"rills" poems
#***Cool monsoon breeze sway the trees
Cascading rills , meadows
The Valley and Scenic hills
Colour green rich in hue
Breathtaking the view
The rain pours and rushes down
On the windscreen and sunroof
A sweet melodic sound it makes
Like an Artist, paints in gentle slopes
Dark clouds in daytime , stark
Makes the Sun shiver in cold
The bridge ahead ,century old
Winding road and steep slopes
Passing through the illuminated tunnels
Old melodies played on the radio
The journey ahead ,we steer
The ebullient nature brings cheer***#
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
Come on my Love! Let us move to the East
Where the sun resurrects after his interim death
Where darkness first gives way to light
And life renews itself every morn
Look to the East beyond those crooked hills
Where poplars grow tall in line
And wild weeds hem the edges of pathways
Where bunnies and squirrels hop and jump
And merrily run round the trees
Where the wind moves whistling through bamboo reeds
Where the laughing cataract leaps down from the rocks
And flow along in silvery rills
Where the languorous breeze plays upon the leaves
Away from the tumult, far from the crazy crowd
With the pandemonium of the world
Hushed to serene silence
Let us move to that sequestered glade
Of perennial greenery,
through the sunlit grove
Where we shall walk hands locked
Till the bright day gives way to dusky night
Inhaling night air in scented perfume
Under the stillness of a star lit sky
Through moon blanched woods, mysterious
Listening to the sweet whispering of our soul
And ‘drinking life to the lees’ from the chalice of love
Oh! Come on,
Let us not tarry…. Let’s go!
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC
⭐️
*Reading is like
Sitting under
A canopy of trees
Listening to the humming of bees
Chirp of birds
A gentle breeze soothing the mind
Absorbing the warmth of the early morning sunshine
Being one with nature
A solitude
Undefined Peace
Writing is like
An ever flowing stream
Cascading rills
Sparkling placid waters
The essence of nature
The different seasons
Like a flurry of emotions
The moments lived
Reminiscing the times
The Moments to come
The moments one dreams
Different reasons
Wrapped in words ideal
Writing is Therapeutic
The essence of it all*
⭐️
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
I hear a wind whispering from the hills
It comes down tickling the woodland rills
From far is heard the frightened murmur of leaves
As it pounces on them like wayside thieves
It shakes the branches of flowering trees
And their weak petals drop like confetti in the breeze
Over hills and trees it loves to skip and stray
Always in motion, never inclined to stay
It moves unhampered over streams and field
With no resistance to its might, they simply yield
Like a child, it romps over the sloppy meadows
In its gentle touch, dances the gleeful flowers
It skillfully pleats the blue chiffon of the ocean
Sometimes curling waves in electric motion
Over the sea it runs puffing up the sails
And over the sky heaping clouds in bales
Sometimes it steals furtively like a lover
And disappears kissing our cheeks under cover
Often it comes capering with a lilt and a swing
We feel delighted when we hear its merry song
Like a nomad, the wind roams from place to place,
Hiding its mysterious presence from our glance
From an unknown hide out it comes like a spirit
But always making us feel its vigorous might!
At times it gains force and roars like a beast
Felling trees and wreaking havoc with its twist
In rampage, it sweeps the sea and the ground
Triggering sparks of fear and horror all around
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
If I ever had a pedal harp
You'd be the first
I'd play it to
You'd be the first
To hear me pluck
My harp strings
May your heart strings
Play the finest melody ever
And may your life always be
The most surreal orchestra
I hope you don't leave here
May the Fairies dry your tears
And wipe your pretty blue eyes
If I ever had a viola or a violin
You would be the first to hear it
And I would teach you how to play it too
But since I don't have those instruments
All I can play for you is the piano
And I admit, I am not that good at it
If I ever wished a million wishes
And all of them came true
I would share them all with you
You are the world's greatest Dad
And I love you
And so does God and all of His Angels and Fairies
I hope you awaken to bluebells kissed with dew
And fields full of blooming flowers
And red crimson sunsets
Overlooking the beautiful ocean
That I talk about in my poems
Surrounded by palm trees
And gritty sand
And sandy seashells
Breezes tasting like coconuts and salt
I hope you awaken to sunrays
Glistening on the forest floor
And shining across that sequestered path
Take my hand and walk with me
And I'll wish you the sweetest of dreams
Dancing ferns, and lacy-green palms
Waltzing Fairies, and flying birds
Adorable Flamingoes
Mossy islands
And beautiful waterfalls
Bubbling creeks
And tall, tall mountains
Like the finest patchwork quilt
Singing rills
Sparkling snowflakes
And beautiful ocean treasures
All of it I'd wish in your dreams
The song of the pedal harp lulling you to sleep
Along with the majestic songs of the double bass
I love you, Dad and always will
~Marian~
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ’mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
3.4k
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
3k
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I’ll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro’ the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark’d with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary’s sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev’ning sweeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary’s asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
2.8k
Beneath the fair blue face of Heaven, harp
In hand, a shepherd flats an A that's sharp.
