beautiful revelation
A wonderful creation
Source of his princely uplift.
Of his mood's proud joy.
Whom, wave on wave, affectionate
Kisses one way blows!
Of this morn's beautifying.
And at springtime's height!
Of this renewed hope's, a new age
In the heart precedes.
Love's, what each gardener concedes
The loveliest glows.
Stagnant love is inviting death,
steer clear of it with every breath.
Sweet red roses and ice,
attractive yet never changing.
In the search for everlasting,
dark chocolates roll the dice.
Enjoy the most intimate talk,
turn the world off go for a walk.
Passion blooms in silence,
those romantic escalations.
Such exciting revelations,
a smile feeds confidence.
Sip lips just like morning coffee,
caffeine fires playful energy.
Bittersweet pick me up,
the rollercoaster is the cream.
Let your body begin to hum,
the kiss precedes a scream.
Allow the destruction.
Surrender to the hurt.
Loss will show no mercy.
Stripped down; raw form. Exposed.
Face contorts. Punctured chest.
Descent into abyss.
Demise precedes rebirth.
*'LET'S SOAR WITH THIS' Poetry Contest
*Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
*Entered on: 9/18/25
Hare trapped in a bubble,
Too pained by the capture;
Yet chews its last supper.
Even joy precedes pains—
stop your stare,
dare to help.
Though I err,
spare some love,
wipe my tear.
Thought precedes action, intent comes yet before,
arising from murmurs of a restless soul,
feeling incomplete, though each pore is a door,
to imbibe agape love, that heart may feel whole,
yet foiled by ego that always keeps a score,
so negating God’s light, we make do with dole.
He who wishes to ascend does not exist;
When the false falls, we transform as a bliss mist.
What makes me smile?—For one: the grin of life;
but, too, its touch of giggle grazing on
my ticklish skin,—Though soon again withdrawn,
yet long lingers in memory, full, rife.
This makes me smile—(the laughter of a leaf
fluttering through the airs of yawning dawn.
I think it now, though next I’ll find it gone,
but note the chimes of mirth and bells of grief.)!
But, most of all, the experience of love
—of that of other, self, or all of all,
precedes, exceeds, (impedes?,) towers above
every other need…—Question marks abound,
and, gently litling to a waltzing bawl,
re(sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound, (sound))))))))).
I love the sights of Christmastime
from manger scenes to mistletoe.
Sweet, joyous sounds pervade the air
from "Praise the Lord" to "HO HO HO!"
I give to those who are in need,
for God says, "Love your fellow man."
Then when I shop for family,
I buy them every gift I can.
The carolers and choirs perform
"O Holy Night" and "We Three Kings,"
while celebrants in living rooms
sing tunes about what Santa brings.
A prayer precedes our Christmas feast;
the smorgasbord brings great delight.
The kids soon snuggle near the fire
enrapt as Dad starts, "'Twas the Night . . . “
This season is a splendid time
that bears a special, holy name,
so as I smile through "Jingle Bells,"
I won't forget why Jesus came.
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