These poems saw the light of day between 2011 and 2012.
1. A Duet in Two Voices: for M.R.
No Longer There: Voice One
In times of grief I turned to you
like fading flowers seek the sun,
your love a castle of defense
against the harm that day had done,
against the hurt of mocking words,
the hateful voices all around
that you alone could keep at bay,
however ugly be their sound.
In times of joy I sought you out,
to share with you some victory,
a moment when I truly felt
the bonds of fear fall far from me
and all the world was mine to hold
just as you held me in your arms,
the blows of yesterday dismissed
as if by force of magic charms.
But Time itself tore us apart,
a cancer growing unrestrained
by any force of human hands,
to grow until no hope remained;
yet still I turn as if to find
your visage smiling down at me,
no longer there, my spirit cries,
no longer there to set me free.
Still There: Voice Two
I could not bear to leave,
but death had come in haste
to stake his claim;
I took your hand in mine,
saw the tears you shed,
heard you speak my name.
But gaze upon the juniper
standing in the sun,
sorrow banished;
place an acorn in your hand –
I am still there,
I have not vanished.
2. A Heart and Mind Rap on a Proposed Journey to See Someone (Just for Fun)
1. What my Mind says:
Don’t go,
cash flow
not good enough --
stay home,
don’t roam,
travelling gets tough.
Too far,
rental car --
pay through the nose,
hotel bills,
indebtment chills
as the inbox grows.
Wait instead,
look ahead,
discard all fear --
cherish hope,
don’t mope,
they may even come here!
2. What my Heart says:
Fly away,
don’t stay,
the soul demands --
don’t wait,
too late
they slip from your hands.
Borrow cash,
then dash
heading to the west;
you’ll regret,
never forget
an unmade quest.
Be brave,
then save,
no time to hesitate --
life’s brief,
avoid grief --
tomorrow is too late!
The Heart Wins.
3. A Lover's Question
I wonder what he sees in me --
what keeps him ever by my side
despite the sadness in my soul,
the wounded child I try to hide;
does he know how I embrace
the light I find within his heart,
the flame that gives its strength to me,
and makes all fear and grief depart?
I wonder if he too finds strength
within the love that we have found,
a slender pine by winter bent,
yet rooted firmly in the ground;
perhaps he also knows the dark
in moments when his world seems grim,
but tries to hide it from my eyes,
wondering what I see in him.
4. An Ode to Winter Children
The birthday season reappears
like a sudden apparition,
to celebrate the winter child
my dedicated mission.
Yet how to find the perfect words
eludes December lethargy,
my spirit gaunt from other months
that somehow got the best of me.
We winter children stand apart,
a solitary breed beset
by bitter storms and raging winds,
of dancing sunbeams long bereft.
But still we owe deep gratitude
for life bestowed upon our souls,
no matter if we miss the mark,
fall short of our Creator’s goals.
And so I set my pen to write
this hymn to all my winter kin --
to send my love to those like me,
who fight the dark that lies within.
5. A Thousand Poems
3. A Lover's Question
I wonder what he sees in me --
what keeps him ever by my side
despite the sadness in my soul,
the wounded child I try to hide;
does he know how I embrace
the light I find within his heart,
the flame that gives its strength to me,
and makes all fear and grief depart?
I wonder if he too finds strength
within the love that we have found,
a slender pine by winter bent,
yet rooted firmly in the ground;
perhaps he also knows the dark
in moments when his world seems grim,
but tries to hide it from my eyes,
wondering what I see in him.
4. An Ode to Winter Children
The birthday season reappears
like a sudden apparition,
to celebrate the winter child
my dedicated mission.
Yet how to find the perfect words
eludes December lethargy,
my spirit gaunt from other months
that somehow got the best of me.
We winter children stand apart,
a solitary breed beset
by bitter storms and raging winds,
of dancing sunbeams long bereft.
But still we owe deep gratitude
for life bestowed upon our souls,
no matter if we miss the mark,
fall short of our Creator’s goals.
And so I set my pen to write
this hymn to all my winter kin --
to send my love to those like me,
who fight the dark that lies within.
5. A Thousand Poems
A thousand poems have fled my pen
in search of eyes in other lands,
some have returned, unread and wan,
while some found love in gentle hands;
but most still wander far from home
to find whatever fate is theirs,
like pilgrims on an endless quest
inspired by hope, beset by fears.
But as I bid each poem adieu
and hope for readers in the night,
my pen takes up another theme
and looks ahead to morning’s light;
for I cannot take leave of words,
no matter what arrives each day,
so many stories yet to tell,
so much my soul still needs to say.
And so to you, my readers dear,
I now entrust this fledgling ode –
you sit as judges on each verse,
to reap with eyes what my heart sowed.
6. Adagio for Love Lost
A melody begins to sound
deep within me;
a low keening of despair,
barely audible;
slowly the music gains strength,
assuming the form
of an adagio for love
lost too soon.
At last complete, its strains emerge
in orchestral mode,
far too powerful to remain
mine alone;
flowing like a river in spate,
it pours out --
for it was written by my heart,
in search of yours.
8. An Unwritten Poem
The pen a scalpel of the soul,
cutting through defenses
to reveal the inner emotions
I try to keep hidden;
for lying deep inside me
like an insistent tumor
lies a poem unwritten,
never to be read.
No remedy lies at hand
to ease its torment,
no surgeon would ever
even see it there,
but I know it infects me,
for I stood at a crossroad,
and out of mindless fear
denied a dream;
and so I pay the price:
there can be no healing,
only a constant sense of loss,
only an unwritten poem.
9. Apologia
7. Against All Odds
In the mist of dreams
I was playing roulette,
and watched a ball
spin wildly around,
searching for its home;
that ball missed my mark,
and I saw my dream-self
place her final bet,
one desperate gamble
against all odds.
The ball whirled again,
then came to rest,
settling into a pocket
not of my choosing;
a prize I long sought
seemed too far away,
ever out of my reach,
never to be mine.
My dream-self wept --
and then I awoke
out of the mist of dreams,
and turned in my bed
to find you there;
I smiled as you slept,
for I had won love --
against all odds.
8. An Unwritten Poem
The pen a scalpel of the soul,
cutting through defenses
to reveal the inner emotions
I try to keep hidden;
for lying deep inside me
like an insistent tumor
lies a poem unwritten,
never to be read.
No remedy lies at hand
to ease its torment,
no surgeon would ever
even see it there,
but I know it infects me,
for I stood at a crossroad,
and out of mindless fear
denied a dream;
and so I pay the price:
there can be no healing,
only a constant sense of loss,
only an unwritten poem.
9. Apologia
To all the poems I’ve written
apologies must I send,
for even when I start out well
I rarely find the perfect end;
I struggle through the middle,
searching words sublime,
I look to the thesaurus
for words that are not mine;
new images I seek to use,
and metaphors that will amaze,
as if I play magician,
my wizard’s wand ablaze;
but always mediocrity
lies waiting in the wings,
and so I put aside the pen
to see what morrow brings;
perhaps I ought join Emily,
my poems within a vault,
for I should give them shelter
when their flaws are all my fault.
10. At Rest
10. At Rest
Grandmother rests
in a place beyond time,
but her words linger on,
resound in my mind,
and even in death
she knows I stand here,
her grave like a beacon
with God's light to share.
She taught me forgiveness
for all who spread hate,
whose spirits lie twisted
in fear of their fate,
for love brings salvation
where anger breeds strife --
a plague that destroys
the worth of each life.
I set down a stone
as I do every year,
to honour the woman
whose love calls me here,
and pledge on my soul
to live worthy of her,
knowing evil gives way
for the good to endure.
in a place beyond time,
but her words linger on,
resound in my mind,
and even in death
she knows I stand here,
her grave like a beacon
with God's light to share.
She taught me forgiveness
for all who spread hate,
whose spirits lie twisted
in fear of their fate,
for love brings salvation
where anger breeds strife --
a plague that destroys
the worth of each life.
I set down a stone
as I do every year,
to honour the woman
whose love calls me here,
and pledge on my soul
to live worthy of her,
knowing evil gives way
for the good to endure.
11. At the Altar
Flickering candles near the altar,
one set alight by her own hand,
total silence within the sanctuary
as she falls on her knees;
prayer has never come easily,
but she whispers into the darkness,
to bargain with that Higher Power,
to make a promise she must keep.
She prays for Divine Intercession,
for the granting of Holy Grace
upon one steadfast in the love of God,
whose serenity eclipses her own --
the prodigal daughter returns
after years of wandering in quest,
she who finally felt that Holy Grace
in a place of pristine ice and snow.
Now, in another sacred setting,
she barters to buy more time
for that other to complete her journey,
and also walk in pristine lands;
in obeisance she waits for God
to accept her meager offering,
laid before the altar as if gold,
the bread and wine of her soul.
12. Autumn Grace
Slowly summer clouds depart,
in their wake too many tears
fallen upon unwilling ground,
the torn fabric of my heart.
To sanctify your agony
I would kneel in dark cathedrals,
lighting candles in your name,
as if to lead you back to me.
But the bond now lies broken
and prayers remain unheard,
I flee from dark cathedrals,
entreaties left unspoken.
Hiding the scars upon my face,
I set my trust in wayward time --
that the coming touch of autumn
will reach out with healing grace.
13. Between Worlds: For M.
13. Between Worlds: For M.
They want her to choose,
to focus her heart,
but conflicts of love
still rip her apart.
“It’s this or it’s that --
why can’t she decide,
for what does she yearn,
and what does she hide?”
To live in-between
allows her no peace,
she goes back and forth
in search of release.
They don’t apprehend
the battles she’s fought,
they don’t understand --
she is, and is not.
She’s caught between worlds,
her soul in a cage,
and slowly she dies
as forces engage.
14. Boxing with Life
Words imprisoned,
locked inside the heart
by a fearful guardian,
afraid to break silence;
the power of words --
with hurricane force
to blow down walls
erected by love,
leaving in their wake
a lifetime of debris.
Once released,
never to be retrieved,
double-bladed words,
dangerous fugitives --
the guardian dare not
surrender the key,
awaiting the day
words are tamed,
when it becomes safe
to break the silence.
14. Boxing with Life
Life is heavyweight --
even bare-handed
it pummels you with blows,
brings you to your knees.
It mocks your pain,
taunts you to fight back
against overwhelming odds,
and shows no mercy.
Life will never play fair --
it strikes the purest souls
with angry leaden fists,
ignoring all good deeds.
But you, the underdog
in this bitter match,
still answer the bell,
fight to be who you are.
You counter every punch,
resiliency your trademark,
even fallen on the mat
you rise up again.
And in that final round,
take pride in the battle,
knowing you made your mark,
and changed the game.
15. Breaking Silence
knowing you made your mark,
and changed the game.
15. Breaking Silence
Words imprisoned,
locked inside the heart
by a fearful guardian,
afraid to break silence;
the power of words --
with hurricane force
to blow down walls
erected by love,
leaving in their wake
a lifetime of debris.
Once released,
never to be retrieved,
double-bladed words,
dangerous fugitives --
the guardian dare not
surrender the key,
awaiting the day
words are tamed,
when it becomes safe
to break the silence.
16. Broken Glass
The mirror in the bedroom
once reflected youthful faces,
one so brave, one so eager
for the joy of his embraces;
each passing year it witnessed
a love grown ever stronger,
hesitations thrown aside,
fears of loss no longer.
The bottle in his older hand,
the poison that it held within,
the dissolution of a bond
signaled in a crystal din --
the sound of shattered glass,
the bottle broken on the floor,
the mirror in the bedroom
reflecting love no more;
she left the room in silence
in hope her pain would pass,
but nothing could restore
broken hearts in broken glass.
17. Buffalo Man
Looking into huge dark eyes,
he sees the distant past:
herds of buffalo roam,
numbers unimaginable,
cover endless plains.
His ancestors - the Elders -
survived by grace of the buffalo,
the bringer of sustenance,
the bringer of shelter from the cold,
the bringer of ancient medicine.
They begged forgiveness
as spears struck the saviour,
took only what they needed,
gathered his bones with respect,
honoured the sacrifice.
Then the others came,
those who did not know
the great buffalo spirit,
who saw no saviour
in the sights of their guns.
The buffalo run fewer now,
the buffalo people confined
by decree of outsiders,
but the buffalo and the buffalo man
still remember the sacred pact.