He plucks and tunes and finds the perfect pitch
And plays a harmony exceeding rich.
The afternoon is hot, and all the sheep
Are full of grass and falling fast asleep.
Cotton ball clouds go slowly floating by
While drowsy songbirds neither sing nor fly.
Even the shiny fish in waters cool
Nap in the cooler shadows in the pool.
Save for the sound of rills that gently spill,
All things are silent. Everything is still.
So too a watchful lion keeping eyes
Upon a ewe lamb dozing where she lies.
As still as stone he stalks his sleepy prey:
He's waited patiently the livelong day.
And now the time has come to work his plan,
While most at ease is bird and beast and man.
He takes the first small steps in his approach,
Then breaks into a run and makes the poach.
Bewildered sheep in panic loudly bleat—
Asleep to wide awake in one heartbeat!
The shepherd's senses rush, and running down
The brute, he smites the beast upon his crown.
Dazed and confused, the lion drops the lamb
That lives but by the grace of Him, I AM.
The shepherd grabs the lion's beard, and, hair
In hand, he slays him (as he'll slay a bear.)
Returning safe the lamb unto the flock,
The shepherd goes and stands upon a rock.
He lifts his hands to God, and, singing psalms
Of praise, he gives the LORD his weather'd palms.
Cotton ball clouds go slowly floating by
As stars begin to twinkle in the sky.
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 1:08 PM UTC
Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root,
Cocoa in pods and alligator pears,
And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit,
Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs,
Set in the window, bringing memories
Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills,
And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies
My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze;
A wave of longing through my body swept,
And, hungry for the old, familiar ways,
I turned aside and bowed my head and wept.
2.5k
Hail, sister springs,
Parents of silver-footed rills!
Ever bubbling things,
Thawing crystal, snowy hills!
Still spending, never spent; I mean
Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.
Heavens thy fair eyes be;
Heavens of ever-falling stars;
’Tis seed-time still with thee,
And stars thou sow’st whose harvest dares
Promise the earth to countershine
Whatever makes Heaven’s forehead fine.
Every morn from hence
A brisk cherub something sips
Whose soft influence
Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips;
Then to his music: and his song
Tastes of this breakfast all day long.
When some new bright guest
Takes up among the stars a room,
And Heaven will make a feast,
Angels with their bottles come,
And draw from these full eyes of thine
Their Master’s water, their own wine.
The dew no more will weep
The primrose’s pale cheek to deck;
The dew no more will sleep
Nuzzled in the lily’s neck:
Much rather would it tremble here,
And leave them both to be thy tear.
When sorrow would be seen
In her brightest majesty,
—For she is a Queen—
Then is she drest by none but thee:
Then and only then she wears
Her richest pearls—I mean thy tears.
Not in the evening’s eyes,
When they red with weeping are
For the Sun that dies,
Sits Sorrow with a face so fair.
Nowhere but here did ever meet
Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.
Does the night arise?
Still thy tears do fall and fall.
Does night lose her eyes?
Still the fountain weeps for all.
Let day and night do what they will,
Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.
Not So long she lived
Will thy tomb report of thee;
But So long she grieved:
Thus must we date thy memory.
Others by days, by months, by years,
Measure their ages, thou by tears.
