Spring's gentle prelude,
Swallows fly into the mist—
Seeking distant skies.
golden light recedes
a gentle sigh the breeze makes~
nature`s cycle spins
the day`s orb, once fierce
now tells a quieter tale~
mountains a witness
tall trees toss a moan
summer reign reaches its end~
time begins to bend
before amber blush
leaves sing with a buzzing sound~
the sky lends its ears
sunbeams softly fade
cicadas cease their loud tunes~
stillness in the night
birds prepare for flight
warmer climes waiting for them~
summer`s sweet farewell
summer softly close
a string of moments held dear~
memories remain
a final warm breeze
carries scents of sun baked earth~
harvest time at hand
air, once thick with scent
carries cool whispers to space~
a prelude to fall.
Before the prelude
In vain you tried to come to them,
in darkness you returned to Me.
In dark you got your name condemned,
the sunlight you will never see,
They wiped away My plans for you,
offered to the god of greed,
reduced to cluster and tissue,
as god and judge they supersede.
Your eyes will not see the evil galore
the cruelty under the sun,
But I will demand retrieval for
the blood of My slaughtered sons.
Those hands I had designed to save,
choked your song before the prelude,
Given no chances but the grave,
sentenced for their turpitude.
The flower is there, but not the flower's design
until I sing its petals like the sun:
the nectar trembling in the flower’s throat
is sweetened by the trembling of this string,
which links the purple voices carved from silence
along one single curve from then to then,
which is the flower’s design.
The flower’s design is what the flower is for:
it grows to fit itself to what I sing
and finds itself for once forever whole,
since in my song its bloom and bud are one,
moving in harmony.
These melodies hold nothing but its life.
The flower’s design is what the flower is.
These cypresses and poplars have a motion,
a gesture, and a speech no wind instils:
my song reveals them as a kind of rhythm,
a flexing of their being, which is joy,
a dance existing only in my music,
as do the sky, the mountains, and the sea.
My songs are to the light as light to darkness,
uncovering the dreams enwrapped in day.
Without them, all our vision sees is blindness,
and all our utterance announces death.
-------------------------------------------------------
A FALL’S NIGHT WINTER PRELUDE
The thunder roars,
The lightening sneaks
Piercing peeks
Through the darkness;
Cosmic tears gently flow
Down with beautiful
Splashing rhythms;
The pitter-pattering melody
Echoes throughout the night,
Caressing the mind and soul
With moisturizing serenity:-
Ironically, this will soon become
A scene of casper-like flakes,
Quietly floating down in the night,
Slowly laying their crystal-white carpet:-
A SERENITY OF PRELUDE REALITY
(A Haiku Of Hope’s Coming)
Hate trying to climb,
Naturing winds of peace blowing;
Love breezing hate down:-
Always be of good cheer
find the diamonds in others dear
Prelude to an ennobling profile
greeting others, sincerely smile
Th'pain of ice is th'lacquer o'stife
To th'begg'd bane, stilled, thawed
Caught'n satin fame, dragg'd towards
Th'Blood of a sadden'd kiss,
"To this"
"To what o'this"
Seen 'nstead of 'nfringed love
The blade, call'd catharsis a dove,
"To this"
"To what o'love"
Fraught, unthought shove
Fame fall'n still, dripp'd 'n drench'd f'love
Bade blade ripp'd the blanch'd flesh
O'th'pure goers' eternal rest
Lay hereafter, for'ver after,
Goeth detestable pest, upon th'
Holied site o'pelted tundra
Lay'n to rest lover o'blunder,
"To us"
"To th'last of us"
"I must"
"T'what you lust"
"To this"
"..."
The pain of ice is the cold of fear
To whatever may lay here
To whatever may stain the clear
Once upon a time
over the hills and far away,
near the sea there lived
a viridescent princess.
She gazed at the waves
which seemed to appear so royal.
Still, they have freedom
that grace the scullery maids.
Rushing to the edge
stopping short of going forward.
The story of life.
Her crown seemed to possess her.
Forced to become rogue,
battle the storm below the sea.
Go off on a quest,
exit as a true leader.
Create a culture,
surf underwater mountains.
Happily ever after,
over the hills and far away.
On his way to another Super Bowl
Patrick Mahomes is on another roll
He does just barely enough to win
And then displays that silly smug grin
Some Super-Bowl bound teams thrash their opponents
Philly crushed Washington 55-23, creamed ‘em like donuts
Mahomes and Kansas City let Buffalo think they’d finally got ‘em
Then drove a spike in their heart ~ Bills ended up on their bottoms
A violin within an April stream-listen to the masterpiece
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An Autmn frost -the silent white sheen of a coming tragedy
Before we play, let's preamble with the entree,
Enjoy the soft shoe shuffle, before the souffle.
Dancing tipsy, on tippy-toes, to belay and delay the mainstay.
It's a wily whisper of words, a teaser to savor in foreplay.
To amble and gamble, to begin with the starters on show,
Unscrambles the egg, but won’t scramble the glow.
For it's only a tongue-tip foretaste, a wink to what's next.
A fling ding unfettered, a sinew stretch, before things get complex.
It's like players who tune their strings, before starting to play.
It's like scene-setters setting the stage for ballet.
It's a warm-up, a rehearsal, a try-out, to get things right.
Before the curtains call up, ready to go on opening night.
Prelude to Autumn
Crisp joyful air everywhere
breezy brave rebirth.
*
We let time go by thinking that we will remain the same.
As we were together each day became a change within itself.
The change within us gradually occurred.
Separation was not our plan.
What we did not see or try to understand that our spirit was not the same.
Dividing us a sharp precise division leaving us not as one but two.
Two separate individuals searching and longing for the same thing
or were we?
I wanted to give my love to someone.
You wanted someone to love you.
We thought our unity was placed together by some divine power.
Every day we became familiar.
Our habits and our peculiarities we could have dealt with
But our soul was not the same.
The take was too great for me.
Out of all the love I gave.
Out of all the love you took.
You gave no love to keep the fire burning.
The fire burnt out taking our love with it.
Not even the ashes hold any traces of love.
On Phantom Pain (Prelude)
When an illness
— such as blindess or dementia —
Descends…
Then
Which direction of the heart
Will you choose
To mark the rising vibrance
Of each new day’s stark,
Hopeful radiance…?
** This is the prelude to a poemstill in progress, describing/defining phantom pain.
(c) sally young eslinger 3/2024. See my blog
Thanks be to God
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