winter hollows

these hollows of winter
filled by the long passage
of time
and light
and life
drawn low,
silver and pristine
through the haze
of daily tumult

we think
but not too intently
about the Spring
renewal
with its gifts unhastened
by our wanting for them

horizons lost to veils of grey
jewels of joy and sorrow both
adorn these shortened winter days
lips quieted beneath the morrow
unheard yet heeded
calls beyond
that known to us
of earthly bond

these the bellowing voices
of the hollows

Sewn Under A Pall

Red Poppies on the Wall
Know not Spring or Fall
Their fates have been pressed
and forever sealed
Passion drenched petals
No longer feel

Red Poppies on the Wall
Answer selflessly, the call
Their witnesses proffer
Not lavish Praise
but solemn Stares
Drawn through crimson haze

Red Poppies on the Wall
Who have Risen to the Fall
Gone to seed before the season
With No Influence over Reason

Red Poppies on the Wall
Plucked as Sacrifice to All
Broad Fields of red
Their colors Shed
Each Sewn Under A Pall

after thought- may 2005

minutes fleeting, ticking
life in strobing images
black and white
slow, flickering
a flame at the feet of Pericles
Kings snickering
with brazen greed
stoking engines on
that will not heed
to logic, love or higher notions
but thrust henchmen on
across the oceans
to spoil and soil
by sword and shield
their purple cloaks
adorn the field
...
just an after thought
to dinner and a movie
in America

fields of emeralds
shimmering
diamond bright sparks
alight
the tapestry
of dawn's wet grasses

these jewels known
to the wealthy barons
of life lived simply

light spun

sphinx in the desert
sun on her face
illuminating her enticing russet hue
desire is the link
that brings us to this place
to learn what is known
under heavenly eyes azul

messianic voices
call to each from cavernous souls
to reach the lips of one
whose work is to extoll
the virtues of the arduous journey
to share all there is to give
and walk in reflection
of creation
that as one
may we all live

issuance

a steady breeze, cool
just off the river
after days of rain
issues out stale thoughts
regrets and feelings of surrender
and in ushers
refreshed resolve
to accept
what is
what is possible

a scent upon the wind
alerts our deepest selves
to the presence of
Grace

we pray upon
the new day

little by little
i whittle away
to pay
the debt i owe
upon this world of woe
for in the whittling
i find true joy