Say, ye bright brothers,
The fugitive sons of those fair eyes
Your fruitful mothers,
What make you here? What hopes can ‘tice
You to be born? What cause can borrow
You from those nests of noble sorrow?
Whither away so fast
For sure the sordid earth
Your sweetness cannot taste,
Nor does the dust deserve your birth.
Sweet, whither haste you then? O say,
Why you trip so fast away?
We go not to seek
The darlings of Aurora’s bed,
The rose’s modest cheek,
Nor the violet’s humble head.
No such thing: we go to meet
A worthier object—our Lord’s feet.
2.4k
Sound the deep waters:--
Who shall sound that deep?--
Too short the plummet,
And the watchmen sleep.
Some dream of effort
Up a toilsome steep;
Some dream of pasture grounds
For harmless sheep.
White shapes flit to and fro
From mast to mast;
They feel the distant tempest
That nears them fast:
Great rocks are straight ahead,
Great shoals not past;
They shout to one another
Upon the blast.
O, soft the streams drop music
Between the hills,
And musical the birds' nests
Beside those rills:
The nests are types of home
Love-hidden from ills,
The nests are types of spirits
Love-music fills.
So dream the sleepers,
Each man in his place;
The lightning shows the smile
Upon each face:
The ship is driving, driving,
It drives apace:
And sleepers smile, and spirits
Bewail their case.
The lightning glares and reddens
Across the skies;
It seems but sunset
To those sleeping eyes.
When did the sun go down
On such a wise?
From such a sunset
When shall day arise?
"Wake," call the spirits:
But to heedless ears;
They have forgotten sorrows
And hopes and fears;
They have forgotten perils
And smiles and tears;
Their dream has held them long,
Long years and years.
"Wake," call the spirits again:
But it would take
A louder summons
To bid them awake.
Some dream of pleasure
For another's sake;
Some dream, forgetful
Of a lifelong ache.
One by one slowly,
Ah, how sad and slow!
Wailing and praying
The spirits rise and go:
Clear stainless spirits,
White,--as white as snow;
Pale spirits, wailing
For an overthrow.
One by one flitting,
Like a mournful bird
Whose song is tired at last
For no mate heard.
The loving voice is silent,
The useless word;
One by one flitting,
Sick with hope deferred.
Driving and driving,
The ship drives amain:
While swift from mast to mast
Shapes flit again,
Flit silent as the silence
Where men lie slain;
Their shadow cast upon the sails
Is like a stain.
No voice to call the sleepers,
No hand to raise:
They sleep to death in dreaming
Of length of days.
Vanity of vanities,
The Preacher says:
Vanity is the end
Of all their ways.
2.3k
a nacreous tossing around at
the sides, a dappled silver
sunlight if looked one way, an
apocalyptic gloam if another,
exhaled from a seeming
mouth, feeding on what has
already eviscerated an unfelt
***** a predator certainly its
own prey, a heat certainly
poison-breath on a cheek
falling when a meretricious
lover spouts that spurious
hypocorism, and also just a
wavering, iridescent puddle—
cornered, soft as a liquid steel
echo of a futile struggle
rolling around, bouncing off
a wine glass, and a porcelain
table edge, while a listening
head shakes, looks down
despondently, gloom glowing
out the hair, a voice jaded
since birth saying some
thing about differences, or a
helpless slender strap of hope
hanging itself on the way two
other eyes look at it across
checkered watered wings, two
swirling god whorls, two
effulgent galaxies the color of
melting pine bole circling
around in living umber striae,
pulling its gaze, raising it, as if
they, they were blazing truth
cased behind lithophane, and it,
only an aporetic puddle now
of tepid ocher, a mild earth
stone placed in a hand, asked
what is thought of it and the
response: yes, yes of course,
before foreign distance splutters
its face, and it retreats from
its meaning imparted to every
thing (with the vulnerable
precision of a swaying finger
tip) to the baby lanugo of a
delicate floating, through
human rills, of what is horizon
docked, dead, not merely
deciduous—forever jilted with
breath bulging as when beating
a flopping eyeless fish to
half-dead, head tilted up a
throat trying to pry itself
free, trying to live by
streaming snagless, airful,
without spirant sound of going
lost straight from the hands—
then a short chop of fullness
finally expunged and sputtering
like an escaped tuft of
shackled wonder soaring up
the sky in a puff and soul ring.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
(Proverbs, viii. 22-31)
"Ere God had built the mountains,
Or raised the fruitful hills;
Before he fill'd the fountains
That feed the running rills;
In me from everlasting,
The wonderful I am,
Found pleasures never wasting,
And Wisdom is my name.
