"soughing" poems
I sought Him in temples where anthems swell
Stained glass windows and polished sermons suave;
Yet here I knew He did not dwell,
While poor child of dust creeps to his grave.
I sought Him in churches rustic and plain
Eager to drown my heartfelt sorrow,
These mockery so futile and vain
As I searched for a brighter morrow.
In meadow alone, a breeze touched my face
Whispering of days bygone, yet still dear
When life flowed at a leisurely pace
And I felt His presence - O! so near!
Bittersweet weeping of the mourning dove
Awakens me to sad pleading eyes
Shattering my heart with vials of love.
Forsaken man and beast hold God's disguise.
I see Him in each rippling blade of grass
When dew of morn glistens with His tears.
In moaning of wind I hear Him pass
Through aromatic pines and lose all fears.
God does not dwell in temples made with hand,
But speaks to us through each soughing pine.
Proud wealthiest mansions o'er all the land
Mocked by His majestic Hand divine.
~Hilda~
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
at our old retreat
tall glasses of sweet iced tea
air of moss perfume
prayer and books and quietude
amongst gently soughing pines
~Hilda~
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
on a rainy day your body spread over a picnic table
like an egg yolk, and you swallowed the word profound
again and again.
someone from your past
has gone beneath the ocean, leafless
and you can hear the wailing from here to the saginaw
people begin to breathe blood: they’re choking up, soughing
“be easy buddy” and
“he wanted a black eye for prom so i punched him in the face”
flowers arrived at the door, a ghost, an ear of corn
while everything yearned tall: frames, shadows,
in st. louis you circle a bit of claret earth
spotting your sister’s face in the mirror, leaving linseed and shreds
i could never ask how you are.
the wail is a train whistle, i hear it pauses
for no softness of flesh, these midwestern daughters
she loved all living things.
imagine carefully painting a boat
a pencil in your teeth,
cutting through earth, the nantucket sound
you’re going to take your boat beyond
this firmament, you know, we’re all
waiting through this salty crush
sinking below a winter current
this is all yours now:
mainsail, rudder, hard-a-lee
you darling masters of the sea.
for PW and LE. goodnight.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
A sliver of sun through
Early morning haze,
Heralding the promise
Of long cloudless days:
Rescue me.
Fresh meadow scent on
A soft soughing breeze;
Chirrup of a song thrush
Hidden amongst the trees:
Rescue me.
The gentle hovering of
A noisome honeybee,
Searching out pollen
On a dancing petal sea:
Rescue me.
Trill of childish laughter
Echoing from the park,
Competing for attention
With a soaring sky~lark:
Rescue me.
A beautiful woman in
A cotton print dress;
Her leisurely gait enticing
Beneath the fabric’s car~ess:
Rescue me.
The red sinking giant
Painting clouds in the sky,
Just another lost day
Laying down to die:
Rescue me,
Rescue me,
Please, rescue me.
©Paul M Chafer 2014
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:59 AM UTC
*the halcyon timberland rest
a cottage with gliding vines upon its wall
tasted soot and first snow,
knew the land where all grass grows.
I am a piece of mild apple rotting in merry hues
upon skeletons of twirling tree roots.
I peek skywards to the ripen boughs
and the mirthful hopping birds
of gold and yellow, of ruby and dream.
Amidst a silvery silent
sun rays make its glow of gold
with the sapphire ocean's salt.
Hear the wealthy sea soughing from afar?
in quiet burrows the rabbit takes its ample rest
as deep and soundly as dormant butterflies
in the green harmony bushes;
with the subtle, halcyon seawaves' singing...
A fine lullaby indeed.*
l.r
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
*in the bleakest twilight, stars, a rural sea
hues possessing confusions, mayhem;
like susurrous in the rivers the fugitives seek.
devouring words betwixt papers of prayers
the quiet evensong plays, the salted saliva swallowed
into Rome gardens of sea green and stars
a morose spirit bellow.
into the midst of the labyrinthine coral sea
they'll sail through the soughing seawind
conflating into ocean salts, erupt in mesmeric pulse
soon the April gales will shrink to a bated breath,
credence will turn into a sempiternal menace.
fiery suspires blown to my knees,
auburn tress covered a crescent beam
serenade a zero, I tilt to the drones in the haze
a scintilla of lukewarm left to trace;
to the sea her body lured,
losing panaceas and remedies.
into maelstroms she goes,
inhaling salt water, a spirit wet with ruth;
her grey bones into ash,
into watery cemeteries she goes.*
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
~~~<¤>~~~
*the willow tree
great grace is found
in drooping branch
slight soughing sound
by a liquid crystal stream
where your tendrel'd
boughs are seen
breath stills til
in the breeze you're heard
your sigh and softly singing word
lifted up as on soft cloud
it is as though you
weep aloud
gently does your poetry
open eyes to those who see
and with each story
you have told
there's further grace
unto our souls*
soulsurvivor
(c) 6/7/2015
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
***May the silv'ry fluting of wood thrush
awake you to rose stained skies
and honeyed rays smile upon you
when you despondent are
may the plaintive mourning of the dove
weep in sympathy with your bleeding heart
and the woodland trees shelter you
from blazing noonday heat
may breezes in rippling meadow grass
whisper secrets from the breath of God
and soughing through lonely trees
blend with your sighs
may Heaven's tears of rain
mingle with your own
and may a rainbow of shimmering hues
dazzle after the storm***
~Hilda~
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
I love to steal away to my retreat
Far from harsh mockery and cruel eyes.
