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R. L. Mccallum Poem
(In a churchyard in Northern Ireland)
Through the broken and barren trees
Winter exhales its coldest breeze
From the wintry breath of northern seas
That can chill the warmest soul.
Thus in the churchyard by the sea
Nigh one broken and barren tree
Lies cold a soul once warm to me
Beneath the winter’s rime.
As the heart of winter doth unfold
I feel its touch, so dark and cold,
For I yearn at night to yet behold
That soul once warm to me.
But in earthen depths doth she lie
E’er below the moon and starlit sky
As yet unto her grave I wander by
And despair the winter’s rime.
O’ the winter wails upon the still
With its bleak and bitter chill
That conjures from the nightly nil
A soul once warm to me!
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
Many a day I’ve wished, through the futility of time,
That love’s immortality would come one day to be mine,
But each day that I’ve wished brings ever the same,
For each day that I’ve wished has ended in vain!
O’ for a love everlasting, O’ for its heavenly grace,
Yet each day always begins with a vacant embrace;
I’ve wished and I’ve wished, but resultantly the same,
Comes darker the day, for it has ended in vain!
Alone each day I remain, for nothing comes to redeem,
Tho’ each tomorrow is kept by an amorous dream,
But as each day dawns, the night falls ever the same,
For each day that I’ve wished has ended in vain!
O’ in the firmament of love I am never to stand,
As inevitably thus my fate seems to demand,
Yet onward I wish through the darkness of pain
While seeking the day that has not ended in vain!
O’ for one true love, O’ for a love immortal of mine,
Then this I’d grace with each moment through time,
And then I’d wish no more for that everlasting flame,
Which has brought each day that has ended in vain!
Upon many a day I’ve wished for just one love to keep,
I’ve wished each night for this that haunts me in sleep;
O’ I’ve wished for the love that will lighten my bane
Of seeing each day that has ended in vain!
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
(Revised)
He returned home from the war, but he did not stay,
For he returns to the war that he must fight every day;
He keeps in silence the torments that rage inside
As they are tethered to the horrors that he must hide.
He returned home from the war, but still in his mind
Are the acts of destruction so vividly defined.
O’, there is no more reality, for hell has taken its toll
From the wages of a war that now burdens his soul!
He abandoned the war for a tranquil home,
But onto the battlefield he returns to roam;
And within his mind the fallen have come to retire
As languishing ghosts from the smoke and the fire.
He now suffers the despair that has come forth to define
The images of war that rage in his mind;
He hears the voices each night from the darkness inside
That resound from the horrors that he must hide.
He returned home from the war, but only to find,
The ghosts of a war that now lurk in his mind.
He does not speak of these things that haunt inside,
So he endures the anguish that he must hide.
He returned home from the war, but he cannot escape,
And he’s become an effigy with a monstrous shape,
O’ he hates the regrets; he hates what lingers inside
Where the torments of war shall forever reside!
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
The most abominable aspect of war is its necessity.
To where are you marching, soldier,
Is it to some dreadful foreign war?
Why must you leave your home again,
As you’ve done so many times before?
Where this morn does the turbulence crest
That sends you marching into the night?
Who this day shall become your enemy
That tomorrow you must fight?
Soldier, why is the world in conflict,
How does your integrity stand?
Is the world so tarnished by its disparities
That war is of demand?
Why do you sacrifice your hopes and dreams?
Why for others must you bleed?
Why do you cast your lot into the wind
For that which others need?
O’ to where are you marching, soldier,
With your youthful pace?
Why do you transcend the words of God
To maintain his touch of grace?
O’ where does your legion take you?
Upon whom will your convictions tread?
Why does the world keep with death and ruin
For any peace that lies ahead?
O’ what will become of tomorrow, soldier,
Will it become no more than today?
Will tomorrow bring once more the dusky hues
That takes you faraway?
O’ to where are you marching, soldier,
Is it truly to a needful war,
Or are you just marching to the inveterate dirge
That has been heard so many times before?
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
Wicked winds and wandering mists,
Moonlit hours and secret trysts,
Spells and charms; unhallowed loam,
Stealthy do the witches roam.
Boiling cauldrons, smoke and fire,
Fallowed fields, dearth and dire,
Ungodly grants that demons give—
O’ thou must suffer not a witch to live.
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
“The time hath come,” the prophet said,
“To see what concerns tomorrow,
Shall it become of many happy things
Or shall it be of sorrow?”
Then the prophet said, as he looked ahead
Into the mist that was returning,
“Ah! I now can see the future crystal clear,
For the wheel is always turning!”