"When, like a tent to dwell in,
He spread the skies abroad,
And swathed about the swelling
Of Ocean's mighty flood;
He wrought by weight and measure,
And I was with Him then:
Myself the Father's pleasure,
And mine, the sons of men."
Thus Wisdom's words discover
Thy glory and Thy grace,
Thou everlasting lover
Of our unworthy race!
Thy gracious eye survey'd us
Ere stars were seen above;
In wisdom thou hast made us,
And died for us in love.
And couldst thou be delighted
With creatures such as we,
Who, when we saw Thee, slighted,
And nail'd Thee to a tree?
Unfathomable wonder,
And mystery divine!
The voice that speaks in thunder,
Says, "Sinner, I am thine!"
2k
Bells, bells, bells,
I hear mellow bells
Merrier than sea bellows,
Bells, bells, bells,
So, sang a cloud grandly dressed in white.
Bells, bells, bells,
Who canst tell the mellow bells
Merrier than birds of the Vales?
Bells, bells, bells,
Upon my back novelty shores he'll sight.
Bells, bells, bells,
I think I know the bells,
I think I know the bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
So, cheerfully didst reply many a Kite.
For Christmas is here,
For Christmas is near,
Just around the corner
Heralding so fresh a year,
For as fades the sun this year's to avaunt.
Bells, bells, bells,
I think I know the bells,
I think I know the bells,
Bells, bells, bells,
They're but jingo bells—bells of delight.
O, dear Kites hold on tight
Whilst we set for our flight.
So, upon the back of the cloud,
There proudly didst shroud
Many a kite, I say, many a Kite,
And away from human sight
They didst glide and glide,
Yonder a dewy rainbow-like glade,
Yonder silvery whispering rills,
Yonder verdant charming hills,
Yonder so halcyon a limpid indigo sea,
Yonder a realm of many a golden tree,
Yonder a realm of lofty towers,
Where there are opalescent flowers
Well watered by eternal nectar streams
Serpentining by in the land of dreams,
Yonder a rose-scented ineffable clime,
Yonder beyond restrictions of time
Whilst whispering, bells, bells, bells,
To the mellifluous whispers of the bells.
#Onomatopoeic #Diacopic
*Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
21st.Dec.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.*
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
On that last night before we went
From out the doors where I was bred,
I dream'd a vision of the dead,
Which left my after-morn content.
Methought I dwelt within a hall,
And maidens with me: distant hills
From hidden summits fed with rills
A river sliding by the wall.
The hall with harp and carol rang.
They sang of what is wise and good
And graceful. In the centre stood
A statue veil'd, to which they sang;
And which, tho' veil'd, was known to me,
The shape of him I loved, and love
For ever: then flew in a dove
And brought a summons from the sea:
And when they learnt that I must go
They wept and wail'd, but led the way
To where a little shallop lay
At anchor in the flood below;
And on by many a level mead,
And shadowing bluff that made the banks,
We glided winding under ranks
Of iris, and the golden reed;
And still as vaster grew the shore
And roll'd the floods in grander space,
The maidens gather'd strength and grace
And presence, lordlier than before;
And I myself, who sat apart
And watch'd them, wax'd in every limb;
I felt the thews of Anakim,
The pulses of a Titan's heart;
As one would sing the death of war,
And one would chant the history
Of that great race, which is to be,
And one the shaping of a star;
Until the forward-creeping tides
Began to foam, and we to draw
From deep to deep, to where we saw
A great ship lift her shining sides.
The man we loved was there on deck,
But thrice as large as man he bent
To greet us. Up the side I went,
And fell in silence on his neck:
Whereat those maidens with one mind
Bewail'd their lot; I did them wrong:
'We served thee here' they said, 'so long,
And wilt thou leave us now behind?'
