Vaulted Poems

Plight of the Wight

Never again to know fresh air,
Combing worms from my matted hair.
No one remains who’d ever care —
Tied to my grave, this lonesome baire.
I must escape the sun’s harsh glare,
Tread carefully down crumbling stair,
Descend into my crypt just there,
Where I sit alone in dark despair.
Upon my ancient worm-eaten chair,
Inside my vaulted charnel house lair,
Such a sad and accursed affair —
Never to rest, always aware.
This kind of death is so unfair:
No converse, no song, no whispered prayer.
A thousand lifetimes in disrepair,
Unattended, solus, solitaire.
Harshest sentence beyond compare,
Caught in this endless undeath snare.
Naught to do but eternity stare —
And comb the damn worms from my hair.

Frozen Side of The Sun

On the frozen side of the sun lies Svalbard.
A barren, treeless stretch of land
Buried beneath snow and stillness.
Here, the cold doesn’t just bite;
It consumes.

The whirlwind air scrapes skin with surgical precision.
For months each year, the sun abandons the sky.
Svalbard drifts beneath a vaulted night.
Darkness bleeds through permafrost,
Settling in the earth’s frozen marrow.

But beneath this ice-scarred wilderness,
Where avalanche and ash calcify,
A vault lies hidden deep in the mountain’s underbelly.
It cradles the future;
A womb of waiting seeds,
Asleep in rows of glass and steel.
Hope, suspended in time.
In this tomb of preservation,
Life isn’t gone.
Just waiting with a promise of rebirth.

And when the sun returns,
Brushing marigold hues across glistening glaciers
Like a kiss upon Snow-White's lips,
Those seeds will stir with life.
They will remember the sun.
They will rise.

How fragile we are

I sit and watch the twilight 
In vaulted heaven burns brittle stars
I feel the rush of wind 
It cares the ash of pine 
I feel the movement of the earth 
In rivers of darkness flow
I feel the cosmic birth

How fragile we are
I know the tilt of the universe 
In seas of oblivions void
I touch the ground it trembles 
I see what is in between the fragments
In moments beyond thought
I see echoes of images from afar

How fragile we are 
I taste the abstract firmament
I watch the collapse of a neutron star
In coldest nights of darkest wind
I feel the ties that bind slip away 
It carries the filaments of decay 
I know the passage of soul

How fragile we all are 
In movements of the metronome 
In oceans of reality
I feel the slipping away
I wish I could stay
In the aftermath of life

I see how fragile we all are

The Cold Embrace Of Death

Sepulchered inside a vaulted night so deep 
the crow soars alone inside that ebon sky of yours 
Center arched in space, heaven is filled with stars 
an so your secret lies across orange-yellow meteors.
Encased inside a cold embrace, 
                                  your imminent last sigh ! .

Irreversible as the hour, this cancer has taken a leap 
and the butterflies of summer, have all but gone away 
Choral hymns of worship, " Amazing Grace,"  Foresight !  
how I long to keep you here, at least for one more day. 
Within the cold embrace of death, 
                                   your inevitable, goodbye !

This state of way

They hold their courts of pomp and ceremony in the name of history they say.

They sway the poor and destitute at arms length to avoid acknowledging their eyes, their hearts, their voices for existing in this state of way. 

They laugh of joy in conceited waste, and waste and waste. Entitlement lives and must be maintained this way they say.

They expect respect for rank in society and the loyalty of blood and sacrifice with no questions ever put their way.

They scoff and laugh sipping sherrys in clubs of oak panelled, vaulted halls, their derrières on the softest leathers while outside beggars crawl out of their way.

What Makes One A Good Christian

Not the grand hymn sung in the vaulted nave,
Nor the candle flickering bright and brave,
But the whisper of love that none can see,
A heart that bends to the lowly and free.
Not the weight of words in sacred prayer,
But the silent hand that lifts despair,
The bread you break, unseen, unheard,
The comfort found in a gentle word.

Not the crown of thorns you proudly bear,
But the cross you share in another’s care.
Not the purity of the creed you claim,
But how you speak another's name.
Do you forgive, as the Master taught,
With love as free as the lilies wrought?
Do you weep with those who weep in the rain,
And feel their loss like your own pain?

In every child, in every face,
Do you see the light of saving grace?
Do you hold the earth as holy ground,
And in all things God’s love surround?
What makes you a Christian good and true
Isn’t in what the world can view—
It’s the secret deeds, the quiet cheer,
The tender mercy, year by year.
In love’s small acts, in joy's sweet art,
There dwells the faithful Christian heart.

Me

The vaulted sky set
with stars, water lapping the pier
in prayer and all around me,
the late evening air still warm
from the day. What holds this
all together also holds me
in the moment, the gentle breeze
that is blowing in from the sea
is my breath, the restlessness 
that moves deep below 
the surface calm 
is my restlessness.

I am tired of holding out,
at times thrashing against gravity
to preserve the subterfuge of me.
Be it alone or a part of the evening
in its quiet rest, the drift of the tides
and the star filled heavens
arched in splendor above me,
we are all being drawn inextricably  
towards a somewhere, knowingly 
or unaware, joyously or in fear,
towards home.

