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  Jun 2016 Jeff Stier
SE Reimer
~

the word flows off
the tongue with ease;
say it softly...
slowly please,

...dis-co-ver-y...

disclosure of illusory,
pursuit of the elusory;
the uncovering of
buried secrets, dark and deep,
quiet whispers, soft and sweet;
an unveiling of
the here-to-fore unknown,
illuminating darkened hallways,
where footsteps lead us
to a place where all is shown.

in life it is the quest,
explorer’s zeal
that will not rest;
in love it is
the unknown song...
to give it notes and lyrics,
time and tune
which leads to
melody and harmony.

in my time,
adventures...
i have known a few;
have sought to parse the lines
’tween false and real.
but no adventure
will replace
the one that beckons,
outstretched finger,
stares me solemn, in the face
each morning ’fore the mirror;
though the outer i may tend,
it's the inner to consider;
for to know oneself,
a journey long,
a venture of
mountaineering magnitude,
where the weak may hopeful start,
but summiting rewards
reserve remittance
to
those valiant souls,
whose inner spirit
strength imparts.

’tis not the heart,
in love to conquer;
but ’tis one’s trust instead,
faith the mountain holds
rope and feet steadfast,
finish line within
one's grasp.
faith the flame will never die
illuminate the corridors
that lie behind the locks,
the gates, the doors,
that live inside one's head.
to let another in
this place of buried pain,
of innocence gone by,
where dreams once flourished,
so oft lay dying, dead,
this secret place where we reside
the seat of all we were and are,
again will one day be;
this where needed trust,
gently to encourage,
carefully to nourish;
these the fields
of possibilities,
of hope, beliefs,
of budding dreams;
to be uncovered,
be unearthed,
love’s encounter,
tongues to loose,
await the brave and wise,
the strong discoverer,
unafraid to learn the truth.

~

*post script.

discovery...
surprise not its intent, yet may be
its greatest blessing, and accomplishment!  

a favorite blessing of mine to bestow on marrying couples,
"may your discovery of each other,
never end, or fail to delight;
and return to you the wonder,
of first love and of first sight and light!"

to you, the reader, fellow sojourner,
may you never cease to discover each other!
Jeff Stier Jun 2016
My father died
from a gun shot wound
to the head

self-inflicted

Don't get all weird about it.

Fathers die
and their passing
though certain
is rarely easy.

So what can I say of this man
so many years
after his emphatic end?

I can say what Whitman said
of Lincoln:
"O Captain, my Captain.
Rise up and hear the bells."

But he will not.

He was ever-present
wise and alert
a boxer in life
a fighter in every way.

And I grew up with the gloves on
quick
elusive
and thanks to him
successful in every ring.  

He died
******* on a lit tobacco stick

Emphysema was gonna
take him down
so he pulled his own trigger
saved his family that way
though that's a longer tale

Therefore
and whereas
this is a belated requiem
for a man I loved.
My Captain.
Dear and departed
these many years
may he rest in peace
as he never rested
in life.
  Jun 2016 Jeff Stier
David Adamson
At night rise, to the buzz of my son’s blood,
I wake and blow aboriginal dust from my lungs,
Get up and take a turn around the house.

The place has gotten cold.
This ****-eyed family – good God, they are helpless.
I tried to help by leaving things behind,
Like this prayer on the wall
About the timelessness of beauty.
And did you find the poem
About Freud and mountain climbing?
All they do is wail privately
And try to pass it off as singing.

My son sleeps like a chessmaster,
Shocked into resignation.
He dreams about me,
And his dreams are riddled with light
And longing for the past.
Such nocturnal naiveté.

But he knows the stars
And because, like the ancient Greeks,
He can follow them home,
He will leave this place before it leaves him.

This house gets smaller all the time.
Still, the furniture breathes quietly,
And the dancers in the tapestry sway
Though faded by the sun.

The dust from my breath settles down in layers.
Pale light silvers the living room mirror.
My steps leave footprints before each foot falls.
The footprints lead back to my door.

It is time to lie down.
Soon my son will wake up,
And shake off the ashes of sleep.
I don't live here any more.
My death will begin again.
Jeff Stier Jun 2016
What does infinite longing
sound like?
Where is the vault that holds
the seed corn of sadness?
And how can we mute our fear
when the barred owls in these
dank woods sob in perfect
sympathy
with the night?

Here
the tense oboes find their range
silence pervades their thoughts
the drum marks a beat
while the string section weaves
a hieroglyph of grief
and resignation.

This symphony is called
the song of the night
and night proves to be
full of whispered life
rustling leaves
and the courage to face it.

But night is not synonymous
with darkness.
Its ways and means
harmonize with the light
render half the whole
parcel our sleeping hours
into dreams
and fitful moments
beneath the staring moon.

In the morning
a plaintive bird song
stirs thought
brings the sun into the east
and wraps night's dreams into
a silk handkerchief
where dreams are tightly bound
and forgotten.
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