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John Lofquist Poem
I know I’ve made a thousand journeys,
withstood the tests of time and foe
shed the dust and shouldered worries
struggled onward against the flow.
Unconforming, seldom bending
straight the path I ever took.
Challenge was my unending passion
contradiction I forsook.
I’ve battled tempests ‘fore and ‘hind me,
I’ve seen the devil at my heels.
Seldom knowing what lay before me
never knowing how respite feels.
I’ve seen the Valkyries and Forty Furies
their mazy circles in the sky,
taunting, haunting, ever daunting
beckoning from their aeries high.
I’ve crossed the searing sands of Gobi
and scaled Himalaya’s rocky tors,
badlands, wastelands all behind me,
walked upon the Seven shores.
I’ve gazed upon the Northern Lights
and seen the Southern Cross at sea.
I’ve traveled east and journeyed west,
no home or kindred claiming me.
No ebb of tide did succor bring me,
no place of solace ever found
but grappled fiercely all that challenged,
gaining purchase on the ground.
I rose against what life beset me
with courage the gruel for my soul,
hampered, harassed, never emptied,
firm and resolute toward my goal.
But it’s finished now, I’ve done my part
and I’ve left nothing uncompleted.
No looking back, no ruing thoughts
all my convictions undefeated.
And now I’m on that final journey
through all meridians of time and space,
with hope to meet the God that gave me
aeonian fortitude to run the race.
© August, 2015
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2015
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John Lofquist Poem
Not a flag was unfurled,
and no cornet trilled,
as the rain-swollen clouds,
the bleak valley filled.
The wind blowing cold
with a chill that pervades
as the caisson's old wheels
creaked through the glades
where leafless Live Oaks
their limbs upward bent
as if to acknowledge
the young soldier’s lament.
A tousled lone drummer
in tattered old grays
led a dog and three mourners
to the dead soldier’s grave.
The muffled rataplan
of his red and tan drum
was beating forlornly
rum-dum d’ dum-dum
And along the bare hillock’s
long, rough-rutted track
both mule and cart
were carrying him back
to the land that he left
to fight a grim war
tho’ he ne’er understood
what the fighting was for.
When one fateful day
in a field of smoke
a fusillade violently
tore through his cloak.
His battle had ended
as he fell to the ground
his lips mouthing something
but ne’er uttered a sound.
Now his casket was lowered
in an uncaring grave
as the sad words were read
his poor soul to save
whilst a single red flower
was forlornly tossed
upon the young warrior’s
funereal box.
Unseen by the mourners
yet a color guard stood
a bugler and flagger
peering down through the woods.
Then high from that ridge
at the hillside’s top
the bugler rang taps
and all motion had stopped.
Each eye in confusion
turned looking around
in search of the source
of that sad, mournful sound.
Though ne’er to be seen
the bugler still played
the keening that echoed
down through the glade.
Then just for a moment
the sun had now shone
as if angels descended
to take him back home.
The mourners and drummer
filed out of the glade
except for the old dog
that steadfastly remained.
The elegy was over and
all farewells had been bade
that gave honor and glory
to his last parade.
John Henry Gardner
© 2015 – All Rights Reserved
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2015
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John Lofquist Poem
And now I’ve reached that Rainbow Bridge
and turn a mournful eye
t’ward ‘mom and dad’ who cared for me
and implore them not to cry.
My life, though short, was brimmed with love’s
sweet tenderness, so treasured.
The affection that they showered on me
not ever could be measured.
And now I cross that Rainbow Bridge
it seems so less obscure.
There’s nothing there t’will trouble me
no more pain must I endure.
I stop and turn – just one last look
and see my 'parents' aching,
the tears well up in my wee eyes
my doleful heart is breaking.
And now I’ve crossed that Rainbow Bridge
auf wiederschein I bade,
it’s not goodbye, we’ll meet again
no love will be mislaid.
And anxiously I’ll await for you
an e’er-vigilant eye I’ll keep
and every hour, with hope I’ll dream
of that day when next we’ll meet.
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2015
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John Lofquist Poem
Tantalizing,
Mesmerizing,
Intriguing,
Captivating,
First you took my mind and then you took my heart by storm.
Disarming,
Engaging,
Endearing,
Everlasting,
Now you’ve captured my soul.
© 2015 – All Rights Reserved
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2015
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John Lofquist Poem
Along a winding country road
one autumn’s day of late,
I chanced upon an aged abode,
up a hill beyond a gate.
The house was old and quiet,
not a person 'neath its roof
but in a tree close by it
perched a bird, somewhat aloof.
It cawed and cawed audaciously
then quickly flew its roost
to stare at me vexatiously
as some intruder, I deduced.
