Blossoms

voices travelled upon the breeze
and landed as scattered blossoms
fine and silken upon my ears
in their gentle music
I heard springtime
and wept…
for winter was not done.

The Croft

aside the hills
the stones relayed
their histories
in moss, decaying
their broken dreams
lay scattered there
as parnassus flowers
took the air

I sat awhile
and mused upon
where the hopes
and loves had gone
to leave these walls
in such decline
as testament
to life resigned

yet come what may
my thoughts had brought
in my resolve
they came to nought
I could not solve
the reason why
that in such heaven
dreams had died.

Silent Companion

he spent his thoughts of late
attempting to gauge
the apparent age
of the dead man
he always carried within
and thus
wasted what remaining time
that still may have existed
between him and his silent companion

Liturgy

the western sky burns a barren flame
and chases home the robin cold
the eastern wind sees off the day
its hours now burnished into gold
high in the branches of the beech
dark in his winter’s livery
a lonely brambling sings aloud
his hope of heaven’s liturgy.

The timid trees

trees are timid in this land
the woodsmen are sovereign
and the forest fears their hand
its old gods scream in pain
and pray one day for man’s demise
his inventive mind to still
for an end to his avarice
the desire for the kill
and when at last the man is gone
his tracks grown over too
the parliament of trees will rise
to paint this world anew.

The Lotus Eaters (revised)

we are become as lotus eaters
in which our suffered graces
are numbed to true sensation,
force fed with base esthesis.
Imprisoned by unreal desires
blind to the world around
behind walls of false design
shackled hostage bound.
Dare we look at all beyond
that which is placed before us
for in searching is release
from the bland anonymous.

We are no longer who we were
devolved as much as lost today
where once the world had bloomed with sweet perfume
here now the lotus eaters play.

of the gods

Above this sea
of Tyranny
in air
so fair refined
my words fly free
from inside me
and bare
themselves to rhyme.

Here on high
in azure skies
the world
unfurls unknown
fine or profane
’tis all the same
to gods, and I
alone.

Dream Maiden

how dreams the maiden
of whom my dreams writ’ fair
could it be
in her sweet reveries
’tis me, that she finds there?

L’épitaphe de l’hiver

the winter weeps its last
yet it is plain to see
its former youth is passed
and ready to sleep is he
who but short days ago
had such teeth and claw
to rip the world with snow
but seeks to hunt no more

the tears of ice have dried
with spring’s new born ascent
and days of darkness die
though not their vowed intent
to someday walk again
and hold reign o’er the earth
to waste this world of men
in bitter death’s rebirth.

Delizia Domenicale

stained only by the lightest clouds
this bronze-ed blue of evening sky
paints gently in my fantasies
all that’s passed before my eyes
the black bird danced his summer reels
to the creaking windmill turns
and as the church bells distant peels
from heaven’s heart the sunset burns
but this fire brings forth no end
to this joyous day with thee
for in my reveries are rendered
each moment you have spent with me