18. City of Dust, 1 (Haiti)
All that remains coated in grey,
a city of dust at their feet,
the homeless walk amid the ruins
and broken bodies in the street.
Armageddon in one swift stroke,
unspeakable grief in their eyes,
all that was cannot come again,
no hopes for the future arise.
Sounds of mourning and sounds of fear,
what torment their hunger will fuel,
for sometimes the world turns away,
and sometimes the Earth is just cruel.
19. City of Dust, 2
A January Tuesday,
another ordinary afternoon
under bright Caribbean sun;
fishing boats in the harbour,
women at the market,
their children in school;
a place of poverty,
long ravaged by forces
in pursuit of power;
the children of slaves
who hope for a future
free from all bonds.
4:53
A roar from the earth,
born of the deeps
and shaking the ground;
buildings unable to stand
turn into coffins,
cries ring out in vain;
everything changes,
time cleft in two –
before and after;
the living and the dead –
the living dead,
the death of hope.
(January 12, 2010)
17. Buffalo Man
Looking into huge dark eyes,
he sees the distant past:
herds of buffalo roam,
numbers unimaginable,
cover endless plains.
His ancestors - the Elders -
survived by grace of the buffalo,
the bringer of sustenance,
the bringer of shelter from the cold,
the bringer of ancient medicine.
They begged forgiveness
as spears struck the saviour,
took only what they needed,
gathered his bones with respect,
honoured the sacrifice.
Then the others came,
those who did not know
the great buffalo spirit,
who saw no saviour
in the sights of their guns.
The buffalo run fewer now,
the buffalo people confined
by decree of outsiders,
but the buffalo and the buffalo man
still remember the sacred pact.
18. City of Dust, 1 (Haiti)
All that remains coated in grey,
a city of dust at their feet,
the homeless walk amid the ruins
and broken bodies in the street.
Armageddon in one swift stroke,
unspeakable grief in their eyes,
all that was cannot come again,
no hopes for the future arise.
Sounds of mourning and sounds of fear,
what torment their hunger will fuel,
for sometimes the world turns away,
and sometimes the Earth is just cruel.
19. City of Dust, 2
A January Tuesday,
another ordinary afternoon
under bright Caribbean sun;
fishing boats in the harbour,
women at the market,
their children in school;
a place of poverty,
long ravaged by forces
in pursuit of power;
the children of slaves
who hope for a future
free from all bonds.
4:53
A roar from the earth,
born of the deeps
and shaking the ground;
buildings unable to stand
turn into coffins,
cries ring out in vain;
everything changes,
time cleft in two –
before and after;
the living and the dead –
the living dead,
the death of hope.
(January 12, 2010)
20. Consider the Birds of the Air (Matt. 6:26)
A pristine summer day at sea,
the waves again at rest,
no storm clouds to despoil
the cerulean hue of the sky,
once more a haven for birds
to wheel beneath the sun:
gulls hover near the shore
where herons stand in silence,
fishers awaiting their prey;
terns and cormorants overhead
see kingfishers on tree tops,
while in the woods sparrows sing
and finches flash by in gold;
high aloft, above them all,
the keen-eyed eagles glide,
soaring in powerful grace.
She considers the birds of the air,
untethered, free in this moment,
no thoughts for tomorrow arise
to disturb their ancestral dance --
how she wants to dance with them,
to float above her terrestrial realm --
but such freedom ever eludes her,
tethered as she is to time and space,
twin bonds assigned at birth,
the price of human existence.
21. Curtain Down
21. Curtain Down
The play had reached its end,
recited year after year,
until no words were left
for the audience to hear --
just a silent wooden stage
bore witness to their roles,
so vacant and ingrained
as to devastate their souls.
To bring the curtain down
was all that now remained,
to signal love’s demise
with just themselves to blame;
the final lines were spoken
by each with leaden heart,
no more to live together,
the rest of time apart,
savouring the memories
of an older joyous age –
a time of passion rampant,
now dead upon this stage.
22. Dancing on My Grave
I dreamed that I had met my end
and lay entombed beneath the ground,
my eyes no longer took in light,
yet my ears still heard the sound
of revelers dancing on my grave
in tune to music of their own
that celebrated my demise,
believing that my life had flown.
How little did they understand
the spirit makes no haste to go,
but lingers long to bid farewell
to all the joys that living knows,
like a shadow cast by moonlight,
it flickers high above the tomb,
and hears the drunken melodies
sung by hypocrites too soon;
but those who had departed home,
whose tears had blessed the new-placed sod --
the soul absorbs this loving grief
and flies in joy to merge with God.
22. Dancing on My Grave
I dreamed that I had met my end
and lay entombed beneath the ground,
my eyes no longer took in light,
yet my ears still heard the sound
of revelers dancing on my grave
in tune to music of their own
that celebrated my demise,
believing that my life had flown.
How little did they understand
the spirit makes no haste to go,
but lingers long to bid farewell
to all the joys that living knows,
like a shadow cast by moonlight,
it flickers high above the tomb,
and hears the drunken melodies
sung by hypocrites too soon;
but those who had departed home,
whose tears had blessed the new-placed sod --
the soul absorbs this loving grief
and flies in joy to merge with God.
23. Dancing with a Ghost
The Grand Ball of Life:
amidst the glittering crowd
I waltz with a ghost who is afraid,
though I fear him not --
afraid of contact, afraid of love,
fearing to cause pain.
I cannot touch this ghost,
even as we dance in our masks,
for he is far away, though near;
my love he also fears,
and pulls away before the dance is done,
wishing me to hate him forever.
But I cannot hate this ghost:
let him do whatever he must do,
I will love him still, I will forgive him,
for he and I are one in torment:
I too know the Darkness that creates fear,
I too have pushed such love away.
24. Demon Spirit
The beast awakes,
scintillating visions
glimmer and move
in ragged patterns,
kaleidoscopic.
The world plunges,
rocks like a boat
in hurricane winds,
nothing is stable,
everything moves.
My words, incoherent,
echo cries of the wild
when fire-storms rage
through the forests --
desperate screams.
Only when sated
will he withdraw,
leaving me a shell
bereft of substance,
adrift in darkness.
But as light returns
and I feel him slumber,
I accept his bequest --
the desire to create
beauty out of pain.
25. Distant Storm
A distant roll of thunder
intrudes into my dream,
I wake to see you sleeping
safely by my side.
Whatever I was dreaming
has vanished from my mind,
leaving me to face a storm
both of us must ride.
But it is no hurricane
that comes to call this night,
no tempest to deprive us
of a place to hide.
For you and I together
must fight a storm within,
navigating waters that
run too fast and wide.
Whether we can win this war
tonight I cannot know,
just give thanks that you now sleep
safely by my side.
26. Distant Strangers
I never presumed it would happen,
one chance in a million I thought,
for we were only distant strangers,
each path assigned a separate slot;
like ships at sea we passed on by,
our sails attuned to vagrant winds
that sent us out on different waves
no matter how the sheets were trimmed.
But far from seas of separation,
in a land hemmed in by mountain peaks,
I caught a glimpse as you passed by,
and how my heart desired to speak --
but I stood fearful of rejection,
hesitant to call out your name,
for you were such a shining star
and I a pilgrim of no fame.
But sudden courage gave me strength
to turn my footsteps toward your path,
and face to face we finally stood,
and I saw not a trace of wrath,
our words exchanged in warmest tones
as that gracious smile upon your face
proclaimed that in your hectic life
even distant strangers had a place.
27. Doors
26. Distant Strangers
I never presumed it would happen,
one chance in a million I thought,
for we were only distant strangers,
each path assigned a separate slot;
like ships at sea we passed on by,
our sails attuned to vagrant winds
that sent us out on different waves
no matter how the sheets were trimmed.
But far from seas of separation,
in a land hemmed in by mountain peaks,
I caught a glimpse as you passed by,
and how my heart desired to speak --
but I stood fearful of rejection,
hesitant to call out your name,
for you were such a shining star
and I a pilgrim of no fame.
But sudden courage gave me strength
to turn my footsteps toward your path,
and face to face we finally stood,
and I saw not a trace of wrath,
our words exchanged in warmest tones
as that gracious smile upon your face
proclaimed that in your hectic life
even distant strangers had a place.
27. Doors
Yesterday I closed a door
too long calling to my soul,
so many years I stood outside
like a loyal guard on duty;
I thought a treasure lay within,
the finest gift I could imagine --
yet, despite my standing guard,
nothing ever was revealed.
Illusions come so easily
when the soul lies vulnerable --
we project what we wish to see
upon a conjured canvas;
only time in passing reveals
how empty that canvas is,
how deluded we have become
at the cruel hands of longing.
Today I celebrate release,
walk away from deception
into the world of the real --
towards a door long waiting
for my laggard approach:
a simple wooden opening
into which I gladly stride,
knowing love awaits me there.
28. Dream Catcher
28. Dream Catcher
Mystic circle overhead,
protector of the spirit,
born to keep it from all harm,
to let no evil near it;
a snare of hoops and feathers,
innate nocturnal powers,
judging every vision
to arrive in day’s dark hours.
All nightmares are forbidden,
snared, and never to be free,
only dreams of fair intent
given leave for us to see;
each night I pray the circle
brings me images of you --
the protector of my heart
till my time on earth is through.
29. Dying to Sleep
The ghosts of nightmares past,
who haunt my mind each day,
laugh at my discomfort,
refuse to keep at bay;
like slowly flowing streams
in no rush to join the sea,
they much prefer to stay
and share their howls with me.
Last night they told of death --
that one I loved was gone --
and I awoke in fear
before the break of dawn;
this chilling game they play
each time I try to sleep,
they give no heed to tears
as roundabout they creep.
Tonight will be the same,
and all nights yet to come,
the haunting of the soul
that leaves the body numb;
no exorcism near
until that fated night
I take my final breath
and put them all to flight.
29. Dying to Sleep
The ghosts of nightmares past,
who haunt my mind each day,
laugh at my discomfort,
refuse to keep at bay;
like slowly flowing streams
in no rush to join the sea,
they much prefer to stay
and share their howls with me.
Last night they told of death --
that one I loved was gone --
and I awoke in fear
before the break of dawn;
this chilling game they play
each time I try to sleep,
they give no heed to tears
as roundabout they creep.
Tonight will be the same,
and all nights yet to come,
the haunting of the soul
that leaves the body numb;
no exorcism near
until that fated night
I take my final breath
and put them all to flight.
30. Epiphany
Yesterday I saw the light
as it had never shone before,
and today I feel great sadness
for a past that lives no more,
for dreams long doomed to die
by the random hand of fate,
knowing that epiphanies
all too often come too late.
Now I know it all was false,
that illusions rule the night,
reality exists apart,
a distant beacon burning bright,
its ancient eye illuminates
a path for me to walk upon --
today becomes a memory,
and come tomorrow I'll be gone.
31. Eurydice
She walks gently in the meadow,
aware of life in all its forms,
taking great care not to damage
what lies below --
all life an unsought miracle,
perhaps a Creator exists,
perhaps everything is random,
impossible to know --
but lurking silent in the grass,
anticipating her approach,
the viper, savage and selfish,
prepares to strike --
born as strangers to each other,
denizens of different realms,
time and place now bring together
in fading light --
the one above seeks only peace,
the one below dark dominion,
the age-old conflict plays again
upon this stage --
the aggressors take their booty
as the meek surrender their souls,
never to inherit an earth
free from rage.
32. Fallen Prophet
Pathetic prophet in disgrace,
delusion in each word he shouts,
this self-anointed Caiaphas --
what godly laws he blindly flouts,
strutting sanctimoniously
upon a spent and shattered stage,
destruction implored for others
while he destroys himself with rage;
to condemn souls to damnation
with devil flames that bellow high --
due punishment assigned to those
who fail to bow as he walks by.
But all is bluster, all revealed,
the game is up, his nature known,
now all can see his posturing,
just how unholy he has grown;
and as I watch him falling low,
one message would I deign to tell:
for all of us who see life true
a loving God creates no Hell.
33. Fighting the Dragon
He waits till he’s strong,
then strikes in the night,
shows her no mercy
if she puts up a fight.
His flame, ever fiercer,
consumes all it can,
a constant companion
since existence began.
Fragment by fragment,
her body gives way,
seeking salvation
at the coming of day.
She awakes full aware
of the damage inside,
but as long as she lives
she awakens with pride.
