Shadows bruise the heart
unspoken glares slice like glass
trust begins to tear
regret taints shared memories
future burdened by sorrow
Fists unfurl at last
fury melting with the pain
scars rinsed of their ash
the past cannot be undone
yet its chains begin to fall
Mercy a wellspring
cool water for parched spirits
grace flows without price
shame dissolves in calmness pools
a hand lifts the heart again
Yet some sip like thieves
their mouths stained with hollow vows
err and forgive vain
cheapening grace with excess
pardons traded for tokens
Grace is a blacksmith,
burning what clings and corrodes,
tempering the will
its forgiveness shapes reforms
the heart forged to rise anew
Frayed threads rewoven
with fabric scarred yet shining
stronger for the mend
green shoots rise within the cracks
the bond tempered with resolve
Drummer for the Ages
the heart, never entirely
retreats --
admits only recalescent rests...
radiant pauses, between life’s
many
Tempering
beats --
Age and circumstance conspire
As the will waffles
Beneath the weight
Of the unanticipated
Present
A gift
They called it
This aging thing
A crumpled box
Found in the dark corner
Of forgetfulness
The softening
Of the delicious
Into the bruised torment
Of a long-forgotten season
And yet
The core contains it all
Accepts the circumstance
Defies the conspirator
Knowing that age
Is but time’s tempering tool
cooling its perfection
Once a year
in the early spring
I scatter some reclaimed
seeds
from a section of yard
where the wild flowers grow --
a reserved place, there
left unattended
how they bloom, all on
their own
where the wild flowers
bloom,
a welcome to early bees
and butterflies
the old black cat seems to like
them as well
a nestled, deadly shadow, all comfy
in a lap of blazing, garnished nature
stroked by the southerly
tempering breeze
God! he has such allergies,
the poor little beast's, watery
eyes...
yet, every year
while I scatter
he seems to dream
faithfully
Lucifer, scourge of mice!
for a budding' moment, exculpated!
as a wand, my magician' hand
glides over the the future
materialized bed
seeding memories
long gone but not forgotten
when I was also omnipotent
demurely purring
one of the wild flowers
heedless of seasons
and the sentence of time --
I remember when windchimes nestled in the heart
rainbows soothed the tainted cay of innocents
a golden candle tempering the fang of dark
I prayed, good spirits would always reign.
I remember the day when blackbirds came
in their fiery beaks was an icy-icy rain
smashing every bluebird into bits of clay.
Silence and green-eyed things dominated the days
three decades of moths, chewed the good dream away.
Until I prayed no more.
The epiphanies then came in waves:
That windchimes only spoke
when the wind opened their cage-
Nobody paid attention to the candle
until dusk awakened to swallow the day-
The bluebird isn't really acknowledged
until his omega refrain is taken away-
Though the hands are now bent
the days are often spent,
sifting amidst broken pieces of blue clay.
Nighttime arrives with chilling cries
as the teary-eyed mime tries in vain
to knead the blackbirds into flame.
HEART GENTLE EYE MINDFUL
Keep heart gentle, yet eye mindful
With passion hovering at the edge
There’s a time and place for both
Rarely twinned, but each required
Balance is kept with a critical view
Fire and flame for tempering steel
Yet also used to soften and anneal
As it reaches the appropriate hue
But always aware of getting mired
And prematurely taking that oath
Or when teetering up on the ledge
Keep heart gentle, yet eye mindful
youth, where imperfections trip upon each other
and opportunistic peers joyfully celebrate the folly
- glass tree houses be damned...
and - a spun bottle breaks blood brotherhoods
where fragile crevices expose truths and
welcome untested kinships to fill the void.
the leftover baggage - will it be burden or buoyant?
like Scrooge's chains, worked upon - idyllic dreams
dragged into reality.
we're told to pull ourselves together -
while drowning in emotional incontinence
like this stumbling poem, trying to balance
reason ... and sanity
then - tossed to time's tumult,
life's bitter tempering, yet -
gold in our veins
a vessel that can hold
all that is ladled in...
Id
greedy, primal
starving, seeking, clamoring,
impulsive, wild, mild, deliberative,
prohibiting, sanctioning, tempering,
sangfroid, equanimity,
Superego
Ah, Wind, we've known each other so long.
While creatures run quickly from your side,
I've tried to find kindness in your song
but your howls become hard to abide.
You loudly roar blowing doors ajar,
trees bent weary by ceaseless pummel.