So rapt I was, they could not win
An answer from my lips, but he
Replying, 'Enter likewise ye
And go with us:' they enter'd in.
And while the wind began to sweep
A music out of sheet and shroud,
We steer'd her toward a crimson cloud
That landlike slept along the deep.
1.8k
The stormy March is come at last,
With wind, and cloud, and changing skies,
I hear the rushing of the blast,
That through the snowy valley flies.
Ah, passing few are they who speak,
Wild stormy month! in praise of thee;
Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,
Thou art a welcome month to me.
For thou, to northern lands, again
The glad and glorious sun dost bring,
And thou hast joined the gentle train
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.
And, in thy reign of blast and storm,
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day,
When the changed winds are soft and warm,
And heaven puts on the blue of May.
Then sing aloud the gushing rills
And the full springs, from frost set free,
That, brightly leaping down the hills,
Are just set out to meet the sea.
The year's departing beauty hides
Of wintry storms the sullen threat;
But in thy sternest frown abides
A look of kindly promise yet.
Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies,
And that soft time of sunny showers,
When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,
Seems of a brighter world than ours.
1.7k
Dost thou idly ask to hear
At what gentle seasons
Nymphs relent, when lovers near
Press the tenderest reasons?
Ah, they give their faith too oft
To the careless wooer;
Maidens' hearts are always soft:
Would that men's were truer!
Woo the fair one, when around
Early birds are singing;
When, o'er all the fragrant ground.
Early herbs are springing:
When the brookside, bank, and grove,
All with blossoms laden,
Shine with beauty, breathe of love,--
Woo the timid maiden.
Woo her when, with rosy blush,
Summer eve is sinking;
When, on rills that softly gush,
Stars are softly winking;
When, through boughs that knit the bower,
Moonlight gleams are stealing;
Woo her, till the gentle hour
Wake a gentler feeling.
Woo her, when autumnal dyes
Tinge the woody mountain;
When the dropping foliage lies
In the weedy fountain;
Let the scene, that tells how fast
Youth is passing over,
Warn her, ere her bloom is past,
To secure her lover.
Woo her, when the north winds call
At the lattice nightly;
When, within the cheerful hall,
Blaze the ****** brightly;
While the wintry tempest round
Sweeps the landscape hoary,
Sweeter in her ear shall sound
Love's delightful story.
1.5k
#*
Green meadows and distant hills
The shepherd sings to the herd
An old folk song, of sparkling rills
The sheep graze, heads bent down
Little bells around their necks
Dance to the tune of the old folk song
The sheep love the water mud pools
Monsoon brings greens and browns
Shelter and food
The shepherd and his herd
From the neighbouring town
Enjoy the picnic, up the hills*#
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 1:27 PM UTC
Fragrant smile,
Drifting time,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Distant dream,
Melodious screams,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Humming rains,
Enjoyable pains,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Deep breath,
Calm and no stress,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Green leaves,
Colour streaks,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Vibrant rainbows,
Swiftly flying swallows,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Moistened eyes,
Hastened cries,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Lightning flashes,
Thunder clashes,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Rolling hills,
Charming rills,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Roast and barbeque,
Mum, make me some stew,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Daddy’s arm,
Mummy’s charm,
Stay a while,
Lest I whine.
Fragrant smiles,
Drifting time...
Stay a while...
Lest I whine.
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky. I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize. My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 2:31 AM UTC
In the end
Holding on to hope
Was worse
Than releasing her despair.
It was an ionized illusion
*St. Elmos' blaze
Without the burn.*
- But still
She held her hands out
Towards this flame
And even as they froze
She kept her eye on the fire
Transfixed
By the etheric images
That leapt from the embers.
Had she pounded
The subfusc earth
To rail against her lot
And slapped the salty rills
From her cheeks
She might have lived.
But she stood still
Too buoyed by hope
To notice
That the flame was cold
And icing her bones.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
O deeper sea
That waves restless between us
Engorging and disgorging
The changeling creations
Steep rills and ridges
Making not a dent above
So stays my heart hidden
Hidden in its element
So stays our viscous love
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 8:44 PM UTC