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Kris Walters Poem
A dragon's scale reflects the rounds of time
her heart, the subtle beat of love sublime
a secret kept in smoke and ancient bones-
a tale best told in whispered lines of rhyme.
She flies the crystal skies in silent tones
a burning hope of love is all she owns
forgotten visions lost in endless tales
and buried deep beneath the cobbled stones.
Remaining true beyond the mystic vales
her longing for soul's kinship never pales
though crushing eras weigh upon her name,
her eyes still scan the blue where hope still sails.
The day will dawn when once again her flame
will blaze along the sky and one will tame
rebellious spirit, and her heart reclaim
from solitude's dark grasp to light's domain.
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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Kris Walters Poem
Come dance with me, my winged escape
and skip the skies in flight
we’ll let the wind lick at our nape
and subtle touch invite.
Our cares we’ll toss to milky moon
and resonate our silky tune-
our cares we’ll toss
our cares we’ll toss
in freedom’s name our love commune.
Come float with me, my winged escape
on billowed waves of blue
we’ll lift the night mist’s heavy drape
and sail on moonbeams through.
This golden eve will whisper dreams
on silver sheets where all it seems-
this golden eve
this golden eve
cascades our love down rushing streams.
Come bloom with me my winged escape
in midnight’s breathless hour
my petals spread ‘neath stardust cape
to nature’s heady power.
We’ll give ourselves to Spring’s last rites
awaken sleeping appetites
we’ll give ourselves
we’ll give ourselves
and Autumn’s zenith expedite.
~Trijian Refrain~ (a fabulous form by Jan Turner)
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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Kris Walters Poem
With bending stem and shriveled leaf
another day of scorching sun
becomes an ache without relief-
a day where growth has been undone.
As baking earth converts to tomb
with thirsting roots, no fruit, no bloom
the end, its arid course has run.
But gathered clouds reveal a sign
of hope that death may not today
lay claim upon this life divine.
A trembled reach, a feeble sway
while droplets small and shy at first
then dazzle down in drenching burst-
delightful flood renews life's play.
Saraband Sonnet~
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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Kris Walters Poem
I will not fear the silent night
alone below the moon
or winter’s cold approaching bite-
the sting that comes too soon.
I’ll wrap my heart in Summer’s song
And sing to keep my passion strong
I’ll wrap my heart
I’ll wrap my heart
And hope that frost won’t linger long.
I will not mourn the silent night
or raging of the sea,
the frothy caps that spread in spite
of calmness deep in me.
I’ll rise above the drowning tide
with pounding heart and battered pride
I’ll rise above
I’ll rise above
and fill the barren wells inside.
I will not hold the silent night
against the bitter wind
though darkness clouds my inner sight
and resolution’s thinned,
I’ll plant my feet, embracing choice
accept the native parts, rejoice,
I’ll plant my feet
I’ll plant my feet
remaining true to my own voice.
~Trijan Refrain~ (a fabulous form by Jan Turner)
8/23/10
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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Kris Walters Poem
squirrels scamper
gathering, playful, desperate
Fall's last call
(For Andrea's Haiku contest)
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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Kris Walters Poem
What loathesome burden wears your weary heart
a trinket on a cold and hoary hand?
And in its dark tide drowns the cheery part
to keep you bound, a pet, upon its strand?
Without a keel, alone and sad, unmanned
to sail the main and brave the tempest storm;
it claims the fairer part with stark demand,
and wails its horrid knell upon reform.
Stand now and rend the pall that kept you warm
and stagnant to the early morning light.
Cast out the deaf'ning rage of crushing swarm
and air the sweetness of your bitter plight.
Release your deathly grip on this disease,
And from your fingers let it fly the breeze.
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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Kris Walters Poem
Upon the velvet hillside
and in the breeze that swirled,
I gazed down on the valley
and lavender unfurled.
I felt you deep inside me,
you stirred me with sweet song
along my spine a trickle like
a brooklet skips along.
Your fragrant spice within my breast
that teased my senses raw,
your touch cooled ancient burning
like mystic springtime thaw.
The whispered call of love’s voice,
the ache of distance mourn;
upon this velvet hillside,
your memory I’ve borne.
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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Kris Walters Poem
So tell me dear, what have you there
above your pouty lip?
I can do little more than stare
where tempered words oft slip.
With roundish humor, there it sits
a black spot on a stage-
a dancing actress camping glitz
attention- all the rage.
The charm of such a simple mark
so fortunately placed,
will conjure up a coy remark
how loveliness is graced.
(for the Holy MOLE-y!! contest)
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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Kris Walters Poem
The sweetest ray of day creeps through the blind
to fill enduring dreams with hints of day
a tingle shimmers o'er my drowsy mind,
though in my cozy bed I long to stay.
The warble of the morning birds is faint
but calls me from the gentle realm of nod
wherein I dance with joy and no restraint
in fantasy until that quiet prod.
As dawn arrives to greet my sleepy eyes
I wake with lingered visions of my love
and keep them close, so comfort never flies
like wind or winging of a mourning dove.
A new day comes with promise, hope and light
I'm ready to embrace it, love in sight.
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2011
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Kris Walters Poem
Once a little harmless turtle went a- walking ‘round the loop,
caught his little baby toe and ended up in turtle soup.
While the doves mourned his misfortune, sun set down behind the hills,
all the turtles gathered in their shells to guard against such spills.
On the morrow, signs were posted there before the deadly loop-
this prevented harmless turtles ending up in yucky soup.
As the days stretched into weeks, the peace in turtledom was great:
not a single little shell-back ended up in bowl or plate.
Came along one day a snakey- past the sign and ‘round the loop,
caught his little snakey belly and, you guessed it- snakey soup!
For he hadn’t read the sign, so neatly scribed in turtle scratch,
(in a slip’ry snakey brain that sort of thing is hard to catch).
Since the turtle signs are meant for little turtle eyes to see,
makes them not so clear to others, like a snake or you and me.
If, by chance, your toes go walking, don’t get caught around the loop-
stubbing one and then another, you’ll end up as poet soup!
(for the Turtle Soup contest)
Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010
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