FAREWELL TO THE NIGHT
Farewell to the night as dawn begins to break
For all too soon it has quickly run its course
To home, lovers beneath shadowed trees must make
The cutting pang of parting their one remorse.
Come night when lovers meet in darkened bowers
Pledge their love and seal it with honeyed kisses
The dew-wet air sweetly scents the stolen hours
With caresses, on the heart write tender missives.
While the rest of the world lies asleep abed
All is quiet save a whisper or a sigh
In tight embrace, lovers seek as if to wed
Above, the stars bear silent witness from on high.
For lovers, parting is indeed sweet sorrow
Soon, heartbreak the waning darkness will portend
To suffer the empty hours of the morrow
And endure the day till night comes ’round again.
A CUP OF WINE
We drink to dull the pain of our existence
Escape the grind of earning our daily bread
Our labors are rewarded with mere pittance
At night, around the edges we sense the dread.
A cup of wine to help forget our sorrows
For little joy is left in living this life
Yesterday, today, and for all tomorrows
So full of bitter regret, remorse, and strife.
No longer do we sing of our defiance
No longer do we rage ‘gainst the dying light*
Beauty has been replaced by pragmatic science
Imagination no longer takes its flight.
Let us embrace the pain of our existence
If we feel, it means that we are still alive
Let us stand up and fight in our resistence
After truth, love, and beauty fully strive.
*from “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night” by Dylan Thomas
Posted in literature, Poetry
Father, I confess I once bowed down
And worshiped at Love’s golden altar
Brought offerings of poems and roses
Daily my lips adored and praised her.
I worshiped the ground on which she trod
Every command with haste I obeyed
To her alone complete devotion
At her feet, body and soul I laid.
For my sin I now must dearly pay
For the wages for all sin is death
All my weary days in penance spent
No peace ’till I draw my final breath.
THE FLAME OF PASSION
Once I had lived for love alone
Burned with the flame of passion
High above earthly cares was borne
Drunk with love’s intoxication.
My daily bread and little else
Cared naught for any worldly gain
To her devoted – not myself
Sweet on my lips her honeyed name.
Heady days of joy exalted
Dark nights of insecurity
Sincerity cannot be faulted
Nor love in all its purity.
Such love, alas, could not sustain
To her a game she soon grew sick
Her affection turned to cold disdain
Leaving behind this smold’ring wick.
I would like to dedicate this poem to those who lost their lives in the Las Vegas shooting,
to those who survived, and to us who grieve and mourn.
WHO KNOWS THIS DAY WHAT CHANCE MAY BRING
Who knows this day what chance may bring
As morning’s light begins to break
For all we do is but routine
In which we all participate.
We think this day will be the same
Yesterday and tomorrow, too
Resistant is our lives to change
Although each day is born anew.
To live such lives in not insane?
For death may call for us this day
Leave all behind what is mundane
Our dreams forever swept away.
THE GARDEN OF DELIGHT
(The Girl in the Bookshop)
She walks amidst the fecund forest
Wide eyes gazing over each bounded spine
Time slows down to a heart beat as they rest
On the exquisite feast they’re about to dine.
In slow, measured steps she makes her way
Wandering between the heavy, silent tomes
The world with all its cares now kept at bay
As over the virgin sheaves her fingers roam.
Imbibes the words – a succulent wine
Enters a garden, her private Eden
A paradise of thoughts rare and sublime
Partakes of the Tree that was once forbidden.
THE POET DREAMS
In the quiet, early morning hours
Before the day breaks into light
Secrets whispered in shadowed bowers
Imagination now takes flight.
When reality becomes a dream
And dreams become reality
Flowing gently in an endless stream
A sea of possibility.
To ponder, to marvel, and to muse
Into words distill pure essence
With this essence, the soul infuse
Delighting in the Nine-fold presence.