For the dragon has failed
once more in his quest --
he retreats to his lair,
just a cowardly pest.
34. Forecast Rain
The sky is lead again,
pressing hard upon the earth,
an unremitting load,
no golden sun dares rise,
no silver moon appear –
clouds reign supreme.
This is a gloomy land
where shape-shifting water
governs all of Creation,
the elemental substance
so sought on far off planets
parades its presence here.
But I was born a maritime child,
and in this pluvial land I stay –
come fog, come rain, come ice,
storms that assault the senses:
such a small price to pay
for the blessing of the sea.
35. Forging the Words
If only I could forge the words
to unlock all mysteries,
removing the veil of silence
to reveal things transcendent --
how love flares in my heart
at the sight of your smile,
how the solace you offer me
in times of doubt and fear
lights a candle against my darkness,
how your presence by my side,
so sudden, so unexpected,
transformed the cinders of life
into a treasure never imagined,
like a phoenix born anew;
what tales would I tell you,
what memories disclose
as far off suns begin to blaze
at the closing of each day,
when my dreams for tomorrow
shine as bright and hopeful;
so much still to share with you,
if only I could forge the words.
Life seems suspended
like Damocles’ dagger
above our heads,
ever threatening to fall,
to sever our union.
I appeal to the Fates,
beg them to draw
the thread longer,
that we may celebrate
our love without fear.
The in-between time,
that time of not knowing,
is the emptiest space,
a vacuum of torment
we dare not speak.
I shall hold you tonight
in a wordless embrace,
trying to keep you safe
inside the bulwark
of my fortress heart.
Distant words, yet so powerful
my fugitive soul begins to drift,
navigating to another time,
setting anchor in another place,
where, perhaps, one day we might have met,
and I could offer you my own words
in tribute to a Muse not mine.
Visions born in a secluded room
flowed from your unwavering pen –
hands burdened with the weight of life,
pendulums swung against warmongers,
wooden ships built for that other shore –
images tempered only by hope
that more grow strong enough to speak.
We cannot change the course of time,
children of ages too far apart,
and yet my life comes home in yours,
takes comfort from the words you sing,
finds power in the shedding of fear,
loving the ghost you become to me.
38. Ghost: for M.R.
Tranquil dusk arrived,
death’s rituals done,
I went to the river
to call upon God
for her ghost to come;
I whispered her name
as if in prayer,
my heart in tatters,
my soul in need
of her to stay here;
her words, like magic,
would lift all pain,
and dull my sorrows
with the healing balm
of love’s domain.
Hours passed by
in the forest dark,
till I heard a voice
speak soft to me,
tuneful as a lark:
“I am still here,
and shall not leave,
death has no might
to keep us apart
while you still breathe;
whatever the battle,
wherever you go,
I journey with you,
to stand by your side,
to counter life’s blows.”
A star then appeared
bright in the sky --
token of a sacred truth,
a bond unbroken,
for only flesh dies.
39. Hint of Spring
The ground, no longer frozen,
exhales a hint of spring,
warm western winds dispel
the chill that winter brings;
the rivers once more flow,
by ice now unconfined,
and robins have come back
from distant southern climes.
A snowdrop rears its head
so hesitant at first,
lest one last blow remain
its tender stalk to burst;
above all there is light,
the spark that nurtures birth,
the darkness of the winter
now driven from the earth.
We stand as one in sunshine,
breathe in the scent of spring,
set aside long months of gloom,
listen to the robins sing;
knowing how the seasons pass,
how soon cold winds descend,
we pledge our lives to love
before our season ends.
40. His Eyes
His eyes, like seas, so deep appear,
and I let my soul fall in,
a refuge from the frantic crowd,
sequestered from the roaring din;
in this quiet isolation
I feel my heart begin to slow,
my mind adrift on gentle waves,
no squalls to fight, no surge below --
afloat upon the ocean swell
after the storm has passed by,
released from all external cares
and gazing at a cloudless sky;
this haven in a raging world
becalms my fears, denies my pain,
and in this tranquil aftermath,
his eyes, like seas, so deep remain.
41. Icarus Aloft
Escape to the sky,
set free from the earth,
far from the sorrows
existing since birth;
pursuit of pure joy
aloft in the air,
winds blowing kindly
relieve you from care;
the warmth of the sun,
the birds flying near,
the pain of the world
you no longer hear;
sacred the silence
as you soar above,
amazed by the strength
of heavenly love;
no longer haunted
by burdens calling,
no need to respond,
no fear of falling.
42. Immortal Presence
Words inadequate,
photographs silent,
I struggle to express
the inexpressible;
the soft touch of love,
the silent embrace,
the knowing look
beyond reason;
love descends unbidden,
never expected,
never predictable
but ever cherished;
immortal presence
transcending death,
never forgotten,
never diminished;
eternal magician
of the human soul,
love came to us,
love transformed us;
what was before
ceased to exist,
as two solitudes
coalesced, forever.
43. In the Looking Glass
I see her smile despite the tears
that hide within like hunted thieves,
no one could tell the pain she bears,
so hidden is the loss she grieves;
the world outside wants her to write
courageous words of love and peace,
to help them gather up their might,
and from her pen to find release
from all the sorrows of the dark,
from every terror in their hearts,
as if she were a meadow lark
to sing to them when hope departs;
I see her smile try not to fade,
her mind begin to realize
the outer self a false charade,
and that the mirror always lies.
44. In the Shadow: For M. R.
In the shadow of your absence
my mourning heart despairs of light,
surrenders unto ceaseless grief,
dreads the coming of each night,
as if I were a child again,
fearing demons come to call,
cowering in hidden corners,
back pressed hard against the wall.
Your final days a legacy,
your courage at the doors of death,
and how you clasped my shaking hand
as you took that last frail breath;
but like a ship without a captain
I cannot keep the course you set,
and in the shadow of your absence
so many things I now regret.
45. Indigo Moons
A blue moon, a windless night:
she walks along the harbour
in search of errant Muses;
so calm the waters, so reflective:
kaleidoscopic colours shimmer
like wavering mirages in a desert,
a counterfeit moon appears adrift,
while infinite alien stars glow
in imitation of the sky above,
images upon a celestial mirror;
even ships at their berths
sleep in unaccustomed stillness,
barely a sound of ropes or rigs.
On this most serene of nights
her pen awakens from slumber,
feels moved to fill blank pages,
to sing again of sails and seas,
of harbours still undiscovered,
of exotic journeys still to come;
casting off her unsought silence,
she sits on the wooden wharf
and begins to write of indigo moons.
46. Intimate Stranger, 1
I read her words, astounded --
how does she know my soul,
the sorrows I have faced,
the wounds I have endured;
how do her distant words
become so much a part of me,
inhaled like the air itself,
sustaining and healing me?
This most intimate stranger,
this magician of words
and conjurer of solace,
paints my life in her poems;
as long as her magic soars,
enters me with compassion,
I will possess the balm
a wounded soul entreats.
47. Intimate Stranger, 2
How deeply her words
penetrate within,
compassion their balm --
my healing begins;
like a magician
she banishes fear,
and makes me believe
salvation is near.
Not smoke or mirrors,
but a soul who knows
existence brings pain
as time onward flows;
her voice reaches me
and troubles depart --
intimate stranger,
shaman of my heart.
48. Janus Invictus
Twin-headed Janus arrives
in bellows born of piercing ice,
northern winds batter houses
long since chilled by December;
doors shut tight against his rage,
within we await the assault,
the anger of a god disdained,
his rites now unremembered.
We offer up the flames required,
the wood to be sacrificed
to this merciless child of war,
that he take pity on our gates;
but no lament turns his course,
no offering from human hands
averts his frozen fury,
no prayer his will placates.
49. Just One Day (Just for Fun)
If I had one day with Emily,
I would bring my books of verse,
and she would counter with her own,
to make mine seem much worse;
I’m sure she’d find my musings
to border on the very odd --
including poems to Mrs. Woolf,
and the disappearance of the cod;
how to explain my sea-bound poems,
my odes to roiling waves and seals,
or my thrilling expositions
on how painful frostbite feels?
Perhaps she’d get a laugh or two,
even say my work is underrated,
it wouldn’t matter in the end --
I would depart intimidated;
but still my all too fragile ego
would pale beside the pleasure
of spending time with one who pens
the songs that I will ever treasure.
50. Just Say Goodbye
The face in the mirror looks sadder,
withered by broken dreams and illusions,
the strong faith of youth giving way
like a fragile branch in a winter’s gale,
now lying lifeless on the callous ground.
False gods have been worshipped,
altars resplendent with the gleam of gold
hiding the human greed within,
deities unwilling to show grace or gratitude
despite long years of mortal offerings.
Better to cover the mirror in black,
that ancient ritual of mourning,
turn eyes away and look elsewhere
for powers that heal the human heart,
and just say goodbye to the others.
51. Knowing Love
Love defies boundaries,
transcendent by design,
nurtured deep within
the human heart.
Love defies definition
and simply exists,
in myriad forms
beyond all words.
Love defies hatred,
a brittle force
unable to overcome
its adamantine power.
Love defies ignorance,
its primal flame
brings a wisdom
fashioned from light.
Love is unlimited:
it welcomes all,
forgives the malevolent
and offers reconciliation.
Love is eternal,
unbound by time,
outlasting all flesh,
Love is God.
52. Labyrinth
At dawn she paused at the entrance,
averting her hesitant gaze,
her spirit not yet strong enough
to enter the beckoning maze;
but as the sun rose higher still
a howl from within reached her ears:
the monster felt how close she was
and called aloud to mock her fears --
for nothing had defeated him
within his walls of marbled stone,
and so no human could exist
with bravery to come alone.
She entered as all creatures raced
to feast beneath the sun while low,
setting her foot on the threshold,
expecting a death-dealing blow;
each step took her nearer his lair,
where fury rejected all light,
a place both within and without,
safe haven to demons of night.
Ignoring her thundering heart
she followed the uneven path,
prepared to beat back a monster
long feared for his man-eating wrath;
their struggle raged at the centre,
in a darkness black as new coal,
where placed on the balance of life
was all that remained of her soul;
to face down the ghosts of her past,
to fashion a future of light --
she fought like a whirlwind of fire,
amazed at the growth of her might.
And when the battle was over,
the monster now to death consigned,
she strode to the wide open door
from the labyrinth of her mind.
53. Last Day Out
Storm clouds swallowed the horizon,
no line between the earth and sea,
a growing conflagration raged
and flexed its might to swallow me,
sharp lines of lightning cracked the air
and thunder crashed against my ears,
in the void that closed around me
I struggled with my inmost fears:
that I might die upon these waves,
my body doomed to drift unfound,
no funeral procession formed
to lay my bones beneath the ground,
but just a granite cenotaph
to stand above an empty grave,
cold witness to the life I lived
when I was far from fatal waves;
yet as my ship took each new blow,
and as I prayed to God on high,
a calm acceptance filled my soul
and I grew unafraid to die,
for in the time I had with you
my heart had felt the joy of love,
and nothing greater could I know
interred in waves or earth above.
54. Last of the Romanovs
1) The Watchers
High upon the forest branches,
watchers, black as the night itself,
gaze down at a frenzied procession,
startled by anguished cries for mercy,
unaccustomed to human voices
defiling their ancient sanctuary,
eager to resume the peaceful sleep
shattered by this sudden incursion.
2) The Raven’s Song
What human madness winds its way
through woodlands blessed with sanctity,
Oh soldiers with your rifles raised,
how deep your anger strikes at me;
I too am hunter of the prey,
carrion flesh I feed upon,
but even I will never flay
the flesh you offer up at dawn.
3) The Executioners
Beneath the forest’s hanging boughs,
a scene is set as in a play --
soldiers rush to slaughter in their rage
those whose royal blood has stained the land,
who sent decrees to kill and banish
those unwilling to bow down and yield,
who took comfort from a different God,
or dared to question the right divine.
4) Raven’s Lament
Guns have been fired, and bodies lay
upon the ground now red below,
yet there is truth in what they say --
so many killed by royal blows;
perhaps as martyrs they will lie
when time has caused all to forget,
and so we raise our raucous cry --
‘tis brutal Justice they have met.