“The time is now,” then the prophet said,
“For us to see what fires are burning,
But are not our passions lit from times before
In the process of our learning?”
Then the prophet said, for he’d looked ahead,
“Lo’ the past is yet returning,
And thus tomorrow lies under familiar skies
For the wheel is always turning!”
“The time hath come,” the prophet said,
“If you understand my meaning,
To dispel those times of despair and dread,
As toward the past we yet are leaning!”
“O’ the time hath come!” the prophet said,
“To prevent the past from returning,
But today ‘is’ what was, and what ‘is’ shall be,
For the wheel is always turning!”
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
Vaporous forms adrift through cold dark rooms
Are remnants of passing that in this life looms,
And I’ve felt the touch that this dread embraces
While wandering about in haunted places.
Disembodied voices resounding in empty halls
And those that whisper from ancient walls;
O’ I’ve heard these spectres that time displaces
Where gloom has gathered in haunted places!
Empty footfalls and floorboards creaking,
The lamenting wind and women weeping,
Children singing in vacant spaces,
I’ve heard these things in haunted places.
I’ve seen the dungeon’s mist as midnight falls,
I’ve seen the ghastly events that time recalls,
I’ve seen the airy forms that relive disgraces,
O’ these things I know of haunted places!
Embittered wailing and inhuman screaming
Have awakened me when I was dreaming.
O’ from the darkness the dead come creeping
Upon the night, for they are not sleeping.
Wailing spirits from times amiss,
Wander about, O’ I have witnessed this,
For these fitful souls without earthly graces
Are forever kept in haunted places!
I’ve been touched by hands where there were none
From unseemly acts and deeds undone,
By murder, by mayhem, there are always traces,
That lurk about in haunted places.
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
Between these Gothic walls of mortar and stone,
O, here with dread is where I roam,
For the misty forms that here come creeping
Are of the dead abroad who are not sleeping!
They move where shadows lie
And from behind the walls upon me spy,
Then they taunt me and defy me,
They come each night to try me,
For they are not sleeping!
They pace the attic; they walk the stairs,
In every room they haunt, I have seen them there;
They are the torments of my being,
O, these wraiths that I am seeing!
And my soul has now become their keeping,
For the dead are not always sleeping!
Between these Gothic walls of mortar and stone,
O, here am I, but not alone,
For my companions that come nightly creeping
Are of the dead who are not sleeping!
And in the mirror I have seen their faces,
I have felt the horror from their embraces,
Then they taunt me and defy me,
And in their misty forms they try me,
For they are not sleeping!
O, from this mortar and stone I cannot flee,
For too it is a part of me,
And from the walls you may hear me talking
Or upon the floorboards hear me walking,
I am evermore the mist that you will see creeping,
For I am among those who are not sleeping!
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
O’ Seabird!
I have watched you as o’er the strand you fly
And as upon the wind you dance.
O’ envy I must of you and your flight so free,
For it within my soul enchants!
I have seen your wings upon a carefree wind,
As it comes and takes you where you may;
Thus I wish that I had the wings of flight,
So I too could fly away!
O’ Seabird!
That soars high o’er the strand in flight
And holds Heaven’s lofty view,
I wish that God had given me your gift,
So I may soar upon the wind with you.
I have watched you as you have taken flight
And I stand with envy of your wings;
Thus I wish that I could soar aloft with you
And fulfil my childhood dreams.
O’ Seabird!
That comes to rest at times upon the strand,
Yet may so easily fly away,
I have dreamt of your flight above the clouds
On many a summer’s day!
O’ I wish that God would hear my prayer
And then send me soaring into the blue,
Then I would truly feel as ultimately free
As I have imagined that of you!
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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R. L. Mccallum Poem
Tree by tree, O’ of this we see,
The forests disappearing,
For the greater need is but greed
And the process domineering!
Once standing tall, the forests fall,
But now the bell is ringing,
O’ hearken to the herald of today,
For a portent it is bringing!
Coming nigh, O’ the darkened sky,
But thus no one is fearing,
Yet all shall choke upon the smoke
That ominously is nearing!
Upon the infinite seas all shall breathe,
As the bell goes onward tolling,
O’ hearken to the herald of today,
For thunder now is rolling!
While you sleep the end doth creep,
This comes hauntingly assuring,
For only the very wise have realized
That tomorrow is not alluring!
The rivers flow, the wind doth blow,
But the bell is loudly ringing,
O’ hearken to the herald of today,
For a portent it is bringing.
Copyright © R. L. Mccallum | Year Posted 2015
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