In A World Where I Do Not Exist

 

Where I do not exist there is emptiness,
a world with no little girl gathering blooms;
no child born a poet full of awareness,
no dark poems about cemetery tombs.
Not a word written of life and all my glooms,
oh, terrible to think of no consciousness;
and no young woman who painted and hummed tunes.
Oh, what of my mom and dad and my grandma;
no forest walks holding hands with my grandpa !

My true essence floats in an infinite space,
long lush hair floating like a torn tangled dream;
I would have no soft skin, rosy cheeks, pale face,
no husband who had eyes like emerald green.
no verdant views, vaulted trees, vivid sky, place,
floating in a void of clouds I think  ... I scream.
On the tomb no baby name engraved in stone;
for my baby boy was never born I moan !

Hummingbirds hover in my hollow chasm, 
even a speck in void I can find beauty
oh, a world with no me is hard to fathom,
no complicated, poet often moody.
No writing with imagery and phantasm,
oh my gosh I would never be on soupy.
I ponder existence with no poetry;
no fantasy story, no sweet poesy !

Fartina

Could there be anything sweeter,
than our little dog named Fartina,
I wanted to see less of wretched in-laws,
they no longer come over because,
the gaseous funky green cloud,
emitting from Fartina makes me so proud.

I dare say we no longer have mice,
who now stay outdoors, how nice.
When Fartina goes to the vet,
it's a sure bet-
the leery vet techs yell, "Fartina's here!"
and the snooty lady in the waiting room
with the poodle holds her nose, oh dear!

At our family birthday party,
Fartina decided to get frankly, farty.
Our guests were all in a dither,
their faces crinkled, then quivered.
Til, lo and behold, a knock on the door,
pesky political  solicitors once more!
Well, lovely Fartina took care of that-
a silent savage air biscuit commenced,
and our unwelcome visitors quickly
vaulted over the fence.
These days bad news travels fast,
but the flatulent antics of Fartina
makes laughter last. ~

Mondo Duplantis

Greg Duplantis finished fifth in the Olympic trial,
But this pole vaulter would not accept that cruel denial.  
He hatched an elaborate plan which was just his style. 
He hailed heptathlon's Helena Hedlund with a smile. 

His plan to make a vaulter was more than a fantasy, 
Like the fabled fairy tale land of Atlantis.  He 
Married the mighty Ms. Hedlund, and prayed, mantisly,
And, so it was, God gave them Armand Duplantis, see.

Those who denied Greg would be sing a different tune, 
'Cuz "Mondo", manifested the genes from which he was hewn. 
Mondo vaults up to the sky, as high as a balloon.
Once, he even pole vaulted over a crescent moon!  
Don't believe me?  Watch him in Paris, on your TV soon!

For Manic, Listless, Bipolar, Mad Souls

For manic, listless, bipolar, mad souls,
     the rate of solitude increases fast, 
     like the second derivative; to last,
velocity accelerates near black holes,

which tug light into singularity's sinkhole.
     If isolation never speeds up past,
     if desolation, forever steadfast,
must for eternity blast, then controls

despair all? Not so! Space-time's curvature
     let's us all firmly stand on Earth's hard ground
of hope: shielded by her vaulted feature
     of pure blue sky, and atmosphere all-round
this sun-bathed orb (free from mankind's nature, 
     this life's dismay, and gamma-ray background)!

Rupture

In the vaulted sky where thunder roars,
Clouds rupture with a mighty force.
Lightning dances, a fiery waltz,
As rain descends in soothing salts.

The heart, too, can rupture deep,
In agony and pain, secrets it keeps.
Yet, unlike storms that quickly pass,
Time rains down, healing the heart's morass.

Years cascade in a gentle stream,
Softening wounds, as in a dream.
The echoes of pain may still remain,
But with time's touch, they wane.

Prisms Of My Soul

Inside this temple made of brick and clay 
the many shades of your heart 
are the prisms of my soul 
Pinioned and shackled to your fires  
we are vaulted by our own desires 
two lovers breathing as one

Outside this prison of hell stands my nemesis
buried behind its boulders I am decaying 
like a rotting apple de-pitted then discarded 
Bitwise assaults to my soul,  
I summon courage and finally break out 
of this ridged corrugated pas-a-deux.

You Are My Heart You Are My Soul

"I will set you on my breath so YOU will become my life."  Rumi 

Inside this temple made of brick and clay 
the many shades of your heart 
are the prisms of my soul 
Pinioned and shackled to your fires  
we are vaulted by our own desires 
two lovers breathing as one
 
Inhale me as you were to inhale a rose 
take this stem without thorns  
and press it to your bosom, LOVE*
For you are my heart
and your are my soul 
pleasing you thus my only goal.

Summuacion Vaulted Panels

they promised to find him
among mortal
they wished to find him
one spoke of him
as if he had
seen and spoke to him
then he reported that he had been
deceived and called the
 person a true Satan.
When he was among folk that he could
understand and
who's faiths had
values to believe
he made query into those
tomorrows that would
the todays of Times
well spent
they planned events together
and rherst together
they sorted changes together
and made time
for one another and
the need to be as one
there strength came
from there alliances
neither dispute
or decisive tongues
could speak them apart
that they stood strong
to trophy what they had achieved!
                       The Fugue Song Aria
They poured a slab and bui retaining wall in the enbankment
they used cynderblocks to make a room with a chimmey. They covered it with stones and concrete.
They buried the prefab house and sprayed insulation around the windows and base of the building and sprayed whole unit to create a large stone!

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