Writing poetry by candlelight (Photo: PoeticMeditations, © 2016)
THE RAREST OF ALL RARE DELIGHTS
Summertime picnics on lush, green lawns;
Gray, quiet morning hours before the dawn.
Barefoot in a bright April shower,
Conversation to pass the idle hour.
Afternoons spent in a used bookshop,
Long, rambling walks to a distant hilltop.
Dark, stormy days in a pensive mood,
Fond memories recalled in solitude.
A book of verse and a glass of wine,
A silver pocket watch to tell the time.
Bottles of ink and parchment paper,
The busy clatter of a typewriter.
But the rarest of all rare delights
Is writing poetry by candlelight.
WHAT’S THIS GENTLY STIRRING IN THE HEART?
What’s this gently stirring in the heart?
Long forgotten after all these years.
From the beginning, a vital part;
Traces left behind like fallen tears.
The bright flame now a dying ember;
Passion subsided to contentment;
The mind struggling to remember;
Exhausted, it lays there quietly spent.
Long gone the euphoric, mad elation;
The loss of focus and appetite;
Gone the giddy, acute sensation;
The sense that in the world all is right.
Only boredom bred by dull routine.
Lightning, a raging fire can begin;
With parting clouds, the blue sky is seen –
Falling in love all over again.
Posted in Poetry
A colleague gave me a jasmine blossom the other day. I taped it to my lapel, and through out the day, every time I happened to look down, I caught a whiff of its sweet, delicate scent. Inspired, I wrote this haiku:
Tiny, white blossoms
dancing in the blazing noon –
sweet scent of summer
Of course, there’s Seals & Croft classic lines:
Sweet days of summer, the jasmine’s in bloom
July is dressed up and playing her tune . . .
THE FALSE LOVER
The false lover’s full of treachery,
Sham acting against cheap scenery.
Deceit and cunning thrive in the heart,
Truth and sincerity play no part.
Lying lips are given free license
To flattery and all pretense,
To say whatever pleases the ear.
Whispered words of tender love so dear
Quickly turn to bitter words of hate
That pierce deep the heart and lacerate,
Grows from blazing heat to frigid ice,
Transforming love’s virtue into vice,
Leaving scars that remain forever –
Love again, the heart may never.
THE POET TELLS BEAUTIFUL LIES
The poet tells beautiful lies,
Paints the world in vivid colors,
Of reality oft’ belies,
Composes songs quite dolorous.
Of charmed images spins and weaves,
Never for accolade or wealth,
But for the sake of the soul’s health.
Offers glimpses of what could be,
Of endless possibilities.
I HAVE SEEN THE WIND
Waves fields in adulation,
Sways the branches to and fro,
Sets leaves swirling in motion,
Like white chalk dust, blows the snow.
Across the pond, ripples run;
Rolls the mighty ocean waves;
Scurries clouds across the sun;
Whistles through the mountain caves.
Bestows kisses on the cheek,
Bobs the daisies’ head in time,
Sometimes cold, yet often meek,
Its gentle touch quite sublime.
Posted in Poetry
THE DAILINESS OF LIFE
Dishes we have to wash each day,
The monthly bills we need to pay,
Waking up and going to sleep,
The hours at work we have to keep,
The long drive there, the long drive home;
Our conversations on the phone;
Friends and family we keep in touch;
Household chores that we dread so much;
The list of things that must be done;
Just kicking back and having fun.
It is the mundane things like morning toast;
The dailiness of life we’ll miss the most.