I hear your rumble, beginning far
announcing yourself, never humble.
Beneath blue skies, a rustle of leaves,
a gentle breeze stirring grains of sand.
Clever Wind sending Zephyr to tease
but we now know the tricks in your hand.
You can charm dust into whirling dance
spinning her round as dust devils fly.
Then do your best to spoil a romance
with your chuckle as they reach the sky.
Unmentionable tantrums and blows,
your foot stamping when you are annoyed.
Leveling towns, do you regret those
heartbreaks caused as you merrily toyed?
Sometimes forlorn, or is that a guise,
when quickly you stop, tempering voice?
is that sadness I see in your eyes?
With flashes of scorn, you make your choice.
April 23, 2023
for "Word Challenge--W Words" poetry contest
by Constance La France
howmanysyllables=9
All poets start somewhere...
good ones never finish –
all poems subject to theme,
mapped or an impulse just to
travel~ wherever...I think we
met somewhere in the
Wherever, years of treasure
found with fond entry and
regress, the tempering of
loving hearts –
best poems nourished by each
ensuing reading, strengthened
by shared affection – freed to
a sea of greater consciousness,
where all verses end up, to float
or sink – a writer's journey of buoyancy and
beached whales –
so, here is another of mine, I turn
loose with sails. May those often tempestuous
winds blow kinder – Asking for graceful gales,
from nets this work remain un-snared –
from shores countless sands, unnamed, by gentle
eddy~ be thou spared!
Earthen songs! from handsome angel throngs, opsoletus
Intervals and spells of the scope of temporal rondure,
A surging of the populus in singulari confluentia
So the book does diagram guthan, guð, and god,
Khute gaia, of poured earth, where legend sleeps
The burial dunes of Zeus, Aether, Erebus, and Chaos
Seasons advance with a tempering of wind’s instruments,
Sweltering bloom to hyperborean calm of frozen seed
Daughters and sons! from cildhama, fruit of the womb
Roaming deeds, of sin and samaritan, per omne spatium
Space of continental breadth or old borough border rings
Century to century in continuo, each end to seamless end
non vigilemus et dormimus in aeternum, of briefest history,
We do not speak of ages dissolved in lights of admiration
Stygian time cannot lie, and there will be other Dark Ages
We now originate and architect machines from the earth
Greater eyes and senses than what natura dedit nobis
What have we committed that we can conceivably survive?
nihil est quod in dulcedinem originis non evanescatin,
There is nothing that does not fade into the sweetness of its origin.
stealthy
creeps the mist
slips into
minds
shutting portals
doors
tempering flames
extinguishing sparks
silence
Spartan's courageous men standing,
Shoulder to shoulder on the battlefield.
Immortal warriors of the past
With King Leonidas by their side
A hero born for this day.
As proclaimed by the gods.
With their shields burning fiercely
with flames of fire.
Reaching out to embrace the enemy,
And their weapons honed on blood and bones.
From eternal battles,
hardening their hearts to stone.
Tempering their souls into cold steel.
Grinding their heels deeply into the ground.
Relentlessly united in defending their cultural ideals.
Or to die and be carried back to Sparta upon their shields
I have little sympathy for constant whimpering
Playing the victim and saying, “Woe is me!”
With that self-conscious smirk of simpering
The sort of thing that repeats itself annoyingly.
Few things I experience will trouble me much
I have little sympathy for constant whimpering,
I find myself impatient with an unwanted touch
And that kind of tete-a-tete of sly whispering
In my presence, where I am constantly tempering,
These are types of behavior I cannot abide,
I have little sympathy for constant whimpering
So, whiners and whisperers, don’t sit by my side.
Give me that modicum of respect I have earned
Observe polite decorum opposed to whispering
In early childhood my father made sure I learned,
I have little sympathy for constant whimpering.
written October 18, 2021
Tempering colors of magnetic reds and browns
September, you sure know how to make me turn around
enclosing me in comforting space warm as a fireplace
you make me long for firewood and campgrounds
Maple trees of yellow and honey wood leaves
you make me want to trade my frosty lips for a cinnamon kiss
down in the meadows, the woods are whispering
saying their goodbyes to La Fleurs De Lis
Linden wood dreams beneath a golden Autumn
the cedar gum and the cedar oils are healing balms of choice
aiming for the hills on a cool September eve
suddenly I feel like I have found my voice;
I love you September more then words can say
I think I'm going to go jump in the leaves,
one more time, before my last hurray !
Example for my contest
September 11, 2021
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