Such is the color that now surrounds me,
Like unto the face of God,
The wind with flame and amber foliage,
Frolics while the leaves applaud.

Cool and crisp, the moon of harvest,
Silhouettes the flock upon its way,
Before winter finds them gone and missing,
South of summer where the songbirds play.

Island clouds sit on sleepy mountains,
Yellow burnt grey and golden blue,
Nestled in the arms of God's sweet heaven,
Made in grace when time was new.

I walk the hills and river byways,
Drunk with lust on the season's yield,
Such abundant beauty made before me,
Of sky and water, of wood and field.

R.

Frost forms
In the early morning,
The season of Gold
Slips away.
Yellow warm,
No longer adorning,
What we could not hold
Of the day!
Bright fires
Remind our longing
For wooded fields
Under skies of blue.
My heart desires
The warmth of belonging
Where spring is healed
And summer renewed!

R.

The yellow dress of one last summer
Sits by the door as yet unworn.
Winter's heart is still unable
To slip from beneath the day's concern.

Two seeds, if planted together,
Oh, what beauty they might foretell.
Ring the bell with arms of courage,
This now third and final knell.

The empty room that you still frequent,
Picture-framed for all to see,
Contradicts my hope with silence,
Filling with tears the joy in me.

I wait on the promise you whispered,
At the crossroads, by the door,
For the dress to adorn your beauty
And live with me forevermore.

R.

The dizzy bee
Has lost his yellow-rose flower,
The fragrant clover has gone to bed.
From her rain drenched hair
Falls Autumn's cold, grey showers,
With portents of the long nights ahead!
Shadows lengthen
With the last breath of summer,
The hearth now beckons to the flame.
I lie my head,
Blanketed in lonely slumber,
Pillow kissed tears whisper your name!


R.

Simple, timeless words
Ushered from your mind,
Decry this burning drive,
That rages through my kind.
Morality’s little sigh,
Caliginous, colloquial dreams,
Laded with vestibules
Of guilt it seems.

Still to sip the nectar
And hear the lover’s coo.
Oh, forbidden draught
Of sweet honeydew.
Ever my song singing,
That seared on my soul,
This hot, breathless curse,
The sad Gardener’s toll.

All through this dream,
Or so life we call,
The nightmarish effects,
Pangs of the fall,
I prowl the dusty verge
Just beyond the Gate,
And wait upon the Master
To liberate.

RJH

The road that now opens upon my way
    Is a once-in-a-lifetime thing to see.
Not Paris, New York, or the San Francisco Bay,
Nor a thousand pretty words that pretty people say,
  Could ever be more pleasing to me!


R.

Alas, when this life finds us
Broken down upon the road,
Seek no quarter, no dying mercy,
Or pity in shame to hold.

For the adventure began in morning,
Goes on into the night,
We can lie quiet beside the byway
Or stand up in the middle and fight!

Though the light at the end of the tunnel
Is such a sweet and haunting grace,
The glory is not in the finish,
Rather in how well we run the race.

True beauty is not unblemished,
Nor pristine without a scar.
True beauty is living the best life
Exactly where we are!

So fight, fight the good fight,
Accept no reprimand,
Give all to the battle before you,
Stand up, stand up, and stand!

R.

The close of this Day draws ever near to my life,
Though there are, as yet, many miles to travel.

I feel the Storms as they roll across your mind,
Bracing myself against the torrential rains!
Like a Mariner, I scout the ominous skies.

I am learning to take shelter in the lee of my heart,
Feeling, only slightly, the vibrations of your rumbling Thunder.
My vessel, built from strong timbers of Oak,
Carries the warmth of Sunshine in her deepest hold.

Still, massive swells drive me always forward,
My prayers to the gods going unheeded.
Standing on the bow, I throw back my head,
Laughing as the Lightening crashes about me.

I had once thought to settle and simply wait,
Thinking that a better Day might find me there.

The Seas of your raging have reminded me of my strength,
Connecting me to the Oceans of this one Truth;
I am powerful beyond my own reckoning;
Each Storm being but a trifle in this long Day!

RJH

Twas just a thing like Eden
That slipped from off your face,
White lilies short in season,
God's best and fallen grace.
Birdsongs greet the morning
Then quickly take to flight,
There's pain in late becomings
Through the dim and fading light.
Tis short though, the price to open
The weight of Heaven's door,
To mend what time has broken
Returning home to love once more!
R.