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Monthly Archives: August 2015

Ease

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It is a comfort to love…
sitting in my doldrum,
awash in sedentary ease,
I stare at her photograph…
only in vaguest memory,
it was as if she fell away,
I held her hand too long…
I can only recall her eyes,
she waited for me then,
while I was not myself…
somewhere in dreaming,
a moment here to stay,
she is the whispered air…
there is a kind of solace,
the ease of knowing now
what had been a perfect day.

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Posted by on August 31, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Brave The Sky

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I, alone, a mere man of stalwart ways,
stood against the coming of the storm;
valiant was I, and righteous in my cause,
yet, no mortal beings ‘ere bore witness;
’twas futile folly, I must now confess,
and perhaps, in my arrogance, unwieldy;
in that vein, am I now fully encumbered,
tho’ fruitless struggle it may have been;
yet, had I not contracted on principle,
what loathe my spirit mayhap wrought;
feign, my mind now unburdened still,
at least, to know the strength required,
not that I could halt the coming storm,
but in my valor to stand against the rain.

 
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Posted by on August 30, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Sacred

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It is the wind, sacred,
rushing through willows,
causing them to weep;
they cannot taste the rain,
yet yearn for its caress,
with their tendril fronds
in a languored repose
for the sun, sacred,
to catch them crying,
and for them, mayhap
ease their wanton flesh.

This wind, a sullen breeze,
is sacred to mother earth;
she sleeps, serenely,
in her bed of pastures,
as willows shade her,
and the wind, sacred,
rising and falling,
dances for her ease,
while the vast sky,
sacred in its wonder,
calls stars to shine
for her sacred dream.

 
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Posted by on August 29, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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I, Cosmos

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I am a distant flame
on the farthest reaching
effervescent astral plane;
I am the cosmic stream,
burning in gaseous fest
amid a celestial void,
bound to my destiny,
that I should light a path,
and make the stars obey;
to tether worlds unknown,
that I may ride the sky,
in virtual perpetuity,
yet, merely breathe,
and cast ethereal fire.

 
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Posted by on August 28, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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I Saw The Moon Move

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I saw the moon move;
it had shifted its position
in the night sky,
only slightly,
moving from left to right.

Of course,
the actual event
had taken place
over the course of an hour;
so enchanted was I
by the glow of the moon,
I had lost sight of time,
and finally realized
I’d been staring at the moon
for an extended span.

This is the way
I perceive the world;
looking past the now,
as if slowing time
to gage each moment
by its effect
on the whole
of the universe,
rather than by
its event in time.

I see myself
as an eagle’s wing,
stretching forward
to capture the wind
and hold it in its place;
I keep still, merely gliding,
as the world moves about me,
in perpetual motion.

I see the world
as it should be;
living each moment
to its fruition,
looking to the horizon
for my next engagement,
just as I stare at the sky,
and gaze at the stars,
I see the moon move.

 
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Posted by on August 27, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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A Breath Away

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There may be a moment
of wanton indecision
in the act of breathing;
that I should but waver,
perhaps without awares,
with each labored breath,
to be defiled by concern,
and denied consternation.

Yet, I remain much in awe,
albeit, unwieldy to life;
that I should feign know
either why or wherefore,
the fate of my next breath,
one which I may sacrifice,
and, in so doing, emote,
merely needing to breathe.

 
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Posted by on August 23, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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A Scent Of Lilac

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A scent of lilac permeates the air;
not with force nor temperment,
for its strength lies in its musing,
rather than in its need to conquer,
as it has only to be cast in wonder.

This lilac melody sings submissively;
stretching its tendrils to the sky,
before allowing its sweetened breath
to fall upon the summer breezes,
and, by this union, elating itself to me.

No flower may dispute this lilac scent;
its breath, now apparent to its need,
and that it bathes the air with want,
as no other flower may have its reach,
it comes to me, and awaits my reply.

A scent of lilac fills my waiting mind;
to be in wonder of its mere presence,
that it has called upon me in this way,
dare I swoon in its blithe deliverance,
no doubt, it o’erwhelms in its languor.

 
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Posted by on August 14, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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