Nocturnal air wafts mossy incense sweet
Mingling with cedar, a lone pine sighs.
O! If I could but linger here all day
From earliest morn with rose tinted sky,
I would listen for God's voice as I pray
Though time on agitated wings doth fly.
Soughing of wind through ancient towering trees,
Heartbreaking cooing of a mourning dove,
Alone break hush of benediction's breeze
Overflowing my heart with poignant love.
O! to linger forever at this place
Far from the maddening crowd's hectic pace!
~~Hilda~~
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
***In days vanished stealing to sweet bower
Heartbroken for gone is that gladsome day
Perfumed sweet mem'ries linger on that hour
Deadened by somber winter's hues of grey
O! how with ecstasy my soul doth soar
Yearning again soughing in pines to hear
Dreaming of days I thought to be no more
When God's comfort banished every tear
The plaintive weeping of a mourning dove
Melodious breezes whisper and sigh
Surrounded by the healing balm of love
All creation to Him with us draw nigh
Despite lonesome winter's minor refrain
O! how I long to see those days again!***
~Hilda~
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
Your love is black ice
Unctuous, greedy, slippery, treacherous
Seductive, alluring
The duplicitous song of the siren.
You are as the ancient oak
Whose once vital branches have withered
Into gnarled, beckoning husks
Ever reaching, never grasping.
And still I hunger.
To my shame I yearn.
I eat your dirt with the impetuousness of the dying.
And with trembling hands wipe away the maggots.
More the fool am I
For allowing the shadows to lengthen
Awaiting the day your siren song
Delivers its unspoken promise.
Ever listening for the soughing wind
To blow through your wizened leaves
To shimmy up your sturdy trunk
And carry you back to me.
But your branches are black with decay. Desiccated from neglect.
And my ears have forgotten how to hear your voice.
Accompanied only by the echoes of a dream
That has long since faded.
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 3:33 AM UTC
==<>==
porch
i watch the rain
crystal drops
off the eaves
drops fall
a beaded curtain
silabently hissing
as tho a spirit
from the
softly soughing trees
passes through
*like the chest
of an asthmatic child*
~~~
i will perhaps
paint today
the light is diffused
i guess i'll paint the rain
in blue watercolor
~~~
cars go by on my street
lighting up puddles
it's a bit dark yet
the taillights spark
in the bland pavement
sparkling jewels
on the showcase
of asphalt
*the garden swoons
with moisture*
~~~
my nerves singing
humming high voltage wires
as I sit i feel them
release
ping! ping! ping!
broken
electric guitar strings
~~~
like a devotee
i sink
into
the river
of
baptism
my mind
once smudged
with transgression
against the night
becomes
as snow
as light soaks
my robes
of repentance
~~~
*in deliverance the sky doth weep
i pray The Lord my soul to keep*
soulsurvivor
(C) 5/2/2014
rewritten 2/15/2015
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
The air’s soughing soulfully –
Something I’ve never heard before!
Red-dressed señora melts away
Although I wanna see her dancing more and more.
¡Adiós! To me she didn’t say
And everything became so pale:
No Red, no Blue, no White...
I pray she’ll come again and burn the Spanish night!
MMI
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:21 AM UTC
I was a preemie.
Fate tried to **** me
Before I was born.
My poor beleaguered mom
Fell off a chair while pregnant
With me... thus did I come
Into the world.
Beat up from the feet up
And lookin' like a prune...
My childhood was horrific.
I have huge holes in memory.
I can only tell you I was
Starved of love and terribly
Neglected. Mercifully
I don't recall the molestation
And assault I know I endured.
It wasn't my parent's fault.
My father worked 16 hour days
And mom had blinding migraines.
And undiagnosed behavioral
Health problems. She is bi-polar.
But what I remember most vividly
Are the trips to visit my mother's
Sister and her family.
In the Sangre De Cristo
Mountains of New Mexico
Up above Taos.
My mind touched furred mountains
And inhaled the aromas
Of sounds... aspen's disc leaves
Sibilantly soughing
And the Red River flowing
Through resplendent green.
Indian paintbrush and columbine
Sparking on the verges of roads
And nodding their soft blue heads
Respectively.
Once we took a hike to
Horseshoe lake, and
Caught flashing trout,
Their scales making rainbows
To grace their silver sides.
We ate well that night!
On the way home it rained.
A cold, piercing downpour
That soaked our clothes.
All the other kids cried.
But not me.
I was in fairyland.
Coming from the
Sonoran desert I've always
Loved the rain...
The rest of my life I fared
Little better as far as fate
Meted me out a VERY tough
Hand. But I remember
The long hikes on Venice Beach
boardwalk... I walked 8-10 miles
A day. And lost a total of 138 lbs.