55. Last Run: Song of HMS Bounty: In Memoriam
Discordant is the wind,
mad cacophony of wails
that threatens to destroy
my crown of linen sails,
to pull my body down
into the heaving swell,
victim of a hurricane
arising out of Hell,
a swirling cloud of anger
the devil might create,
an instrument of torment
to bring me to my fate;
but I shall go down fighting
my wretched crew to save,
though I myself will founder
and gain a watery grave,
libation to Poseidon
who rules the realm below,
that murky, silent world
to which I soon must go,
there to think of brighter days
when I sailed beneath the sun,
for all we have are memories
when that final race is run.
56. Let Go
The chains of yesterdays,
heavy burdens on her heart --
the things she would undo
to make her pain depart,
but Time cannot be turned,
each memory her foe --
the path to her release
demands she let them go,
escape from ancient wounds,
grieve for them no longer --
set a lock upon what was,
the key to growing stronger,
brave enough to move ahead,
erase the slate at last --
no freedom comes to lives
that linger in the past.
57. Life's Lesson
Turn back the clock,
watch the years fly,
remember your youth
and try not to cry --
to survive adolescence,
albeit with scars,
when blows struck you down,
you rose like a star,
unwilling to yield,
to give up the fight,
believing that darkness
is followed by light.
But time in its passing
has made you unsure,
injustice remains,
more blows to endure;
no more a child,
you see with sad eyes
a world scarred by hatred
with kindness despised;
beliefs once embraced
must soon be let go --
for the longer you live,
the less you will know.
58. Lighthouse of a Million Souls: Church of St Dimitry in Uglich, Russia
A lighthouse of a bygone time,
a siren calling souls to come
with the promise of redemption
when all of time becomes undone;
yet so many years neglected,
age-old worship long forbidden --
their god proclaimed an opiate,
ancient relics claimed and hidden.
But the elders did not falter,
and kept the faith in secrecy,
offering their silent prayers
in chambers where no one could see,
entreaties to the holy saint
to make the doors fling open wide,
that soon the faithful could return,
their hearts imbued with reborn pride.
This lighthouse of a million souls
withstood decrees of banishment –
its steeple rose above the tides
as rulers came, and rulers went,
until a time of tolerance
allowed its flame to shine again,
to set the heavens all alight,
extinguishing decrees of men.
59. Lost in a Book
I watch as he reads
in a world of his own,
relieved from the day
and what it has sown;
to shut out the memory
a curtain descends,
wrought by an artist
at work with a pen;
all sorrows and cares
recede like the tide,
the book a magician
to stand by his side,
with power to conjure
creations of light,
a fantasy world
in which to delight;
and when he is done,
the final page read,
his demons excised,
he slips into bed.
60. Lost to Time
Your face grows ever distant,
as if you were a star
racing through the universe,
receding from my view;
I struggle to remember,
holding fast to photographs
so few, so treasured,
brief glimpses of yesterday
when your light shone near,
your love my guardian –
how invincible my soul
in your embrace.
But you are lost to Time,
voracious linear force
immune to the pain
that parting brings,
tearing you from me
in callous haste,
my heart not yet prepared
to bid you farewell;
I struggle to remember,
so afraid I might forget
your unconditional love
exists beyond Time.
61. Lyrics, 1
As soon as I wonder
if it’s time to go home,
you put up a wall
of invisible stone;
you don’t like my questions,
you don’t want to answer –
this wall you’ve created
expands like a cancer;
it’s killing my love
though you can’t see,
it’s killing the kid
who once was me.
I’d tear down that wall
if I knew that you cared,
but it all seems so pointless
and you all seem so scared;
my world has grown larger
while yours becomes small –
is that why you built
that impassable wall?
It’s killing my love
though you can’t see,
it’s killing the kid
who once was me.
So I’m staying away,
there’s no point heading back,
I can’t reach you now,
there’s not even a crack.
Go stand in your fortress
and keep out what’s changed –
the world keeps on turning
but your legs are chained;
it’s killing my love
though you can’t see,
it’s killing the kid
who once was me;
it’s killing my love
though you can’t see,
it’s killing the kid
who once was me.
62. Lyrics, 2
Wild storms have passed,
the floods have gone,
your life in ruins,
but still you hang on;
no tears to shed
can do any good,
there’s only debris
where love once stood.
But you’ve weathered dark storms
and returned to the light,
so go rescue your dreams
and hold on to them tight,
for tomorrow brings hope
that the sun will come out,
and to salvage your soul
do not yield to doubt.
Your heart may be torn,
tattered and ripped --
all that seemed certain
fell from your grip;
wild storms have now passed,
memory lingers --
how love’s embrace
slipped from your fingers.
But you’ve weathered dark storms
and returned to the light,
so go rescue your dreams
and hold on to them tight,
for tomorrow brings hope
that the sun will come out,
and to salvage your soul
do not yield to doubt.
63. Make Me Believe
Tell me a story
of dreams coming true,
to make me believe
that hearts can pull through --
whatever the pain,
however it hurts,
the life force remains,
and hope reasserts.
Tell me of flowers
by autumn’s hand torn --
how they will rise up
when spring is reborn;
tell me that darkness
is only a veil,
clouds are illusions,
enfeebled and frail.
My soul thirsts to know
that healing will come,
all ills cast aside,
all suffering done;
so tell me again
that light conquers dark,
and life burns anew
when faith is the spark.
64. Message in the Wind
Bellowing from the north,
holding me immobile,
as if paralysis had come
on this winter day,
its voice overpowers,
deafens my ears,
a wind without mercy
sent by frost demons,
its cold breath pierces,
penetrates deep within,
and my heart shivers
at its command,
then I hear it speak
in a mocking howl,
this hound of Boreas
with rabid bite,
telling the darkness to come,
impervious to candles
lit in cloistered chapels,
fires kindled in vain,
bellowing from the north,
herald of loss and grief,
herald of endings
that come too soon.
65. Mirror
So hard to be the perfect child,
to meet her parents' expectations,
rejecting all that brought pleasure
to grasp at distant golden rings --
goals predetermined at her birth,
as fixed as the stars far above,
and just as remote from her nature,
yet she submitted as required,
until, one day, she passed a mirror
and failed to recognize herself --
an alien face looked back at her,
tears cascading like a river,
forgotten dreams below the surface
in a desperate struggle to emerge,
the treasures of her long past youth
now mourned by mirrored images --
so many years lost, yet time remained,
time enough to rescue those dreams,
throw off the yoke imposed by others,
and accept who she was meant to be.
66. Mistress of Words
67. Mourning, 1
As the sun comes up
to disperse the fog --
breaking it into fragments
dissolving before my eyes --
so she had vanished,
she who had ever been near
simply disappeared,
gone, with no warning or goodbye,
and a fissure cracked my heart
as if it were delicate crystal:
where she had always been
only a gaping wound remained.
I covered mirrors with cloth,
drew curtains over windows,
and mourned her leaving
with the ancient rituals of grief;
to see her once again,
to know where she has gone,
to be granted one last farewell --
what would I not promise God?
But if my prayers come to nothing,
I too will dissolve like the fog.
68. Mourning, 2
A presence taken for granted,
a treasure always to be near,
so when the parting came to be,
her spirit broke in sudden fear;
in silence did she contemplate
a life without this soul sublime,
too great the loss, the chasm wide
that opened in her grieving time;
she clung to hope of her return
as weeks, then months went slowly by,
listening for that gentle laugh
to brush away the tears she cried,
but nowhere was this treasure seen,
all signs of her did now depart,
and in the end she lost all hope,
consumed by the hole in her heart.
69. Mute Swan
Silence emblematic –
mute swan upon a lake,
secrets kept deep inside,
for wounded hearts do break;
passersby might wonder
what sorrow stops her songs,
never understanding
the love for which she longs,
that even comely birds
cannot avoid life’s lash,
that brutal blows descend
to batter and to slash;
but if one day the sun
drives far her darkest woes,
perhaps her voice will sound,
to end her sphinx-like pose.
I wonder what he sees in me -
what keeps him ever by my side
despite the darkness in my soul,
the wounded child I try to hide;
does he know how I embrace
the light I find within his heart,
the flame that gives its strength to me,
and makes all fear and grief depart?
I wonder if he too finds strength
within the love that we have found,
a slender pine by winter bent,
yet rooted firmly in the ground;
perhaps he also knows the dark
in moments when his world seems grim,
but tries to hide it from my eyes,
wondering what I see in him.
71. Nemesis Awakes
72. Never Let Go
So easy to discard
what we never needed –
the debris of our lives,
wreckage best left behind
like jetsam from a ship,
willingly cast adrift.
Harder to abandon
the riches we safeguard
deep within our being –
the memory of love,
words spoken in passion,
inscribed upon the heart.
Whatever storms arise
to toss my fragile craft,
I cling to the treasures
your soul has given mine,
and no matter the pain
I shall never let go.
73. Night Rider
I cried for you today till dusk,
begged God to heal your wounds,
my grief dissolving into torrents;
forced by your silence to imagine
what sorrows greet your day,
shadowed horrors descend;
I wait in growing fear to learn
what dark beast besets you;
so far away, unable to touch you,
not even knowing the words
in which to clothe my prayers,
I mourn the distance between us.
But know my heart is with you
even though its form be hidden --
it rides the clouds of night
to embrace you at each dawn.
74. Night Sky
Looking up at night’s dark face,
eyes fixed upon a light
just now shining on the earth,
like a lantern burning bright;
gazing at the distant past,
pondering its present time --
is its fire now extinguished
or does it glow more sublime?
Far away in time and space
countless suns parade aflame,
in a universe expanding
no existence stays the same;
every star is born to die,
their death throes we expect,
but new suns fill the cosmos
with God the architect.
75. Nightly Horrors
She watches the news each night,
all compacted into clips
two minutes in duration –
a tale of one day’s madness
spread across the planet –
and she wants to turn away,
despairing of a world
scarred by endless suffering.
She wonders when compassion
became a dirty word,
how love professed for God
turns us into enemies,
hands red with yet more bloodshed,
ears closed to cries for help,
unwilling even to hear
what another has to say.
She sees bullets fired, bombs dropped
upon children in the fields,
watches them die, one by one,
then hears their mother’s screaming,
and feels the futility,
the senseless brutality
brought by hatred run amok,
played out before her own eyes.
And with the newscast over
she contemplates in sorrow
how every day brings no change,
with violence breeding violence;
she finally falls asleep,
but her dreams are running red,
herself the weeping mother
with hate’s dagger in her heart.
76. No Flowers
An enigma unto others,
a dark mystery unsolved,
no one seemed to understand
how her inner self evolved --
how childhood fears and anger
found solace in a room of books,
her mind set free in happiness,
safety in secluded nooks;
to a diary entrusted
with all her secret dreams
she turned each night for comfort,
and escape from violent screams.
To write became her passion
just as books became her friends,
to others she seemed sadly shy --
the quiet girl no one defends;
perhaps she might have disappeared,
her earthly presence never known,
had she not chanced upon a soul
as enigmatic as her own,
who also felt the pain of life,
yet had the strength to persevere --
and with him ever by her side
no more anger, no more fear.
78. Not Yet
I dreamed you held me in your arms
as raging waters pulled me down,
that you refused to let me go,
accepting that you too would drown.
I awoke to find you sleeping,
and wondered if you dreamt as well,
were rivers flooding in your mind,
were we in danger of their swell?
I rose from bed, no more to sleep,
and heard the pounding of the rain,
the winds blew fierce, the trees were bent,
while houses groaned as if in pain.
I turned once more to gaze at you,
the anchor of my restless heart,
and felt myself a ship at rest,
and not yet ready to depart.
79. Ode to Art
So many books
still to be written --
so many songs
still to be sung --
even where it is forbidden
art will be forever young.
So many paintings
yet to be made --
so many dances
yet to be danced --
the human mind is not afraid
to look anew, a different glance.
So many voices
wait to be heard --
so many creations
from them will come --
to find expression in the words,
spoken somewhere, by someone.
Such things without end
no soul can defy --
we who live now
see only a part --
and, though destined to die,
we survive through our art.
80. Ode to This Land
Long ago my people came
in search of refuge,
to build new lives
and cast off the old
so filled with hunger,
haunted by violence.
Your land was harsh,
demanding sacrifices
but offering a freedom
never dreamed by those
who knew oppression,
offering new hope
for children unborn.
I am now forever yours,
your forests, mountains,
lakes and prairies
all live within me,
making me one with a land
so beautiful that I see
the hand of God at work.
