The Last Storm (unfinished section)

over these eternal plains
we make mountains of the clouds
and thunder is the voice of gods
with majesty endowed
beyond the ears of mortal men
the grasslands hear the word
within the distant rumbling
the end of days is heard
this deep foreboding of the green
nature’s final mystery
the storm cries out the death knell
of you and them and me.

5-7-5 (take four-hundred-and-thirty-eight : calendar)

do not count the days,
these moments marked by heartbeats
make us who we are

The Lonely Woods Sing

the pine trees sing a sombre song
and their ballad draws the fog to lay
from times when just the wind had sung
forgotten mists of yesterday
before a single bird took flight
and stirred these lowered tones
before the undergrowth knew life
when the trees sang all alone.

Wishes

let me read of heroes
and consider paintings fair
listen to an angel sing
and write of flaming hair
have me eat ambrosia
and sleep in golden light
find the path to Shangri-la
and dream of you each night.

5-7-5 (take four-hundred-and-thirty-seven : flame)

a candle burning
with the scent of this year’s end
until the flame dies

Verse

what bribery would please the muse
to send on wings a note of bliss
rang true from her celestial harp
and bring inspired a verse’s kiss
that I may sing upon the grace
she fills within my meagre words
that sweeter sight I never faced
a softer song I never heard.

5-7-5 (take four-hundred-and-thirty-six : night)

the night has fingers
which find the fears and desires
lurking in the dark

Thoughts

My thoughts are hills
that are unclimbed
their peaks among the clouds
which circle round
as dreams until
the thoughts themselves
are roused
and to these mountain tops
ascend
do I with eyes on high
for in my thoughts
I’m blind to earth
as to heavens I aspire

More Simple Lines

she makes of me her willing slave
and to her whims comply
and in such pleasured bondage
I’d with all gladness die
the gloriest of all my deaths
and greet my end raptured
for the first day she looked my way
my heart was hers, captured.

The Feather

in the greenwood wandering
I came upon the sight
of a new bird, late in winter
bravely taking flight
and then a breath of virgin down
flit dancing from the sky
into my waiting open hand
I cannot but wonder why
the elements upon this day
should have been so kind
to present me this remembrance
a gift upon the wind.