Autumn’s Reflection

Winter’s cold touch
lies hidden in the months to come,
yet in the gusts of Autumn
one senses the icy presence
lurking near.

Soon scattered leaves become a quilt
of many hue’s in a mosaic splendor.
Acorns fall upon the ground
as squirrels reap the harvest
and prepare for times ahead.
Chipmunks hurry to and fro,
their cheeks puffed full
and everywhere the eye beholds
color to adorn the majesty
of earth.

Soon the gilded trees
will stand bare to the breath
of Winter.

Soon the rushing winds
will turn to howls and drifts of snow,
but for now,
it’s Autumn,
that season which gives us pause
to reflect upon the months past
and the few to come.

Seniors Lament

In the silence of night
I hear the tick tock of time.

I feel the push of age
and the pull of the unknown.

The Curtain

Hanging so free,
So loose across the portal,
Revealing the light from without,
Yet protecting that which inhabits within.
In its opening,
The new begins,
And in its closing,
Life pauses,
Peering,
Waiting,
Watching,
All in anticipation
Of the curtain being lifted.

Port Of Call

Hear me
utter
woeful cries
upon a destined voyage
across the tempest sea.
My mind deformed,
sent into convulsions
on every notion it perceives.
Are facts mere fantasies?
I sanely progress
to the brink,
even to the crevice bottom of insanity.
Theories: the demon
housed within the nave of doubt,
which hangs
as a choking noose
around the fiber of existence, and
causes me to tremble.
Seek!
Journey to your port of call,
and there
every particle shall unfold.
Peace will reign,
contentment, sublime in silence.

Lot

I’ve often wished my spirit could be free to fly

unfettered by the chain of some lost memory

or by some present ghost not seen.

But since the stars in their courses seem determined

to play me the fool, then who am I to protest

against my lot.

If time could stand still and songs of guilt remain

a lost and tragic cord, then I would lift my voice

and shout I am free.

A Morning Day Dream

Folk music
Gently breaks the silence,
Streams of the morning sun
Fill the room with soft warmth.

Shadow curled around my legs
To protect me from some perceived danger,
But it’s only age creeping in upon my body
And she is unaware of it’s presence.

My eyes drearily close,
And in the grayness
Random memories dart about as tho water spiders
Upon a Summer’s pond.

I wonder why I linger so?
Is it the many chores undone,
The visions not yet dreamed,
Or could it be that I’m afraid?

Somewhere off in the distance
I hear a familiar voice call in the evening shade,
“Come home, suppers ready
And we’re waiting for you.”

Will I disappoint if I tarry?
If I try to dream one more dream,
Or run against the wind
One more time?

The Dream

Pardon me,
I really don’t mean to disturb,
But have you seen my dream?
You see, I’ve lost it
And well, maybe you might know where it’s gone.

Please, don’t leave.
It might not seem important
And yes, it was a child’s dream
But men need to hold onto a part of their childhood.

What?
Find another dream.
No. I couldn’t do that.
You see, the others been with me for a long time.
Its been a faithful friend in times of despair,
A comfort when lonely,
So a new dream wouldn’t be the same.

Yes, I dream’t many things as a child
But this one, well it’s special
And I want to find it again,
For you see,
I need the dream and the dream needs me.

You’re right,
Dreams are just illusions.
Reality is built on many peoples dreams,
Illusions cemented together by a union
Of hard work; want; faith; love
And ignited in the heart
By a child’s dream.

You tell me to find a new dream.
No. For mine was unique and it was mine.
One of the few original parts
Of my spirit and being.

You can tell me that it was age,
Or when we grow-up we leave behind the youthful innocence,
But I’ll search on
And maybe in the near future,
I’ll round the corner,
And there with out stretched hands
Will be an old friend,
My dream, Smiling and asking,
“Where did you go?
I’ve been here all the time,
Waiting for you.”

Standing Room Only

When you have sat in the front row of life,

For the most of it,

It’s humbling to find yourself

In standing room only.

Where Do Dreamers Go?

Where do dreamers go,
when there’s no more dreams
or when Mothers, roses and innocent days are gone?

Where do dreamers go,
when there’s no more sunbeams
or when unicorns, special smells and memories fade?

