Partial Verse

I have no felonies to claim
nor admitted guilt profane
let the gods and saints exclaim
how heaven be assured
for unlike the gloried deities
who judge the world as they would please
I see no evil destinies
but woe our nature’s flaws.

To Sunrise

untether my captive soul
that it may on wings new born
make its way o’er eastern ranges
to where the future’s born.

may dreams reveal the rising dawn
and leave dark nights behind
so from the prison dusk inters
a new light will they find.

Past Notes (in progress)

by what graven mischance
have the years too soon burned
when we the future glanced
and to this new world turned

this is the place that neighbours ours
and in its landscapes we once played
yet with every passing hour
its borders slip further away.

Late Notes

if my mind wished to placate me
I would again these dreams partake
yet like leaves within a swollen stream
they hold their moments unredeemed
lost as soon as they are found
and under far off waters drowned.

Dark

dark are the eyes that steal at night
into the dreams my passion’s stage
dark too the lips that silent speak
of secrets I dare not engage
even within safe reveries
hid well away from day’s stark light
in corners unseen to the eyes
that darkly steal on me at night

Cure

let my physician be thy kiss
the balm to find between your lips
let your presence heal all harm
my comfort safe within your arms
and may my ills find in you cure
for with such pleasure I’d endure
all demons that would plague my mind
that their corruption be consigned
to but the vaguest memory
long lost to your remedies

First Breaths

In choral turns their pleas are heard
the weary finch, the proud blackbird
round robin bold, shy hatch and hen
a starling insecure, and wren
from song to song and tree to tree
no ear can match this symphony
nor pen, nor pipe or soft tapped string
could hope to vie with feathered things.

Distant Seas

write to me, of distant seas
of where the senses gently rest
horizons long, where siren songs
do exotic shores possess
fill my mind, with treasured findings
under silver moonlit nights
have me feel your soft appeals
that would my passions so ignite.

Unfinished

upon some southern summer shore
the sand which through her fingers pour
is not that of the hour glass
for this gold is no lost time passing
this beach is where her dreams are fired
whereon she lets slip her desires

Unfinished ..

.. as the last four lines were lost…

take from minstrels all their lies
these artisans trade on deceit
their verse, reality denied
their poetry but fine deceit.
So salt such words with disbelief
incredulous in readership
as poets’ lines bring forth such grief
that in their beauty from truth slip.