I am a husband and father; occupations which consume most of my life. In my free time, however, I am a writer; this passion of mine shall constitute the majority of this blog. Herein, you shall find a collection of my poetry and other writings. I welcome feedback and comments, though I cannot guarantee a response. It is enough for me that you read my words, and perhaps gain something ethereal or even spiritual in the process.
Sonnet XXX: Of Her Kiss, Bygone
How thoughtless, in her countenance, was I,
To stain the breath of her kiss with sorrow,
When, at last, she did bear unshielded sigh,
‘Twas merely breath which hastened the morrow;
Had my breath then, without need, been exhaled,
This remorse, now burdened with passing time,
Would not have stain’d her kiss so dear assailed,
Without need then, would her joy be as mine;
But, now, with all her seasons having gone,
Am I left with no recourse to respond,
And finding no light of her coming dawn,
Shall I wait ’til her soul meets mine beyond,
When, with patience, shall I receive her kiss,
In that plane where joy would not be remiss.
The Romance of Memory
How my breath does stale within me,
that I am unable to whisper my desire
for even the vaguest ear to bide my way;
and like the desert wind scalds arid plane,
that my sigh should break against my lips
without a moment to purge this doldrum;
yet now the winter breeze taunts my flesh
that I have longed for a caress of soothe,
now trembling with the urgent dance of air;
my solace has emerged with break of day
and I am once more sated in vibrant breath,
at last, a starling calls, and remembers me.
Sonnet XXIX: Let It Play On
E’en with weakest need, shall I anon
find breath but to speak, and heart but to sigh,
for this moment’s music, let it play on;
play on and away this pallor this nigh,
that the gods may then hear my soulful song,
and burden their breath with the sweetest cry;
that, for a moment, they might sing along,
while their gaze may then mend a fractured sky;
thus, I, in my way, show both tear and smile,
that light shines upon my face, still in dawn,
that such music plays, tho’ ’tis soft a while,
so, this, in reverie, do I play on;
play on, how dulcet gone, thy breath does roll,
play on, lest e’en breath forsake thy soul.
Let It Be That Tears Stain
Let it be that tears stain
upon this withered flesh,
which have been borne
of some ancient burden;
unwed to the mortal cry
of a soul left strained
from an arduous weight
it had borne, unwillingly;
but rather wed in sorrow
to the loss of its spirit,
the soul that wavered
under its own weight;
that no voice shattered
the unfettered silence
with an outcry of words
of the slightest refusal;
’twas granted, as allowed,
that weight ply its need,
and unwieldy as it was,
became wholly undone;
now bereft of purpose,
this weight, ’twas shed,
with only a stain of tears
to lend credence to this.
Her Need Of Sigh
As were her thoughts,
wholly unattainable,
but in that moment,
and as was her mood;
tho’ now well defined,
and as she was infinite
within her methods,
I could not fathom
her seasoned want;
the need of her flesh
which only could she,
in measured moment,
express to the night;
and this, she had done,
with blissful eloquence
and unwavering grace;
and so had my eyes
fallen upon her mouth
as she spoke the words,
granting me possession
of her most tender form,
while she yet retained
only her will to breathe;
’twas this, her release,
which spoke her thoughts,
’twas unfettered candor
which dictated her need;
and as she so willingly
uttered but my name
with a dance of her lips,
so too, came the night,
as some thrall of sighs
across an open plane,
echoing in my ears
with her heated breath
falling o’er my neck;
and so she remained
in that quiet splendor
until long after the dawn
had awakened her resolve.
Her Desire Implied
And how then she did smile,
as was immediate, my gaze;
her contentment seethed,
and in her eyes, abandon,
as her smile then permeates;
with her own gaze imposed,
the spreading of her form
to revel, as much as reveal;
’twas her intent, this smile,
seductive, sublimely awash,
that her hands left her sides,
that her thighs were warm;
had she the intent to seduce,
or be it means to her design;
her smile could not be gaged,
nor breath fallen from her lips
be cooled by the mere distance
which was arrested between us;
I saw only desire, cast plainly,
as the wantonness of her smile,
and the closing space to follow,
as she moved in silent prayer
to her rightful place before me;
’twas her dance of submission,
as much as her desire implied.
An Unflinching Respite
I am loathe, but ‘ere shorn,
like a mystic ancient river,
stilled, it flows no longer;
stifled by unwilling pride,
that with such providence,
may yet cause me to wither,
for youthful days of revel,
had been bereft or denied;
’til no weight lay upon me,
save but vague sigh in tow;
and e’en as told, this truth,
‘ere without mind, it seems,
would then reveal its course,
or run missive without show;
for t’was always this removed,
not in distance, but in dreams.
Less Than Idyll, But Aged
This lonely, earthen sigh,
this breath of some release
I now offer up to the stars;
it cannot live long away
too far beyond the sky,
it cannot yet burn the sun
with impassioned breath,
it cannot but then wither
‘ere among the clouds,
and must then surely fade.
Save me now this breath,
this landfall of complacency
holding me in fervent grasp;
‘ere, ‘neath summer sun,
I offer sighs into the air,
and yet no song returns,
but as faint, withered wisps,
left to bleed, ‘ere unwrought.
And ‘ere, now but drawn,
this gasped and final breath,
left to well on my tongue,
cannot escape for e’en a cry;
how bold my life once was,
yet ‘ere am I lost to age,
unable, or perhaps unwilling
to pry away, and free my life
from this grip of aching languor.
The Turn Of Your Gaze
And by the wrath of your eyes,
in some moment of weakness,
– or perhaps a keen disregard –
strayed readily from your gaze,
only to fall upon the horizon,
as tho’, in your abrupt solitude,
you glimpsed some distant flower
which had well caught your eye
far better than I had e’er achieved;
was I now the unwanted betrothal,
forsaken of you by a mere gaze,
that which fell, not on my mercy,
but the vanity of a wayward rose;
take no pity on my unsettling feign,
that it be the last breath I offer,
or cry not for my dissemination,
for your desire lies now far away;
shall I remain ‘ere in dissolution,
unable to recognize my own death,
or shall I stay among the willows,
and, in wild repose, echo their muse.
O’, Hope! O’, Pride!
O’, Hope, had thee a heart,
‘twould enflame me now;
as would, in thy mercy,
bear my uncertainty,
for thru’ this trial of sorrow,
I must sorely then endure.
O’, Pride, flee from thy stead,
let Ease beget thy void;
‘ere this wound stains,
ne’ermore to be healed,
with Honor unbound again,
would I then have thy allure.
Petrichor 