81. On Being Pluto
So cold out here,
so dark and silent,
moving in ambit
beyond the solar wind,
far from the centre,
a loop inveterate,
endless and alien;
once belonging,
now the intruder
who orbits apart
as others mock
in sunbathed splendor,
unable to change,
I speak no more.
82. On Listening to Beethoven’s 7th
To dance,
defying gravity
to soar,
free of the chains
in my mind,
chains forged of clouds,
within and without
the nexus of me.
A cloven soul,
defying expectations
to conform,
two voices call
and converge
in the second movement,
and I weep, envying
his deafness.
83. On the Street
They were just homeless kids
who didn’t know better,
they lived on the skids
no matter the weather;
they asked him for cash
as he walked on by,
for some place to crash,
and he gave them a five.
But the drugs and the booze,
the needles and pills,
every poison they used
to ward off the chills
just made them fall lower
and care not at all,
their thoughts became slower,
they stumbled and sprawled.
They struck at this stranger
who did them no wrong,
they released all their anger
in a menacing throng;
so she gave them no pity
as she pulled out a gun:
these dregs of the city
had murdered her son.
One point in time and space,
the crossroads of the night --
to chose a path in faith,
not paralyzed by fright;
the road that I have walked
to bring me to this place
is rough with jagged stones --
I trod it with no grace,
but fell so many times
and thought myself bereft,
feared upon arrival
that nothing would be left.
On the verge of choosing
which way I am to go,
anxious of the future,
of what it may bestow,
I hope to find a world
replete with all I seek --
crossroads are like curtains,
and offer me no peek;
staying here in limbo
my fear prefers to do,
but I must take the chance
to walk the road to you.
85. One Year On
His smile still lights the dark,
a Promethean fire,
banishing all her fears
of nights alone and empty;
accepting the beast within,
he refuses to yield,
ever the brave warrior
whose courage won her heart;
perhaps the predator
awakens for its feast,
tearing at the flesh within,
perhaps it slumbers still;
one year on, they look ahead,
united in enduring love,
the chains of Prometheus
become links to bind them fast.
86. Open Seas
She waits on the shore,
by Our Lady of the Harbour,
her soul at one with waves
swelling ever higher,
and offers Her a prayer
for those lost and forgotten.
What dreams had been theirs:
days spent in the sun,
full of laughter and love,
floating on the ocean
in a well-trimmed sloop;
but dreams fade away,
reality is the coming tide,
strong enough to sweep away
the debris of their existence,
to make mock of humankind
when the moon is full
and the sea is surging.
87. Our Lady of the Harbour
She waits on the shore,
by Our Lady of the Harbour,
her soul at one with waves
swelling ever higher,
and offers Her a prayer
for those lost and forgotten.
What dreams had been theirs:
days spent in the sun,
full of laughter and love,
floating on the ocean
in a well-trimmed sloop;
but dreams fade away,
reality is the coming tide,
strong enough to sweep away
the debris of their existence,
to make mock of humankind
when the moon is full
and the sea is surging.
88. Outsiders, 1
Annabel and Calliope,
children of Hermes,
children of Aphrodite,
yet also born of Man –
how they defy the rules
by reason of their birth,
neither and both,
searching for connection
in a sequestered world,
kept outside in fear.
Allow them to come in
as they are, as they will be,
messengers of the gods
demanding to be heard,
voices railing at conventions
designed to exclude;
break down the barriers,
recognize shared humanity –
for in denying theirs
you forfeit your own.
89. Outsiders, 2
Within a crowded room
filled with braying chatter,
some stand out as special,
others never matter --
they hesitate to speak
for fear of sounding bland,
outsiders in a space
reserved for those more grand,
who thrive on attention,
charisma at full blast,
who never need to look
at their supporting cast:
invisible to eyes
laughing in the night,
they cannot find the words,
they cannot match the sight;
achievements of their own
seem never great enough,
how they fear that someone
will one day call their bluff.
So they stand in corners,
invisible to those
who dazzle by a spark
until it dimmer grows,
and then the quiet few
may find a voice at last,
no more to feel disdained,
no more to be outcast.
90. Owl in the Night
Last night the owl came,
perching like a friend
outside the bedroom window,
my sorrows to attend.
Nocturnal harbinger
of something soon to come:
the spirit that remains
when flesh has been undone.
It knew my every loss,
its eyes intense on mine
whispered of reunion
at the ending of all time.
Then, bidding me farewell,
it disappeared from view,
flying past the great divide
that love alone breaks through.
91. Perhaps
Perhaps the fading flower
might live to see the dawn,
not perish under moonlight
and silently be gone.
Perhaps the light would linger
enough to kindle hope,
and time would bring salvation
and not the hangman’s rope.
Perhaps someone would notice
a lonely flower’s plight,
and stay his foot one moment,
avert the curse of night.
But living comes with sorrow,
no redemption from above,
and though it craved existence,
perhaps it needed love.
92. Personae
I am not what you think,
my mask is in place,
just as yours is;
we all hide ourselves,
fearing the torment
life can inflict.
We are personae
in an ancient tragedy,
awaiting the fatal flaw
that will strike us down,
resigned to recognition,
resigned to our fates.
Revel in present laughter,
shed luminous tears of joy
before the lash of life
turns those joyful tears
to rivers of rage and sorrow,
where we drown in our masks.
93. Place of Refuge
Attacked by brutal waves, a wreck
pulled fiercely at its mooring line,
desperate to escape destruction
in Neptune’s ever fickle brine;
her ancient harbour had decayed,
no more to offer peaceful rest,
she begged the waters set her free --
and they accepted her request.
For days she wandered in a search
for refuge from the angry sea,
until a haven beckoned her
with gentle winds and kindly lee;
upon the dock stood sailors keen
to rescue her from rocks of death,
repair her rigging and her planks,
to offer her a second breath.
A ship once battered and forlorn
returned to ride the breakers wild,
and all it took were loving hands
to make her feel no more defiled.
94. Portent: The Blackbirds
A rain of redwings falling down,
a biblical portent of doom,
dying as they strike the ground,
leaving only scattered plumes;
this morning how they flew on high
as winter brought migration,
whirling gently in the sky
until day’s termination.
But as the night descended,
they took to rest on branches,
until the fireworks ended
their ancestral sacred dances; --
each blast let loose a sudden shock,
and one by one the blackbirds fell,
the murder of a feathered flock,
of which their silent corpses tell.
In celebration humans left,
stepping over birds inert --
once more the planet was bereft
by mankind’s disregard for hurt.
95. Portent: The Kestrel
A kestrel landed on the hedge,
eyes keen on searching out his prey,
fresh snow had fallen on the ground
and hidden all their tracks away;
no sparrows at the spruce tree,
no squirrels racing quickly by --
to satisfy his hungry need
some small creature had to die.
Then he saw me at the window
and watched me as I gazed at him --
two children born of different worlds,
united as the day grew dim;
no words could pass between us,
but his eyes were dark with sorrow,
he knew the grieving of my soul
at no more time to borrow.
But then he vanished on the wing,
a portent destined not to stay --
the feather on my window cried
“one small creature dies this day.”
96. Prayer for Loss
Kyrie, Most Holy,
in this sanctuary
I seek forgiveness
as months pass by
marked by absence;
as in woodlands
bereft of birds,
or spring meadows
bereft of crocus,
so much remains,
yet I only see
that which is missing.
In the sorrow
of this absence,
I implore You
in somber prayer:
let this void
be filled once more,
grant my beloved
be restored to me.
What I have long
taken for granted,
as a gift everlasting,
a treasure my own,
I have squandered;
my soul, shattered,
wanders lost among
the woeful cypress.
I beg forgiveness
for my arrogance,
for my sinful greed,
mea culpa, Kyrie,
mea culpa, Kyrie,
mea maxima culpa.
97. Precious Gift
No silver coins upon my hand --
vile Judas made them damnable --
nor was gold the goal I sought,
for riches had no greedy pull;
gladly would I step aside
from the blind pursuit of wealth,
no need to hide in corners
to grasp at gain in zealous stealth;
for all my heart demanded
was a love transcending lust,
a union of two souls in one
before our flesh decayed to dust;
to know such love a precious gift --
by God bestowed on very few --
yet I found myself among them
when I consigned my heart to you.
98. Pristine Lands
Close by exists another realm,
a place of calm reflection,
providing me a haven
where I escape detection.
Wide bays of limpid waters
bring restoration to my soul,
while evergreens on hillsides
beckon me to slowly stroll
onwards through the forest’s path,
and never at a frenzied pace –
how I cherish every second
spent in this transcendent place;
a pilgrim in the wilderness,
set free at last from harsh demands,
I feel my heart take courage
from delight in pristine lands.
99. Questions for Prometheus
Why did you bother,
why did you care?
Were human beings
worthy to spare?
Chained to a crag,
flesh battered and torn,
and all for the sake
of those human born,
who go off to war,
to rape and to maim,
pretend they are going
in god’s sacred name,
who run after riches,
leave others to die,
selfish and greedy --
for these do you cry?
Will you regret
the fire you brought,
when they turn away
to let your flesh rot?
Far better your gift
return unto Zeus --
for see what a plague
your flames have let loose.
100. Questions for S.H.D. (A Poem for Emily Dickinson)
Did you truly love her --
that rose which bloomed
only for you?
Did you dare to touch her --
gently stroking the buds
moist with dew?
Did you tell her secrets --
the whisper of words at night
only for her ears?
And did you mourn her --
regretting what might have been
with penitent tears?
Question with no answers --
voiceless you remain,
afraid to tell.
But how she held you dear,
so eager to surrender
before the petals fell.
101. Recovery
The brooding pen,
breeder of words,
descends upon the page
in search of eloquence,
ending the silence
imposed by sorrow;
the vale of tears
perhaps lies behind, words of hope
so long kept imprisoned --
perhaps this is illusion:
only a transient mirage,
and more grief awaits;
it matters not:
the pen strikes blood,
reveals fetid wounds
to the light overhead,
the celestial healer,
in whose abundant love
I seek recovery.
102. Respite
Days of sunshine grudgingly yield
to the dominant rule of rain
as angry clouds obscure the sky,
their ancient power to reclaim,
as if they had allowed the sun
the briefest moment to appear,
an act of grace that now recedes
as raging winds come ever near.
Yet in that moment lovers found
a sanctuary free from gloom,
a time to laugh in love’s delight,
to revel where the flowers bloom,
to pledge their hearts without reserve,
all fears of darkness laid aside
to celebrate the gift of love,
the grace in which all truths abide.
Yesterday I saw the light
as it had never shone before,
and today I feel great sadness
for a past that lives no more,
for dreams long doomed to die
by the random hand of fate,
knowing that epiphanies
all too often come too late.
Now I know it all was false,
that illusions rule the night,
reality exists apart,
a distant beacon burning bright,
its ancient eye illuminates
a path for me to walk upon --
today becomes a memory,
and come tomorrow I'll be gone.
31. Eurydice
She walks gently in the meadow,
aware of life in all its forms,
taking great care not to damage
what lies below --
all life an unsought miracle,
perhaps a Creator exists,
perhaps everything is random,
impossible to know --
but lurking silent in the grass,
anticipating her approach,
the viper, savage and selfish,
prepares to strike --
born as strangers to each other,
denizens of different realms,
time and place now bring together
in fading light --
the one above seeks only peace,
the one below dark dominion,
the age-old conflict plays again
upon this stage --
the aggressors take their booty
as the meek surrender their souls,
never to inherit an earth
free from rage.
32. Fallen Prophet
Pathetic prophet in disgrace,
delusion in each word he shouts,
this self-anointed Caiaphas --
what godly laws he blindly flouts,
strutting sanctimoniously
upon a spent and shattered stage,
destruction implored for others
while he destroys himself with rage;
to condemn souls to damnation
with devil flames that bellow high --
due punishment assigned to those
who fail to bow as he walks by.
But all is bluster, all revealed,
the game is up, his nature known,
now all can see his posturing,
just how unholy he has grown;
and as I watch him falling low,
one message would I deign to tell:
for all of us who see life true
a loving God creates no Hell.
33. Fighting the Dragon
He waits till he’s strong,
then strikes in the night,
shows her no mercy
if she puts up a fight.
His flame, ever fiercer,
consumes all it can,
a constant companion
since existence began.
