WHEN TOUCHED BY TIME’S UNRELENTING HAND
When touched by Time’s unrelenting hand,
Luxuriant tresses now begin
To fade to gray as if by command;
The flame of passion grows weak and dim.
When earthly cares have plowed deep furrows
Upon the smooth brow and ’round the corners of the eyes,
Proud breasts now humbled by Time’s sorrows,
The once-lilting voice now breathes but sighs.
When all the cherished dreams have turned to sand,
Will love that bloomed in youth still be found
Though touched by Time’s unrelenting hand?
Yes! Forever and a day beyond.
A PAUPER’S SOUL
A pen without a drop of ink,
No thoughts profound, precise, succinct;
No sheaf of paper to be found;
No music, just discordant sound,
No time to watch the sun arise;
No time a rhyme scheme to devise;
Forgot to bring along a book;
A poem to read this day forsook.
No dulcet word on paper write
Before the eyes shut close at night.
The soul cannot thrive and flourish,
If the heart is not well nourished.
(©2016. All Rights Reserved)
BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS
Often I forget about all the blood, sweat, and tears
That goes into the creation of a single poem,
Charmed by the beautiful images reflected in the mirrors,
While sitting beneath an elm in the evening all alone,
Or the nightingale’s plaintive cry in the dawning hours;
November’s cold, distant shimmering moonlight;
A single rose’s perfection, majestic in its regal powers;
The vast, awesome grandeur of a star-filled winter night;
The kiss of autumn’s coolness on a crisp September morn;
First love’s exhilarating bloom, so fresh and young;
A sunrise’s glorious resurrection as the day is born;
The smoky, plumy taste of words rolling on the tongue.
But it’s all the blood, sweat, and tears needed to be shed –
In order to truly savor the beauty of this world –
That from the tender soul, the lacerating wounds have bled,
Remembering it’s the grit of life that forms, with time, the pearl.
(©2015. All rights reserved)
Bits of soul are left behind each day,
The price the Piper demands as pay.
Daily the screw is slowly turned.
Daily the match against the skin is burned.
Tears and sweat that must be shed,
Drops of blood the shredded heart has bled
To pool in words upon these crumpled sheaves,
Images, forms, and meaning together weaves.
Some healing physic, some medicine
To soothe raw nerves and psyche to mend
Seek shelter in a quiet sanctuary
To restore the soul with beauty, music, and poetry.
(©2015. All rights reserved)
“Ambrosia” (Photo: PoeticMeditations
These ephemeral, ink-black pearls,
On snowy sheaves in lines unfurl,
In accordance with the Muse’s art,
Pulse with each beat of the poet’s heart.
Drop by drop, distilled from life’s sensation,
Its essence used in the poem’s creation.
Manna divine to feed the soul
To strengthen it and make it whole.
Man shall not live on bread alone, but dine
On words that lift the spirit to heights sublime.
(PoeticMeditations © 2015)
“Bredon Rose” Watercolor, PoeticMeditations
I see the hand of God in the fashioning of a rose,
The skill and knowledge of the craftsman shows,
Each petal lovingly dipped in vibrant hues
Before wrapped into a bud that’s tightly fused,
Around each stem arranged the thorns protective,
Guards the treasure in a defense collective,
Then sprinkled with a heady, sweet essence
To intoxicate and entice the senses.
Will bloom come gentle springtime’s warming breath
Into brief, glorious beauty before kissed by wilting death.
(PoeticMeditations © 2015 All Right Reserved)
For watercolor practice, I’ve been going rose by rose through Smith & Hawkin’s 100 English Roses for the American Garden.
If this was the last day here on earth for me,
I would rise at the usual hour,
Have a cup of coffee and some toast,
Shower, get dressed, floss and brush my teeth,
Drive to work with the radio on,
Work while dreaming of a better life,
Lunch at my desk from a brown paper bag,
Back to work with one eye on the clock,
Drive back home with the radio on,
Glass of wine and dinner from a box,
TV broadcasting the evening news,
Brush my teeth, change into pajamas,
Turn off the lights and lay down in bed
Unawares I would never wake again
Like all the other unsuspecting
Do on their very last day here on earth.