"pring" poems
Warm whisp'ring through the slender olive leaves
Came to me a gentle sound,
Whis'pring of a secret found
In the clear sunshine 'mid the golden sheaves:
Said it was sleeping for me in the morn,
Called it gladness, called it joy,
Drew me on 'Come hither, boy.'
To where the blue wings rested on the corn.
I thought the gentle sound had whispered true
Thought the little heaven mine,
Leaned to clutch the thing divine,
And saw the blue wings melt within the blue!
7.9k
Weary hobbling men,
of stature far from social statutory,
embody brief hypotheses of me.
Weary hobbling men,
managed by bronzed and tall
strong handsome men,
embody sick hypocrisy.
Blind old beggars,
who sit on broken concrete
and breathe through broken lungs,
speak clearly of what resides in not what eyes speak,
but of what love and trust sing.
They see more than we,
for they, both blind and whis’pring,
are contented just to breathe.
Jun 17, 2011
Jun 17, 2011 at 1:40 PM UTC
Spring feels like summer even though
Playful breezes stir the tall green grass
Rich red soil feels warm beneath bare feet
Irises hidden in the forest bloom unnoticed
Never do the birds more sweetly sing
Goodbye to ice-cold winter
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
Why are you always on my mind?
It’s been years since that summer.
Why do I live life as though I’m blind,
And look for you, my wayward brother?
I look north, to where I know you are
And hold myself ‘cause you wouldn’t do it.
I turn away; this anguish is too hard,
And shed a tear, whis’pring “I’ll get through it”.
I take a walk in the garden of our youth
And curse the days I stumbled ‘pon it,
If “I love you” was the truth,
It wouldn’t have shattered my soul to want it.
In the lonely, dark and frigid nights
You haunt my dreams like a ghost of laughter.
I wake sobbing and flick on the lights
To look around at my Emptily Ever After.
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 4:57 PM UTC
S pring always comes, however slow it seems,
A nd on the trees at last from sleeping wood
N ew growth sprouts green where black twigs starkly stood.
D istant the winter now; like far-off dreams
R ecalling snow, white blossom-petals fall
A nd throw confetti down on warming earth.
H ere after months of sleep the signs of birth
A s daffodils ****** up and songbirds call.
N ow the breeze blows more gently on fresh grass,
S un gives its blessing, sky's a softer blue.
F rom greener woods then pipes the bold cuckoo.
O ur thoughts move on to summer. Spring will pass,
R ipe summer turn to fall, and winter, then,
D epend upon it, spring will come again.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 11:25 AM UTC