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Saturday, December 21, 2013

a prayer


the wind blows cold
even when the day is warm
and  a single hovering cloud
can cover all with a dark gray
holding the sun at bay
it chills the soul
with isolation which makes
the heart shutter
a face of uncaring cruelty
abounds in a world where
those with mal-intent
instill fear over those
with lesser means

the day will come when
warm air blows in
and the sun dissipates
that cloud
gives a warm embrace
to the smallest flower
and it shall grow into
a garden that will feed
the least of them
and forgiveness will
fertilize the soil
which will enrich the soul
of those once so cruel

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

the writer


Sweet are words meld into sentences
honing the ends with commas and colons
expressing music or painting Natures colors
a symphany accompanying a herald of song
and where the grasses grow green and
flowers bloom in spring

a sense of joy comes as the
finger tips move the lead of a
newly sharpened pencil over
cyprus and or papyrus sheets
leaving impressions
soon to ride upon the reveries
and dreams of those who read this

the words I write may not be the
ones you choose, they may not express
the sentiments as creatively as yours
but they are mine and somewhere
someone will appreciate me for my
unique writer’s style if not just
for the intentions of my heart

underneath this held hand pen arises
notions of prickly white rose stems, the
thrashings and clapping of ocean waves,
aster meadows swaying in swirling
and howling winds mimicking the likes
of seas and seagulls soaring in concert
to the orchestration of robins, cardinals, wrens

the sounds of fresh running stream
play between the dangling of naked toes
of two lovers sitting by the bank
and sharing their palpitating hearts
as their lives have together journeyed,
now octogenarians, they've come back
to reminisce upon this place where
their youthful bodies first met and touched

as I place the pencil onto this paper
ascribing the lifting of a sail upon a mast
to ride the swales and caps of tides
raised high trying to reach and touch
the moon and stars the clouds by day
as the ocean winds take us on a journey
gleaned in writ on page after page.
and underneath the pencil and this pen,
whilst woefully but intentionally,
I dismiss the use of a punctuation period
at the story’s end  

Monday, December 16, 2013

'Be'


temporarily misdirected
need to change
the composition
of this road
made of
jagged stones and shards
of glass from broken
windows of my past

they cut into
my bare feet
every step is
foreboding
causing hesitation
to take another one

i stop stand still
observe myself
amidst the
cold the dark
in this path

try to understand
where i am
in these surroundings
what steps i
must take while
ignoring the pangs
of jagged stones
and broken glass

i rest my soul
upon the palms
of the 'One', and
abide willingly
the direction
it leads me

release my 'self'
without regret
without sorrow
and  breathe 
let the light
find me. ‘Be’