When father and son are close in heart and mind,
When the bond of blood and gratitude is true,
Their two lives seem as one, so intertwined
That each to the other becomes a mirrored view.
How precious for the world is such a thing!
A light that shines for everyone to see;
Most happy joy these two and one shall bring
To all who muse on life’s vast mystery.
Though generations turn from age to age,
And much has changed, still much has stayed the same;
For many continue to batter at the cage
That nets them with their selfishness and shame.
And so sometimes such light has less esteem,
But when night falls more brightly does it gleam.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
To Shelley (2008)
O noble heart and melancholy soul,
Dwelling amidst high cloudy billowings,
Fair shapes and aspects – thought’s sweet pillowings,
Which make us smile sadly, and extol
That curious creature – Man; they do console
And calm the dreams that agitation brings
In anxious times. I think your spirit sings
To free me from this heavy world’s control.
Free to gaze with strange serenity
Over the hecatombs of human pride,
Where, for the old, the young have ever died,
And still die! Though men must with misery
And grief abide, but teach your sacred song,
Then grief is beauty, and pain is never long.
Dwelling amidst high cloudy billowings,
Fair shapes and aspects – thought’s sweet pillowings,
Which make us smile sadly, and extol
That curious creature – Man; they do console
And calm the dreams that agitation brings
In anxious times. I think your spirit sings
To free me from this heavy world’s control.
Free to gaze with strange serenity
Over the hecatombs of human pride,
Where, for the old, the young have ever died,
And still die! Though men must with misery
And grief abide, but teach your sacred song,
Then grief is beauty, and pain is never long.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
To The End (2009)
A breath of passing air, a breeze
Soft-whispering, beams of light
Quick through the clouds then gone, the sea’s
Swift shimmer on a moonlit night.
How words are like! We speak – they rise
On manifold rays unseen,
Are caught by winds to boundless skies
Or murmur of a mood serene.
These subtle things, these gossamer,
These weightless thoughts of ours
Seem nothing; yet a word may stir
A heart for restless hours,
Enrich the poor, uplift the weak,
Or paint a universe,
Cross many thousand years may speak
Deep truths, and wisdom still disburse.
Over waters silent, it is said,
The Demiurge once passed,
Who spoke a word and with it fed
The world – and instantly were cast
The sweetest harmonies ever heard,
And those unheard more sweet:
The songs which burst from beast and bird,
And those which souls alone can meet.
These droplets of the quenchless fount
Of creativity,
Have issued forth beyond all count
Since humankind’s nativity;
Just so, must poets to the end
Sing beautifully and bold,
Till all as poets comprehend,
Or human hearts fall cold.
Soft-whispering, beams of light
Quick through the clouds then gone, the sea’s
Swift shimmer on a moonlit night.
How words are like! We speak – they rise
On manifold rays unseen,
Are caught by winds to boundless skies
Or murmur of a mood serene.
These subtle things, these gossamer,
These weightless thoughts of ours
Seem nothing; yet a word may stir
A heart for restless hours,
Enrich the poor, uplift the weak,
Or paint a universe,
Cross many thousand years may speak
Deep truths, and wisdom still disburse.
Over waters silent, it is said,
The Demiurge once passed,
Who spoke a word and with it fed
The world – and instantly were cast
The sweetest harmonies ever heard,
And those unheard more sweet:
The songs which burst from beast and bird,
And those which souls alone can meet.
These droplets of the quenchless fount
Of creativity,
Have issued forth beyond all count
Since humankind’s nativity;
Just so, must poets to the end
Sing beautifully and bold,
Till all as poets comprehend,
Or human hearts fall cold.
Monday, December 6, 2010
An Acrostic: Laurel (2010)
Laurel is the poet’s tree, her branches ever green
And lightsome, stirring in the wind that passes by unseen.
Until I found my laurel tree, I wandered everywhere,
Restless with the world I knew, and sick with its despair.
Even now I laugh and smile to think of how I’d roam,
Lost from my own self, at last to find her in my home.
And lightsome, stirring in the wind that passes by unseen.
Until I found my laurel tree, I wandered everywhere,
Restless with the world I knew, and sick with its despair.
Even now I laugh and smile to think of how I’d roam,
Lost from my own self, at last to find her in my home.
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