This large black rook, of imposing size,
soon alit upon the fence
and shackled me with ominous eyes
from which I made no sense .
I stared at it quixotically
with doubt, and grave concern.
Was it something meant symbolically
and from it what I might learn?
"Tell me kindly," said it, "if you would,
why you've stopped by here today?
Is it to see what's empty stood
long before you found your way?“
Perplexed I asked that brazen bird,
"How is it can you speak?
In all God’s truth I’ve never heard
words coming from some beak.”
"I saw this house as I approached
evoking thoughts of times long past
I do apologize have I encroached,
but its aspect drew me fast."
The creature stopped momentarily
then turned to answer me.
"Some things aren't necessarily
as they oft appear to be.“
“Passersby may think it empty
but it's really not that way,
and though many try to tempt me
I seldom let them stay."
The impetuous crow, still on the post,
said with a haughty smile,
“Perhaps I'll be a proper host,
and let you stay a while?"
“But expect strange sounds at twilight,
with voices echoing down the halls
and later on you just might
hear woeful music through the walls."
"And perhaps from an upstairs bedroom
you’ll see a candle’s flickering beam
that makes disjointed shadows loom
like gloomy specters in a dream."
“And from the wooden balcony
that tilts from the second floor,
with much unscrupled agony
might be screams you can’t ignore.”
Then with abysmal imprecations
it ranted on in wild discourse.
With dismal implications
it spoke to me without remorse.
Disturbed was I with deep misgiving
that gripped intensely for a minute
as this was no site for me the living,
I left the place and all within it.
I stopped, then turned as if to reckon
what might that evil bird implore
and would it’s piercing eyes still beckon
but it had flown back to the door.
I watched it flock with several more
then transform into a being
which stood upright, danced through the door,
to create a mystery quite deceiving.
Now was I more than less bemused
to reason why its bold attack
had left my psyche so contused
that never once should I come back.
With chilling thoughts so undisguised
of my soul it might have robbed
I thank the Lord I recognized
the devil’s wicked danse macabre.
John Henry Gardner
© 2017 All Rights Reserved
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2017
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John Lofquist Poem
The Ides of March
are no different than of October
just seven months older
and perhaps, a little bit colder.
And had Caesar only stayed away
from the Curia of Pompey
that day
he might have lived, perhaps, a little bit longer.
© October 15, 2015
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2015
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John Lofquist Poem
I’ve come back to the place where I had grown,
a place no more as it once was known.
Not a roof, not a room, not one wall left,
just an old, weathered chimney standing alone.
An ill-tempered wind swept from the hillside tops
that spun relentlessly through the leafless copse
and across fallow fields long now disused
that once had yielded sustaining crops.
The skies oblique with murmurations
of small black birds that, without hesitation,
alit, then rose in tornadic swirls
of airborne dances without cessation.
A tractor sat solemnly by a clattering gate
now a rusted reminder that time won't wait.
And the path that wound to the moldering shed
overrun with thistles that sealed its fate.
And where once stood the old front door
now just a cracked and crumbled floor.
Then, as I turned and faced the chimney tall,
familiar voices resonated once more.
Though perceived, still filled with laughter
and childlike questions of timeless matter
from a once-close family about the hearth
brought a blissful end to life’s daily chapter.
I stood silently, my senses sublimely allured,
while present time was much obscured;
my melancholic thoughts embraced
those voices from the hearth I heard.
Then, all illusions gone, the chimney tall
seemed out of place without a wall,
without a family ‘round it girthed,
a silent sentinel that should never fall.
I turned and walked, my thoughts unspoken,
and knew well now the chains were broken;
but though the chimney, which stood unscathed,
meant nothing more than memory’s token.
John Henry Gardner
© 2017 – All rights reserved
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2017
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John Lofquist Poem
Over and over, and over again,
unendingly,
like waves that rise up on the sandy shore
and lap at my feet, only to turn and once more ebb
languidly
in discreet silence, but then come back to lap once more.
To reflect on you and all you mean to me,
sublimely
brings waves of happiness in every possible way
and, gratefully, I muse about all the things you do
unselfishly,
often in silence, but over and over again each day.
And like the ocean’s amaranthine waves,
rhythmically
you cast your magic spell, filling my soul like a rhapsody
through and through,
lusciously
invoking warm, endearing thoughts of you.
© August 1, 2015
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2015
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John Lofquist Poem
Every day my first cup of coffee is most enjoyed
sitting alone in a cushioned chair on my lanai
when all the thoughts and ideas with which I toyed
seemed like logical solutions to world crises, then I
wondered why no one really gave a fig.
Copyright © John Lofquist | Year Posted 2017
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