Fragment by fragment,
her body gives way,
seeking salvation
at the coming of day.
She awakes full aware
of the damage inside,
but as long as she lives
she awakens with pride.
For the dragon has failed
once more in his quest --
he retreats to his lair,
just a cowardly pest.
34. Forecast Rain
The sky is lead again,
pressing hard upon the earth,
an unremitting load,
no golden sun dares rise,
no silver moon appear –
clouds reign supreme.
This is a gloomy land
where shape-shifting water
governs all of Creation,
the elemental substance
so sought on far off planets
parades its presence here.
But I was born a maritime child,
and in this pluvial land I stay –
come fog, come rain, come ice,
storms that assault the senses:
such a small price to pay
for the blessing of the sea.
35. Forging the Words
If only I could forge the words
to unlock all mysteries,
removing the veil of silence
to reveal things transcendent --
how love flares in my heart
at the sight of your smile,
how the solace you offer me
in times of doubt and fear
lights a candle against my darkness,
how your presence by my side,
so sudden, so unexpected,
transformed the cinders of life
into a treasure never imagined,
like a phoenix born anew;
what tales would I tell you,
what memories disclose
as far off suns begin to blaze
at the closing of each day,
when my dreams for tomorrow
shine as bright and hopeful;
so much still to share with you,
if only I could forge the words.
36. Fortress Heart
Life seems suspended
like Damocles’ dagger
above our heads,
ever threatening to fall,
to sever our union.
I appeal to the Fates,
beg them to draw
the thread longer,
that we may celebrate
our love without fear.
The in-between time,
that time of not knowing,
is the emptiest space,
a vacuum of torment
we dare not speak.
I shall hold you tonight
in a wordless embrace,
trying to keep you safe
inside the bulwark
of my fortress heart.
37. Ghost: for E.
Distant words, yet so powerful
my fugitive soul begins to drift,
navigating to another time,
setting anchor in another place,
where, perhaps, one day we might have met,
and I could offer you my own words
in tribute to a Muse not mine.
Visions born in a secluded room
flowed from your unwavering pen –
hands burdened with the weight of life,
pendulums swung against warmongers,
wooden ships built for that other shore –
images tempered only by hope
that more grow strong enough to speak.
We cannot change the course of time,
children of ages too far apart,
and yet my life comes home in yours,
takes comfort from the words you sing,
finds power in the shedding of fear,
loving the ghost you become to me.
38. Ghost: for M.R.
Tranquil dusk arrived,
death’s rituals done,
I went to the river
to call upon God
for her ghost to come;
I whispered her name
as if in prayer,
my heart in tatters,
my soul in need
of her to stay here;
her words, like magic,
would lift all pain,
and dull my sorrows
with the healing balm
of love’s domain.
Hours passed by
in the forest dark,
till I heard a voice
speak soft to me,
tuneful as a lark:
“I am still here,
and shall not leave,
death has no might
to keep us apart
while you still breathe;
whatever the battle,
wherever you go,
I journey with you,
to stand by your side,
to counter life’s blows.”
A star then appeared
bright in the sky --
token of a sacred truth,
a bond unbroken,
for only flesh dies.
39. Hint of Spring
The ground, no longer frozen,
exhales a hint of spring,
warm western winds dispel
the chill that winter brings;
the rivers once more flow,
by ice now unconfined,
and robins have come back
from distant southern climes.
A snowdrop rears its head
so hesitant at first,
lest one last blow remain
its tender stalk to burst;
above all there is light,
the spark that nurtures birth,
the darkness of the winter
now driven from the earth.
We stand as one in sunshine,
breathe in the scent of spring,
set aside long months of gloom,
listen to the robins sing;
knowing how the seasons pass,
how soon cold winds descend,
we pledge our lives to love
before our season ends.
40. His Eyes
His eyes, like seas, so deep appear,
and I let my soul fall in,
a refuge from the frantic crowd,
sequestered from the roaring din;
in this quiet isolation
I feel my heart begin to slow,
my mind adrift on gentle waves,
no squalls to fight, no surge below --
afloat upon the ocean swell
after the storm has passed by,
released from all external cares
and gazing at a cloudless sky;
this haven in a raging world
becalms my fears, denies my pain,
and in this tranquil aftermath,
his eyes, like seas, so deep remain.
41. Icarus Aloft
Escape to the sky,
set free from the earth,
far from the sorrows
existing since birth;
pursuit of pure joy
aloft in the air,
winds blowing kindly
relieve you from care;
the warmth of the sun,
the birds flying near,
the pain of the world
you no longer hear;
sacred the silence
as you soar above,
amazed by the strength
of heavenly love;
no longer haunted
by burdens calling,
no need to respond,
no fear of falling.
42. Immortal Presence
Words inadequate,
photographs silent,
I struggle to express
the inexpressible;
the soft touch of love,
the silent embrace,
the knowing look
beyond reason;
love descends unbidden,
never expected,
never predictable
but ever cherished;
immortal presence
transcending death,
never forgotten,
never diminished;
eternal magician
of the human soul,
love came to us,
love transformed us;
what was before
ceased to exist,
as two solitudes
coalesced, forever.
43. In the Looking Glass
I see her smile despite the tears
that hide within like hunted thieves,
no one could tell the pain she bears,
so hidden is the loss she grieves;
the world outside wants her to write
courageous words of love and peace,
to help them gather up their might,
and from her pen to find release
from all the sorrows of the dark,
from every terror in their hearts,
as if she were a meadow lark
to sing to them when hope departs;
I see her smile try not to fade,
her mind begin to realize
the outer self a false charade,
and that the mirror always lies.
44. In the Shadow: For M. R.
In the shadow of your absence
my mourning heart despairs of light,
surrenders unto ceaseless grief,
dreads the coming of each night,
as if I were a child again,
fearing demons come to call,
cowering in hidden corners,
back pressed hard against the wall.
Your final days a legacy,
your courage at the doors of death,
and how you clasped my shaking hand
as you took that last frail breath;
but like a ship without a captain
I cannot keep the course you set,
and in the shadow of your absence
so many things I now regret.
A blue moon, a windless night:
she walks along the harbour
in search of errant Muses;
so calm the waters, so reflective:
kaleidoscopic colours shimmer
like wavering mirages in a desert,
a counterfeit moon appears adrift,
while infinite alien stars glow
in imitation of the sky above,
images upon a celestial mirror;
even ships at their berths
sleep in unaccustomed stillness,
barely a sound of ropes or rigs.
On this most serene of nights
her pen awakens from slumber,
feels moved to fill blank pages,
to sing again of sails and seas,
of harbours still undiscovered,
of exotic journeys still to come;
casting off her unsought silence,
she sits on the wooden wharf
and begins to write of indigo moons.
46. Intimate Stranger, 1
I read her words, astounded --
how does she know my soul,
the sorrows I have faced,
the wounds I have endured;
how do her distant words
become so much a part of me,
inhaled like the air itself,
sustaining and healing me?
This most intimate stranger,
this magician of words
and conjurer of solace,
paints my life in her poems;
as long as her magic soars,
enters me with compassion,
I will possess the balm
a wounded soul entreats.
47. Intimate Stranger, 2
How deeply her words
penetrate within,
compassion their balm --
my healing begins;
like a magician
she banishes fear,
and makes me believe
salvation is near.
Not smoke or mirrors,
but a soul who knows
existence brings pain
as time onward flows;
her voice reaches me
and troubles depart --
intimate stranger,
shaman of my heart.
48. Janus Invictus
Twin-headed Janus arrives
in bellows born of piercing ice,
northern winds batter houses
long since chilled by December;
doors shut tight against his rage,
within we await the assault,
the anger of a god disdained,
his rites now unremembered.
We offer up the flames required,
the wood to be sacrificed
to this merciless child of war,
that he take pity on our gates;
but no lament turns his course,
no offering from human hands
averts his frozen fury,
no prayer his will placates.
49. Just One Day (Just for Fun)
If I had one day with Emily,
I would bring my books of verse,
and she would counter with her own,
to make mine seem much worse;
I’m sure she’d find my musings
to border on the very odd --
including poems to Mrs. Woolf,
and the disappearance of the cod;
how to explain my sea-bound poems,
my odes to roiling waves and seals,
or my thrilling expositions
on how painful frostbite feels?
Perhaps she’d get a laugh or two,
even say my work is underrated,
it wouldn’t matter in the end --
I would depart intimidated;
but still my all too fragile ego
would pale beside the pleasure
of spending time with one who pens
the songs that I will ever treasure.
50. Just Say Goodbye
The face in the mirror looks sadder,
withered by broken dreams and illusions,
the strong faith of youth giving way
like a fragile branch in a winter’s gale,
now lying lifeless on the callous ground.
False gods have been worshipped,
altars resplendent with the gleam of gold
hiding the human greed within,
deities unwilling to show grace or gratitude
despite long years of mortal offerings.
Better to cover the mirror in black,
that ancient ritual of mourning,
turn eyes away and look elsewhere
for powers that heal the human heart,
and just say goodbye to the others.
51. Knowing Love
Love defies boundaries,
transcendent by design,
nurtured deep within
the human heart.
Love defies definition
and simply exists,
in myriad forms
beyond all words.
Love defies hatred,
a brittle force
unable to overcome
its adamantine power.
Love defies ignorance,
its primal flame
brings a wisdom
fashioned from light.
Love is unlimited:
it welcomes all,
forgives the malevolent
and offers reconciliation.
Love is eternal,
unbound by time,
outlasting all flesh,
Love is God.
52. Labyrinth
At dawn she paused at the entrance,
averting her hesitant gaze,
her spirit not yet strong enough
to enter the beckoning maze;
but as the sun rose higher still
a howl from within reached her ears:
the monster felt how close she was
and called aloud to mock her fears --
for nothing had defeated him
within his walls of marbled stone,
and so no human could exist
with bravery to come alone.
She entered as all creatures raced
to feast beneath the sun while low,
setting her foot on the threshold,
expecting a death-dealing blow;
each step took her nearer his lair,
where fury rejected all light,
a place both within and without,
safe haven to demons of night.
Ignoring her thundering heart
she followed the uneven path,
prepared to beat back a monster
long feared for his man-eating wrath;
their struggle raged at the centre,
in a darkness black as new coal,
where placed on the balance of life
was all that remained of her soul;
to face down the ghosts of her past,
to fashion a future of light --
she fought like a whirlwind of fire,
amazed at the growth of her might.
And when the battle was over,
the monster now to death consigned,
she strode to the wide open door
from the labyrinth of her mind.
53. Last Day Out
Storm clouds swallowed the horizon,
no line between the earth and sea,
a growing conflagration raged
and flexed its might to swallow me,
sharp lines of lightning cracked the air
and thunder crashed against my ears,
in the void that closed around me
I struggled with my inmost fears:
that I might die upon these waves,
my body doomed to drift unfound,
no funeral procession formed
to lay my bones beneath the ground,
but just a granite cenotaph
to stand above an empty grave,
cold witness to the life I lived
when I was far from fatal waves;
yet as my ship took each new blow,
and as I prayed to God on high,
a calm acceptance filled my soul
and I grew unafraid to die,
for in the time I had with you
my heart had felt the joy of love,
and nothing greater could I know
interred in waves or earth above.
54. Last of the Romanovs
1) The Watchers
High upon the forest branches,
watchers, black as the night itself,
gaze down at a frenzied procession,
startled by anguished cries for mercy,
unaccustomed to human voices
defiling their ancient sanctuary,
eager to resume the peaceful sleep
shattered by this sudden incursion.
2) The Raven’s Song
What human madness winds its way
through woodlands blessed with sanctity,
Oh soldiers with your rifles raised,
how deep your anger strikes at me;
I too am hunter of the prey,
carrion flesh I feed upon,
but even I will never flay
the flesh you offer up at dawn.
3) The Executioners
Beneath the forest’s hanging boughs,
a scene is set as in a play --
soldiers rush to slaughter in their rage
those whose royal blood has stained the land,
who sent decrees to kill and banish
those unwilling to bow down and yield,
who took comfort from a different God,
or dared to question the right divine.
4) Raven’s Lament
Guns have been fired, and bodies lay
upon the ground now red below,
yet there is truth in what they say --
so many killed by royal blows;
perhaps as martyrs they will lie
when time has caused all to forget,
and so we raise our raucous cry --
‘tis brutal Justice they have met.
