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.
Does the intimacy of your eyes
speak as loudly to the sea,
as much as it screams wildly,
close against my wanton breath?
Does the delicacy of your touch
cause e’en the Earth to quake,
as much as it sears a thunder,
to surround and pierce my flesh?
I have thus forsaken all pains
left by that once scalding sun,
as it becomes now the catalyst
for the heat your kiss confers.
I have thus excluded my need
to witness stars twinkle at night,
as your eyes now steer my gaze
deeper and farther into infinity.
Age, do bear with me, thus,
tarry that my fancies stain,
and ebb with day and night;
‘ere long gone sorrow cools,
but with a tender sweetness,
do I, but in this vein, delight;
‘ere consuming of stone days,
burdened ill by wilding hands,
age, spawn yet more ignite;
that I may feel the burning
of a newly darkened sky,
and of its tear-stained light;
that with each falling rain,
does my soul speak to me,
searing its wisdom so bright;
and I listen to its sad song,
but one which might heal,
and give to my mind sight;
with a raw, tempered rain,
tears cling to wanton flesh,
as tho’ by its inherent right.
Let not the air I breathe be somniferous;
for I have not yet awakened in my mind,
nor have I yet seen the expanse of sky
from whence it came, and must return;
and I have not wandered far enough
from this home which tarries me nigh,
‘ere I feel the earth beneath my feet,
and bear the weight of untrodden soil,
which marries me to understanding why;
let not this air I breathe be somniferous,
so breath shall be carried on the wind,
and by end of day, shall breeze have sigh.
Take from my soul this present world,
let it bear no fruit from out my mind,
for I still do but live and breathe
within the sweet tide of yesterday;
its mem’ry lingers, sweetly mellow,
holding me soft, so warm and kind,
its weight ‘ere etched into my hands,
and e’er, enfolded, thus shall it stay.
Tho’ such mem’ry does tarry uneasy,
shall I be made of it more in light,
by its guard, its hold, and its sanity,
and by its resolute want of staid;
shall I burden myself with outcomes,
shall fancy take hold, or take flight,
shall I bear sword for duels unkind,
or shall familiar melody be played.
‘Ere, tho’ but in vain, do I still hope,
as rain sheds off from thirsty flower,
as is my sullen mind yet left adrift,
unharried, its way, so too, undone;
‘ere, shall this listless summer dawn,
wither away with each passing hour,
then, let my prior night’s keen aware,
be as a heated strain upon the sun.
How now does this rose not wither,
whilst I cradle its petals in my hand;
but how it does tremble with wan,
as if its beauty would swoon of me.
How wild as the wind it does play,
its petals as wisps of silken sheets;
o’er the palm of my hand, it bleeds,
as in its stay, it knows but to caress.
How free to the sky its scent is away,
the odorous calling of its heart is sung;
as with my sighing breath o’er its flesh,
would it give me this kiss to rely upon.
How now it pales to the sun in my hand,
‘ere the pallor of its gaze dies too soon;
see it now weep for its coming demise,
and in final tremor, slips from my grasp.
How then upon the earth it does plunder,
to fall in pieces, as shed Autumn leaves;
dropping to my knees now, I covet its fall,
then softly die, in harmony with the rose.