I've had to fight like Muhammad Ali
For every square inch of joy.
But I still float like a butterfly...
... and I really try to put a cap
On my stinger. I have one.
But I want to go through this life
As wise as a serpent... gentle as a dove.
Because now I know that
all I've gone through
Had a definite purpose.
I'm a Blues Brother's sister...
... on a mission from God.
*But it's never about ME.
IT'S ABOUT
H I M.*
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
If dreams were tangible, dear princess, I'd give you mine
this dream where unfading echoes never die
Back a long, grassy lane, a house once white, now greying with time
set against the slope of verdant hill, and crowded amongst a hundred soughing pines
Nearby a sundappled wood with tranquil creek and mossy stones
Ferns tall as your waist and creamy mushrooms
Beyond stretch clover scented pasture haunted by purplish dusk and
ghosts of gurnsey calves with solemn eyes
To bring a smile to your lovely face and a song to your heart.
Above a garret where silvery moonbeams dance
scented by old mothballs and books from bygone days
their yellowed pages mildewed and musty with age
Perhaps some tear stained journal from yesteryears
penned by long dead poetess, kindred spirit facing hardships like our own
listening to this same ancient wind sweeping the trees, gaunt branches scratching windowpanes as souls forlorn
yes, I would give you all this, sweet princess, if wishes had wings
just to bring a smile to your lovely face
this dream where unfading echoes never die
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
The cutting winds of nascent March
bend the trees in gleeful rage
stripping buds and breaking boughs
to build its hard and bitter stage.
On which it prances proud and stern
giving out of seasons cold
playing parts both good and bad
and caring less as it grows old.
Until at last it's April's part
and soughing mild replaces chill
to rain and song the stage is given
and golden blooms the branches fill.
Now the year turns new to newer
a glowing carpet swells the host
the biting act is wholly done
and Spring's the star we cheer the most.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 5:41 AM UTC
Moths frozen to the bark
of hundreds of trees
thaw in the warmth of the day.
By nightfall,
crescent moonlight
shines on dust motes
crucified to wood.
Specks glimmer,
beginning to hatch-
lime-green luna moths
unfold
from wingdust eggs,
edging off of oaks,
enchanting
the night skies,
in search of sap
or cinnamon.
By lighted sliver
they feed
on sugars
and moonbeam
stopping only to freeze
nights later,
fluorescent
bodies,
dust to dusk,
whispering along,
to the soft soughing
of pines.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Under the radiant sun,
Smelling the pleasant autumn scent,
Under the lofty tree,
Feeling your silky hand,
Feeling the breeze,
Stroking my back,
Sitting next to you,
At the woody bench,
Hearing the leaves,
Soughing at my ear,
Thanking the almighty one,
That I’ve got you near,
Oh, that mystic day of September,
The day, that I will always remember.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 10:24 PM UTC
O God! to Whom I blindly seek Thy face
And search for vaguest token of Thy love,
So thereby hoping Thy mercy to prove
If I should merit faintest shred of grace.
Forgive these cries by one with wild despair
Issued from broken heart and shattered dreams,
Heightened by terror of demonic schemes,
Whose hopes lie dashed by each unanswered prayer.
Yet help me, Thou, from such lies to refrain,
And hear Thy voice again in soughing pine.
Thus sweet release in sharpest thorn of pain,
Give beauty for ashes in love divine.
O Thou hast gently taken her last breath,
Along with Thee triumphant over death.
~Hilda~
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Love Is A Forest
Love is the dark path,
the trip through the midnight forest.
Love is the hoot-owl sounding its warning,
the thin, keening cry of the bean sidhe
as she flees along the leafy floor.
Love is the ceaseless soughing of the moonless wind,
And the desperate, dreadful shriek
As the trap snaps shut...
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
Snowy sentiments silted up
the soft sediment of my senses,
sifting silently my dreams
of sensitive seduction,
solely to send my thoughts to shores
with coloured sands and stunning steep sights
with sweeps of sea, that swell so high
the sun scintillates the surface spray
shimmering and shining,
spreading over the horizon,
as the soughing of the wind swings seagulls,
swooping serenely southwards,
past the slabbery seashells
and slap-happy waves that swish up the beach,
soporifically smudging seaweeds
against the sleeping surface
of the smooth glacial rocks,
spattering silky foam in spots
of saffron-tinted shapes, over their structures,
surreptitiously sinking into the saline cracks.
Margaret Ann Waddicor February 2013.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
Your heart
Inspires my heart
To beat
To breathe steam clouds onto cold windows
To feel the distant sunlight rise into Peachtree skies
The sound, the hum
Of you a lone
Tunes my ears to hear
My thoughts to song
With its quiet corridors and cushioned chest
Rising like the waves of a coastal long
Soughing whispers in the subtle trees
Midst the waiving of the Auburn leaves
Our hopes a final parting leaf
On this, the last day of October joy
Know this
Your heart
Inspires my heart
To beat
From now until at last
Our distance is no more
We meet
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 10:09 AM UTC