55. Last Run: Song of HMS Bounty: In Memoriam
Discordant is the wind,
mad cacophony of wails
that threatens to destroy
my crown of linen sails,
to pull my body down
into the heaving swell,
victim of a hurricane
arising out of Hell,
a swirling cloud of anger
the devil might create,
an instrument of torment
to bring me to my fate;
but I shall go down fighting
my wretched crew to save,
though I myself will founder
and gain a watery grave,
libation to Poseidon
who rules the realm below,
that murky, silent world
to which I soon must go,
there to think of brighter days
when I sailed beneath the sun,
for all we have are memories
when that final race is run.
56. Let Go
The chains of yesterdays,
heavy burdens on her heart --
the things she would undo
to make her pain depart,
but Time cannot be turned,
each memory her foe --
the path to her release
demands she let them go,
escape from ancient wounds,
grieve for them no longer --
set a lock upon what was,
the key to growing stronger,
brave enough to move ahead,
erase the slate at last --
no freedom comes to lives
that linger in the past.
57. Life's Lesson
Turn back the clock,
watch the years fly,
remember your youth
and try not to cry --
to survive adolescence,
albeit with scars,
when blows struck you down,
you rose like a star,
unwilling to yield,
to give up the fight,
believing that darkness
is followed by light.
But time in its passing
has made you unsure,
injustice remains,
more blows to endure;
no more a child,
you see with sad eyes
a world scarred by hatred
with kindness despised;
beliefs once embraced
must soon be let go --
for the longer you live,
the less you will know.
58. Lighthouse of a Million Souls: Church of St Dimitry in Uglich, Russia
A lighthouse of a bygone time,
a siren calling souls to come
with the promise of redemption
when all of time becomes undone;
yet so many years neglected,
age-old worship long forbidden --
their god proclaimed an opiate,
ancient relics claimed and hidden.
But the elders did not falter,
and kept the faith in secrecy,
offering their silent prayers
in chambers where no one could see,
entreaties to the holy saint
to make the doors fling open wide,
that soon the faithful could return,
their hearts imbued with reborn pride.
This lighthouse of a million souls
withstood decrees of banishment –
its steeple rose above the tides
as rulers came, and rulers went,
until a time of tolerance
allowed its flame to shine again,
to set the heavens all alight,
extinguishing decrees of men.
59. Lost in a Book
I watch as he reads
in a world of his own,
relieved from the day
and what it has sown;
to shut out the memory
a curtain descends,
wrought by an artist
at work with a pen;
all sorrows and cares
recede like the tide,
the book a magician
to stand by his side,
with power to conjure
creations of light,
a fantasy world
in which to delight;
and when he is done,
the final page read,
his demons excised,
he slips into bed.
60. Lost to Time
Your face grows ever distant,
as if you were a star
racing through the universe,
receding from my view;
I struggle to remember,
holding fast to photographs
so few, so treasured,
brief glimpses of yesterday
when your light shone near,
your love my guardian –
how invincible my soul
in your embrace.
But you are lost to Time,
voracious linear force
immune to the pain
that parting brings,
tearing you from me
in callous haste,
my heart not yet prepared
to bid you farewell;
I struggle to remember,
so afraid I might forget
your unconditional love
exists beyond Time.
61. Lyrics, 1
As soon as I wonder
if it’s time to go home,
you put up a wall
of invisible stone;
you don’t like my questions,
you don’t want to answer –
this wall you’ve created
expands like a cancer;
it’s killing my love
though you can’t see,
it’s killing the kid
who once was me.
I’d tear down that wall
if I knew that you cared,
but it all seems so pointless
and you all seem so scared;
my world has grown larger
while yours becomes small –
is that why you built
that impassable wall?
It’s killing my love
though you can’t see,
it’s killing the kid
who once was me.
So I’m staying away,
there’s no point heading back,
I can’t reach you now,
there’s not even a crack.
Go stand in your fortress
and keep out what’s changed –
the world keeps on turning
but your legs are chained;
it’s killing my love
though you can’t see,
it’s killing the kid
who once was me;
it’s killing my love
though you can’t see,
it’s killing the kid
who once was me.
62. Lyrics, 2
Wild storms have passed,
the floods have gone,
your life in ruins,
but still you hang on;
no tears to shed
can do any good,
there’s only debris
where love once stood.
But you’ve weathered dark storms
and returned to the light,
so go rescue your dreams
and hold on to them tight,
for tomorrow brings hope
that the sun will come out,
and to salvage your soul
do not yield to doubt.
Your heart may be torn,
tattered and ripped --
all that seemed certain
fell from your grip;
wild storms have now passed,
memory lingers --
how love’s embrace
slipped from your fingers.
But you’ve weathered dark storms
and returned to the light,
so go rescue your dreams
and hold on to them tight,
for tomorrow brings hope
that the sun will come out,
and to salvage your soul
do not yield to doubt.
63. Make Me Believe
Tell me a story
of dreams coming true,
to make me believe
that hearts can pull through --
whatever the pain,
however it hurts,
the life force remains,
and hope reasserts.
Tell me of flowers
by autumn’s hand torn --
how they will rise up
when spring is reborn;
tell me that darkness
is only a veil,
clouds are illusions,
enfeebled and frail.
My soul thirsts to know
that healing will come,
all ills cast aside,
all suffering done;
so tell me again
that light conquers dark,
and life burns anew
when faith is the spark.
64. Message in the Wind
Bellowing from the north,
holding me immobile,
as if paralysis had come
on this winter day,
its voice overpowers,
deafens my ears,
a wind without mercy
sent by frost demons,
its cold breath pierces,
penetrates deep within,
and my heart shivers
at its command,
then I hear it speak
in a mocking howl,
this hound of Boreas
with rabid bite,
telling the darkness to come,
impervious to candles
lit in cloistered chapels,
fires kindled in vain,
bellowing from the north,
herald of loss and grief,
herald of endings
that come too soon.
65. Mirror
So hard to be the perfect child,
to meet her parents' expectations,
rejecting all that brought pleasure
to grasp at distant golden rings --
goals predetermined at her birth,
as fixed as the stars far above,
and just as remote from her nature,
yet she submitted as required,
until, one day, she passed a mirror
and failed to recognize herself --
an alien face looked back at her,
tears cascading like a river,
forgotten dreams below the surface
in a desperate struggle to emerge,
the treasures of her long past youth
now mourned by mirrored images --
so many years lost, yet time remained,
time enough to rescue those dreams,
throw off the yoke imposed by others,
and accept who she was meant to be.
66. Mistress of Words
The
Mistress of Words returns,
her
long absence a mystery
never
to be unraveled,
and
I greet her with reverence --
a
magical homecoming,
a
rebirth of light and hope
calling
like a stalwart beacon
to
bring the errant sailor back.
My
shipwrecked soul at last revives,
takes
haven in her healing lee,
and
begins once more to offer
words
most worthy of her presence;
lying
in silence for so long,
my
pen reclaims its voice of old,
unconstrained
by the darkness
into
which it had been cast.
The
Mistress of Words brings release
from
shattering storms of grief,
bidding
me to sing my poems
even
as I give ear to hers,
asking
me to set fear aside,
and
in thanksgiving I obey.
67. Mourning, 1
As the sun comes up
to disperse the fog --
breaking it into fragments
dissolving before my eyes --
so she had vanished,
she who had ever been near
simply disappeared,
gone, with no warning or goodbye,
and a fissure cracked my heart
as if it were delicate crystal:
where she had always been
only a gaping wound remained.
I covered mirrors with cloth,
drew curtains over windows,
and mourned her leaving
with the ancient rituals of grief;
to see her once again,
to know where she has gone,
to be granted one last farewell --
what would I not promise God?
But if my prayers come to nothing,
I too will dissolve like the fog.
68. Mourning, 2
A presence taken for granted,
a treasure always to be near,
so when the parting came to be,
her spirit broke in sudden fear;
in silence did she contemplate
a life without this soul sublime,
too great the loss, the chasm wide
that opened in her grieving time;
she clung to hope of her return
as weeks, then months went slowly by,
listening for that gentle laugh
to brush away the tears she cried,
but nowhere was this treasure seen,
all signs of her did now depart,
and in the end she lost all hope,
consumed by the hole in her heart.
69. Mute Swan
Silence emblematic –
mute swan upon a lake,
secrets kept deep inside,
for wounded hearts do break;
passersby might wonder
what sorrow stops her songs,
never understanding
the love for which she longs,
that even comely birds
cannot avoid life’s lash,
that brutal blows descend
to batter and to slash;
but if one day the sun
drives far her darkest woes,
perhaps her voice will sound,
to end her sphinx-like pose.
70. Mystery
I wonder what he sees in me -
what keeps him ever by my side
despite the darkness in my soul,
the wounded child I try to hide;
does he know how I embrace
the light I find within his heart,
the flame that gives its strength to me,
and makes all fear and grief depart?
I wonder if he too finds strength
within the love that we have found,
a slender pine by winter bent,
yet rooted firmly in the ground;
perhaps he also knows the dark
in moments when his world seems grim,
but tries to hide it from my eyes,
wondering what I see in him.
71. Nemesis Awakes
Summer burns the land
with relentless heat,
the forests lie scorched,
spruce with no cones --
nothing to sustain
their smallest children
in the winter to come,
death by starvation.
Earth already mourns
the silent forests to come,
the sacrifice of innocents
to the greed of Man,
given dominion over life
in antiquated texts,
justification enough
to destroy the vulnerable.
Nemesis takes notice,
sees deserts advancing,
storms gaining strength
fueled by human arrogance;
mankind judged guilty,
convicted of hubris --
a dead planet revolves
in silence around the Sun.
72. Never Let Go
So easy to discard
what we never needed –
the debris of our lives,
wreckage best left behind
like jetsam from a ship,
willingly cast adrift.
Harder to abandon
the riches we safeguard
deep within our being –
the memory of love,
words spoken in passion,
inscribed upon the heart.
Whatever storms arise
to toss my fragile craft,
I cling to the treasures
your soul has given mine,
and no matter the pain
I shall never let go.
73. Night Rider
I cried for you today till dusk,
begged God to heal your wounds,
my grief dissolving into torrents;
forced by your silence to imagine
what sorrows greet your day,
shadowed horrors descend;
I wait in growing fear to learn
what dark beast besets you;
so far away, unable to touch you,
not even knowing the words
in which to clothe my prayers,
I mourn the distance between us.
But know my heart is with you
even though its form be hidden --
it rides the clouds of night
to embrace you at each dawn.
74. Night Sky
Looking up at night’s dark face,
eyes fixed upon a light
just now shining on the earth,
like a lantern burning bright;
gazing at the distant past,
pondering its present time --
is its fire now extinguished
or does it glow more sublime?
Far away in time and space
countless suns parade aflame,
in a universe expanding
no existence stays the same;
every star is born to die,
their death throes we expect,
but new suns fill the cosmos
with God the architect.
75. Nightly Horrors
She watches the news each night,
all compacted into clips
two minutes in duration –
a tale of one day’s madness
spread across the planet –
and she wants to turn away,
despairing of a world
scarred by endless suffering.
She wonders when compassion
became a dirty word,
how love professed for God
turns us into enemies,
hands red with yet more bloodshed,
ears closed to cries for help,
unwilling even to hear
what another has to say.
She sees bullets fired, bombs dropped
upon children in the fields,
watches them die, one by one,
then hears their mother’s screaming,
and feels the futility,
the senseless brutality
brought by hatred run amok,
played out before her own eyes.
And with the newscast over
she contemplates in sorrow
how every day brings no change,
with violence breeding violence;
she finally falls asleep,
but her dreams are running red,
herself the weeping mother
with hate’s dagger in her heart.
76. No Flowers
Send me no flowers
when I am gone,
the flesh just decays,
the spirit moves on;
this life was only
a brief resting place,
I did what I could,
perhaps with some grace.
But if I failed
to fulfill my mission,
I make my apology
and speak with contrition,
and next time around
I shall be stronger,
do it all right,
live a bit longer.
But in this life
I now put aside,
I loved one soul,
loved him with pride,
send him no flowers --
‘tis my last request --
he knew my sorrows,
he knows I rest.
77. No More
An enigma unto others,
a dark mystery unsolved,
no one seemed to understand
how her inner self evolved --
how childhood fears and anger
found solace in a room of books,
her mind set free in happiness,
safety in secluded nooks;
to a diary entrusted
with all her secret dreams
she turned each night for comfort,
and escape from violent screams.
