Upon the arrival of spring
He waits patiently by her side
The news of a marriage we bring

In the chapel, the bells doth ring
The young groom announces his bride
Upon the arrival of spring

To mark this occasion we sing
As friends gather from far and wide
The news of a marriage we bring

O Angel of love spread your wings
Forever here, may love reside
Upon the arrival of spring

The day is marked with their wedding
On this path, together they stride
The news of a marriage we bring

A new leaf their hearts be turning
Passions no longer will they hide
Upon the arrival of spring
The news of a marriage we bring

© 2004 - Pres  Hello-Poetry.com - All Rights Reserved

God has hope for us in His world.
Can't let their egos get me down.
Love for him in my heart I hold.

His trust is what makes me feel bold.
Makes me wear His strength like a crown.
God has hope for us in his world.

With His Faith like shimmering gold.
In his sea of peace, I will drown.
Love for him in my heart I hold.

Time and again, we have been told.
In times of sorrow, to hold ground.
God has hope for us in his world.

Lies dissolve, the truth will unfold.
Pain and suffering are unbound.
Love for him in my heart I hold.

Without Him, my conscience was cold.
In His Love, my soul I have found.
God has hope for us in his world.
Love for him in my heart I hold.

© 2004 - Pres  Hello-Poetry.com - All Rights Reserved

We are travelers all our lives.
Like the sun and moon, never come to rest.
When the body stops, the motion survives.

Time twists inside me.  I buried two wives,
their love spent on an endless road.  My quest  
consumed them, traveling all their lives.

Profligate summer mocks my waning drives.
Riddles of the road languish here, unguessed,
where my body stops. The motion survives

In my art’s vigor, you say, derives
force from what now seems the bitter  jest
that we are travelers all our lives.

My friend, before the end arrives
There must be time to seek again the west
beyond the sunset, where motion survives

in the dying sun, blazing, as it revives  
inhuman tongues that said it best
that we are travelers all our lives.
When the body stops, the motion survives.

Patiently waiting for the perfect light.
Glassy lake, wind, clouds, perfection’s near
as the moment dwindles into night.

Captured moments prove that you’re alive, a height
of feeling between depths of time and fear
that living casts only imperfect light.

But the moment missed is like a face out of sight
that against all logic you hope will appear
from around a corner, framed by the night.

Technology offers consolation in its sleight
of hand:  Digitally correct the analog here
and now, counterfeit the perfect light.

Yet you want more than the remastered byte.
You want the flash between waiting and souvenir,
Self and spectacle fused, reality felt right.

And so you wait for what’s passing out of sight,
the collision between soon and too late, sheer
threads connecting to the perfect light
before the moment dwindles into night.

Breathless is the SEA —
Wild her eyes, and brash her cries,
Unforgiving, SHE.

Far-flung from the lea,
Men have yearned to hear her sighs,
Breathless is the SEA.

Beckoned from the quay,
Ships endure her fall and rise,
Unforgiving, SHE.

Unto each: The Free,
The Poor, The Slaves, Wealthy, Wise —
Breathless is the SEA.

Jack-tars fear her Fee:
Eighth-bell tolls for their demise,
Unforgiving, SHE.

Ever SHE will be
A mirror to heavenly skies —
Breathless is the SEA,
Unforgiving, SHE.

That classic villanelle is hard to master;
alternate lines can drive me up the wall
(but avant-garde absurdity drives faster).

I could just dash off some Haiku disaster,
but that would never hold you in its thrall.
Authentic villanelle is hard to master.

To learn new forms, sometimes all we can muster
is try it out and write; obey our call
to follow, bleating, some poetic pastor

to greener lyric landscapes—or a vaster
universe of verse in which to scrawl.
Authentic villanelle is hard to master.

Breaking the lyric flask of alabaster,
like the Magdalene's perfume, we give our all,
disciples of true poetry, to our Master.

Keeping pace, the muse now urges: faster
I'm sweating now, and headed for a fall . . .
That classic villanelle is hard to master.
I hope to learn from Bishop—yet run past her.

March do we, along the ash and cyprus
While contemplating natures of the moor.
So very full of life, and also death.

Briefly glancing round, the bog seems lifeless,
To walk so alert, danger life obscures
March do we, along the ash and cyprus

But after observation, I confess
Quite lively lies our grand mud-soaked detour.
So very full of life, and also death.

Every creature here exudes unkindness,
And any of them might our death ensure.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus

Yet still, I find their number in excess
Than places having more growth, and verdure.
So very full of life, and also death.

So now my new perspective does egress
Much different than it ever did before.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
So very full of life, and also death.

What do I pluck in a field of flowers?
The peonies bloom with such sweet intent
I can’t just sit in this grass for hours

It is hardly a choice, why do I cower
Blue delphiniums with fearless content
What do I pluck in a field of flowers?

If I delay I’ll be in spring showers
Must I choose one blossom if I relent?
I can’t just sit in this grass for hours

The bee can choose all, each it empowers
Roses and violets? I will not lament
What do I pluck in a field of flowers?

Just pink or blue is shouted from towers
But lavender’s love is the freest scent
I can’t just sit in this grass for hours

These meadows are solely each of ours
Lilacs in my hand I will not repent
What do I pluck in a field of flowers?
I can’t just sit in this grass for hours

Do not dare allow yourself to forget
trillions of stars do dance in the sky,
life is more than a simple silhouette

Some might fall like ash from a cigarette
and Evil will have his own alibi,
do not dare allow yourself to forget

Listen! For the trees whisper not to fret-
from ruins rise new hope to sanctify,
life is more than a simple silhouette

Mountains dwell in every view and yet
birds pay no heed for they grow wings and fly,
do not dare allow yourself to forget

Rivers ebb and flow like a minuet
and salmon swim upstream against the tide,
life is more than a simple silhouette

Though darkness above might seem like a threat
shadows begone one would never know light-
do not dare allow yourself to forget
life is more than a simple silhouette.