woodpecking echoes the cuckoo’s call
did we hear too the forest trees fall
or could that have been the grumpity roar
of rudely awakened overslept boar?
twit goes the skylark
peep peep sounds the tit
chirping is the chaffinch
rounding all of it
arark screams the raven
above woodpigeons coos
silent floats the sparrowhawk
taking in the view
silent as a falling leaf
or as the fated wren
seen by keen eyes in the sun
it’s eyes won’t see again.
she walked into the towered garden
unsure of her place in the world
but as she departed from those gates
love was assured as fate unfurled
as the petals red as passion
her spirit flamed outside to see
for there inside the towered garden
I saw her and she saw me.
as I fly
in her eyes
I see the sky
above the storm
safe from harm
what dreams lived in his head then
upon that verdant delta when
the gods played games among the stars
could those dreams be just as ours
or have they over the eons past
like ghosts in this decaying casket
took on a form not of our ration
beyond the realms of our abstraction
the poppies bleed and break
‘twixt stone heroes
whose hearts they wake
from millenia of wind and rain
cold marble stained
with blood again.
and by your pale hand was writ
that which speech alone can’t hold
in vulgar tones, but mind and wit’s
imaginings the heart beholds
though but ash you were and are
this still heart’s blood eternal flows
that you may even now commune
all which perdition cannot consume
(photo taken May 4th 2018 ; Protestant Cemetery, Rome)
to love’s beauty
his silent lyrics paid
a fealty beyond gold
on his head
the gods had laid
a soul no man could hold.
what was this heart
just mean flesh
to drive my breath
from one dark moment
to the next.
to write in words like rivers
slicing valleys through the earth
not clumsy engineered canals
that struggle for their worth
to balladeer as nature wiles
and leave the gods in awe
of talent borne from time beguiled
the heavens to applaud
alas my measure leaves vain hope
to paint the earth’s abide
thus, humbly I in simple odes
my fancies pure ascribe.
Oh heaven help us! Be you there?
beyond the con trail criss cross
above the silvered clouds somewhere?
Do you receive the earnest prayers
of each believer’s dearest wish
are the gods of man, of man aware?