To write became her passion
just as books became her friends,
to others she seemed sadly shy --
the quiet girl no one defends;
perhaps she might have disappeared,
her earthly presence never known,
had she not chanced upon a soul
as enigmatic as her own,
who also felt the pain of life,
yet had the strength to persevere --
and with him ever by her side
no more anger, no more fear.
78. Not Yet
I dreamed you held me in your arms
as raging waters pulled me down,
that you refused to let me go,
accepting that you too would drown.
I awoke to find you sleeping,
and wondered if you dreamt as well,
were rivers flooding in your mind,
were we in danger of their swell?
I rose from bed, no more to sleep,
and heard the pounding of the rain,
the winds blew fierce, the trees were bent,
while houses groaned as if in pain.
I turned once more to gaze at you,
the anchor of my restless heart,
and felt myself a ship at rest,
and not yet ready to depart.
79. Ode to Art
So many books
still to be written --
so many songs
still to be sung --
even where it is forbidden
art will be forever young.
So many paintings
yet to be made --
so many dances
yet to be danced --
the human mind is not afraid
to look anew, a different glance.
So many voices
wait to be heard --
so many creations
from them will come --
to find expression in the words,
spoken somewhere, by someone.
Such things without end
no soul can defy --
we who live now
see only a part --
and, though destined to die,
we survive through our art.
80. Ode to This Land
Long ago my people came
in search of refuge,
to build new lives
and cast off the old
so filled with hunger,
haunted by violence.
Your land was harsh,
demanding sacrifices
but offering a freedom
never dreamed by those
who knew oppression,
offering new hope
for children unborn.
I am now forever yours,
your forests, mountains,
lakes and prairies
all live within me,
making me one with a land
so beautiful that I see
the hand of God at work.
81. On Being Pluto
So cold out here,
so dark and silent,
moving in ambit
beyond the solar wind,
far from the centre,
a loop inveterate,
endless and alien;
once belonging,
now the intruder
who orbits apart
as others mock
in sunbathed splendor,
unable to change,
I speak no more.
82. On Listening to Beethoven’s 7th
To dance,
defying gravity
to soar,
free of the chains
in my mind,
chains forged of clouds,
within and without
the nexus of me.
A cloven soul,
defying expectations
to conform,
two voices call
and converge
in the second movement,
and I weep, envying
his deafness.
83. On the Street
They were just homeless kids
who didn’t know better,
they lived on the skids
no matter the weather;
they asked him for cash
as he walked on by,
for some place to crash,
and he gave them a five.
But the drugs and the booze,
the needles and pills,
every poison they used
to ward off the chills
just made them fall lower
and care not at all,
their thoughts became slower,
they stumbled and sprawled.
They struck at this stranger
who did them no wrong,
they released all their anger
in a menacing throng;
so she gave them no pity
as she pulled out a gun:
these dregs of the city
had murdered her son.
84. On the Verge
One point in time and space,
the crossroads of the night --
to chose a path in faith,
not paralyzed by fright;
the road that I have walked
to bring me to this place
is rough with jagged stones --
I trod it with no grace,
but fell so many times
and thought myself bereft,
feared upon arrival
that nothing would be left.
On the verge of choosing
which way I am to go,
anxious of the future,
of what it may bestow,
I hope to find a world
replete with all I seek --
crossroads are like curtains,
and offer me no peek;
staying here in limbo
my fear prefers to do,
but I must take the chance
to walk the road to you.
85. One Year On
His smile still lights the dark,
a Promethean fire,
banishing all her fears
of nights alone and empty;
accepting the beast within,
he refuses to yield,
ever the brave warrior
whose courage won her heart;
perhaps the predator
awakens for its feast,
tearing at the flesh within,
perhaps it slumbers still;
one year on, they look ahead,
united in enduring love,
the chains of Prometheus
become links to bind them fast.
86. Open Seas
She waits on the shore,
by Our Lady of the Harbour,
her soul at one with waves
swelling ever higher,
and offers Her a prayer
for those lost and forgotten.
What dreams had been theirs:
days spent in the sun,
full of laughter and love,
floating on the ocean
in a well-trimmed sloop;
but dreams fade away,
reality is the coming tide,
strong enough to sweep away
the debris of their existence,
to make mock of humankind
when the moon is full
and the sea is surging.
87. Our Lady of the Harbour
She waits on the shore,
by Our Lady of the Harbour,
her soul at one with waves
swelling ever higher,
and offers Her a prayer
for those lost and forgotten.
What dreams had been theirs:
days spent in the sun,
full of laughter and love,
floating on the ocean
in a well-trimmed sloop;
but dreams fade away,
reality is the coming tide,
strong enough to sweep away
the debris of their existence,
to make mock of humankind
when the moon is full
and the sea is surging.
88. Outsiders, 1
Annabel and Calliope,
children of Hermes,
children of Aphrodite,
yet also born of Man –
how they defy the rules
by reason of their birth,
neither and both,
searching for connection
in a sequestered world,
kept outside in fear.
Allow them to come in
as they are, as they will be,
messengers of the gods
demanding to be heard,
voices railing at conventions
designed to exclude;
break down the barriers,
recognize shared humanity –
for in denying theirs
you forfeit your own.
89. Outsiders, 2
Within a crowded room
filled with braying chatter,
some stand out as special,
others never matter --
they hesitate to speak
for fear of sounding bland,
outsiders in a space
reserved for those more grand,
who thrive on attention,
charisma at full blast,
who never need to look
at their supporting cast:
invisible to eyes
laughing in the night,
they cannot find the words,
they cannot match the sight;
achievements of their own
seem never great enough,
how they fear that someone
will one day call their bluff.
So they stand in corners,
invisible to those
who dazzle by a spark
until it dimmer grows,
and then the quiet few
may find a voice at last,
no more to feel disdained,
no more to be outcast.
90. Owl in the Night
Last night the owl came,
perching like a friend
outside the bedroom window,
my sorrows to attend.
Nocturnal harbinger
of something soon to come:
the spirit that remains
when flesh has been undone.
It knew my every loss,
its eyes intense on mine
whispered of reunion
at the ending of all time.
Then, bidding me farewell,
it disappeared from view,
flying past the great divide
that love alone breaks through.
91. Perhaps
Perhaps the fading flower
might live to see the dawn,
not perish under moonlight
and silently be gone.
Perhaps the light would linger
enough to kindle hope,
and time would bring salvation
and not the hangman’s rope.
Perhaps someone would notice
a lonely flower’s plight,
and stay his foot one moment,
avert the curse of night.
But living comes with sorrow,
no redemption from above,
and though it craved existence,
perhaps it needed love.
92. Personae
I am not what you think,
my mask is in place,
just as yours is;
we all hide ourselves,
fearing the torment
life can inflict.
We are personae
in an ancient tragedy,
awaiting the fatal flaw
that will strike us down,
resigned to recognition,
resigned to our fates.
Revel in present laughter,
shed luminous tears of joy
before the lash of life
turns those joyful tears
to rivers of rage and sorrow,
where we drown in our masks.
93. Place of Refuge
Attacked by brutal waves, a wreck
pulled fiercely at its mooring line,
desperate to escape destruction
in Neptune’s ever fickle brine;
her ancient harbour had decayed,
no more to offer peaceful rest,
she begged the waters set her free --
and they accepted her request.
For days she wandered in a search
for refuge from the angry sea,
until a haven beckoned her
with gentle winds and kindly lee;
upon the dock stood sailors keen
to rescue her from rocks of death,
repair her rigging and her planks,
to offer her a second breath.
A ship once battered and forlorn
returned to ride the breakers wild,
and all it took were loving hands
to make her feel no more defiled.
94. Portent: The Blackbirds
A rain of redwings falling down,
a biblical portent of doom,
dying as they strike the ground,
leaving only scattered plumes;
this morning how they flew on high
as winter brought migration,
whirling gently in the sky
until day’s termination.
But as the night descended,
they took to rest on branches,
until the fireworks ended
their ancestral sacred dances; --
each blast let loose a sudden shock,
and one by one the blackbirds fell,
the murder of a feathered flock,
of which their silent corpses tell.
In celebration humans left,
stepping over birds inert --
once more the planet was bereft
by mankind’s disregard for hurt.
95. Portent: The Kestrel
A kestrel landed on the hedge,
eyes keen on searching out his prey,
fresh snow had fallen on the ground
and hidden all their tracks away;
no sparrows at the spruce tree,
no squirrels racing quickly by --
to satisfy his hungry need
some small creature had to die.
Then he saw me at the window
and watched me as I gazed at him --
two children born of different worlds,
united as the day grew dim;
no words could pass between us,
but his eyes were dark with sorrow,
he knew the grieving of my soul
at no more time to borrow.
But then he vanished on the wing,
a portent destined not to stay --
the feather on my window cried
“one small creature dies this day.”
96. Prayer for Loss
Kyrie, Most Holy,
in this sanctuary
I seek forgiveness
as months pass by
marked by absence;
as in woodlands
bereft of birds,
or spring meadows
bereft of crocus,
so much remains,
yet I only see
that which is missing.
In the sorrow
of this absence,
I implore You
in somber prayer:
let this void
be filled once more,
grant my beloved
be restored to me.
What I have long
taken for granted,
as a gift everlasting,
a treasure my own,
I have squandered;
my soul, shattered,
wanders lost among
the woeful cypress.
I beg forgiveness
for my arrogance,
for my sinful greed,
mea culpa, Kyrie,
mea culpa, Kyrie,
mea maxima culpa.
97. Precious Gift
No silver coins upon my hand --
vile Judas made them damnable --
nor was gold the goal I sought,
for riches had no greedy pull;
gladly would I step aside
from the blind pursuit of wealth,
no need to hide in corners
to grasp at gain in zealous stealth;
for all my heart demanded
was a love transcending lust,
a union of two souls in one
before our flesh decayed to dust;
to know such love a precious gift --
by God bestowed on very few --
yet I found myself among them
when I consigned my heart to you.
98. Pristine Lands
Close by exists another realm,
a place of calm reflection,
providing me a haven
where I escape detection.
Wide bays of limpid waters
bring restoration to my soul,
while evergreens on hillsides
beckon me to slowly stroll
onwards through the forest’s path,
and never at a frenzied pace –
how I cherish every second
spent in this transcendent place;
a pilgrim in the wilderness,
set free at last from harsh demands,
I feel my heart take courage
from delight in pristine lands.
99. Questions for Prometheus
Why did you bother,
why did you care?
Were human beings
worthy to spare?
Chained to a crag,
flesh battered and torn,
and all for the sake
who go off to war,
to rape and to maim,
pretend they are going
in god’s sacred name,
who run after riches,
leave others to die,
selfish and greedy --
for these do you cry?
Will you regret
the fire you brought,
when they turn away
to let your flesh rot?
Far better your gift
return unto Zeus --
for see what a plague
your flames have let loose.
100. Questions for S.H.D. (A Poem for Emily Dickinson)
Did you truly love her --
that rose which bloomed
only for you?
Did you dare to touch her --
gently stroking the buds
moist with dew?
Did you tell her secrets --
the whisper of words at night
only for her ears?
And did you mourn her --
regretting what might have been
with penitent tears?
Question with no answers --
voiceless you remain,
afraid to tell.
But how she held you dear,
so eager to surrender
before the petals fell.
101. Recovery
The brooding pen,
breeder of words,
descends upon the page
in search of eloquence,
ending the silence
imposed by sorrow;
the vale of tears
perhaps lies behind, words of hope
so long kept imprisoned --
perhaps this is illusion:
only a transient mirage,
and more grief awaits;
it matters not:
the pen strikes blood,
reveals fetid wounds
to the light overhead,
the celestial healer,
in whose abundant love
I seek recovery.
102. Respite
Days of sunshine grudgingly yield
to the dominant rule of rain
as angry clouds obscure the sky,
their ancient power to reclaim,
as if they had allowed the sun
the briefest moment to appear,
an act of grace that now recedes
as raging winds come ever near.
Yet in that moment lovers found
a sanctuary free from gloom,
a time to laugh in love’s delight,
to revel where the flowers bloom,
to pledge their hearts without reserve,
all fears of darkness laid aside
to celebrate the gift of love,
the grace in which all truths abide.
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