Where do dreamers go,
when their tired of sleeping alone
or when fireplaces, hayrides and romantic walks are in the movies?

Where do dreamers go
when their all grown up?

The Piper, Crow and Me

I hear a lone piper
in the distance
the dirge he plays
a sad lament.
He has played that tune before
when I was younger
and then again not so long ago.
Now he plays more clearly
his mournful tune for me.

I hear the call of the crow
as it wings its way on high.
It has called before
when I was younger
and then again not so long ago.
Now its spirit cry I hear more clearly
for his call is to me.

Weep no more
let not a salty tear flow
nor let your sobs be heard.

I am the son of ancient Celts
heir to a thousand years of mist.

My soul soars above the green clover fields
dotted with brown thatched roof homes.
I hover near babbling streams
and play in the sea spray.

So let the piper’s dirge echo in the night
and let the winged messenger call
for I smell the peat fires of early dawn
and yearn for home.

Woods At Dawn

A shroud of mist
hangs tightly to the valley below
as the tops of firs
spire through,
creating a mosaic
seen from the hillside above.
The heaven
with its crown of stars,
still wrapped
in that gray color
somewhere between dawn and night.
In the distance,
a lark calls to the wind.
Nearby,
his mate answers.
The dying embers of the campfire
glow orange
that announce its slow death
from the blaze it knew
only hours before.
The earthy smell of dampness
fills the senses
as the eyes of nature
peer out from tree stumps and thickets.
Across the lake,
which lays as a blue silk upon the land,
a loon’s cry echoes
then falls to silence.
I sit upon a log, quiet,
for God walks in the woods,
and I will not disturb.

Reflection

When I reflect upon my life already done
and summon the illusions
to come forth from darkened memories hall.
I sit and watch the play transpire
as if the lines had never been uttered,
or the cast of characters unfamiliar to my sight.

As a youth I had a Dog named Lady.
We went everywhere together that boyhood friend and I.
Across the meadow I named for her we’d romp
or by the cool stream we’d rest.
Every boy should have a dog to remember as a man.

Often I’ve asked,
what has happened to the lad who ran freely across fields,
hiking trails or daydreaming out the classroom window?
Then with an unsure look into the mirror I see myself older, taller,
but housed within there’s a boy,
still running among the wild flowers of Lady’s Meadow
on a summers day.

Where Have They Gone

When I was a bit of a boy
I’d sit on Daddy’s knee
And ask great questions.
Where is the end of the rainbow?
Is there a pot of gold?
And do the wee people really exist?
But most of all I wondered
What has happened to the magical beasties
Of our hearts and minds?
Those horn’d little steeds
Belongin’ to another age,
Lost to us since the flood
But ever present in our thoughts,
Where have they gone?
Hushed forever are the echoes of the piper
Playin’ beneath the moon
As unicorns dance.
No more do great hunters watch in awe
As herds pass by
In silent run.
No more the fair maidens
Do they charm,
Or graze in woodland glades
With peace and calm.
Where hides this creature
That mere thought gives us smile?
Are they gone for good
Or only in a child’s mind?
Daddy listen!
I hear brayin’ in the wind,
But Daddy’s gone
And I still search for the unicorn.

The Dog And The Man

Sofia Duchess of Muscovy 6/24/92-5/27/08 *

In Memory of a Loyal Friend.

As a boy, I had several dogs to romp and play with,
And then later in life, to remember in fondness.
There was Rusty and Scamp,
Companions of my childhood.
Lady and Bonnie Gay Heather,
The friends of my teenage years.
With love and affection they followed my every youthful move.
Every boy should have a dog to remember as a man.
Almost thirty years passed,
Until another spirit of the wild would come into my life,
And she brought all the comfort of my youth
With the pleasure of my age.
Every man should have a dog to bring out the boy.
Fifteen years of unselfish and unconditional love
Has left a hole in my heart by her passing.
I see her soft blue eyes in the fading light of evening
And feel her head upon my lap when all seems lost
From the burdens of the day.
Her memory greets me at the door
As tho she still waits expectantly.
I feel her brush upon my leg in passing
As I walk about the house
Missing her gentle love and faithful trust.
Even in her death,
She gives me comfort and love,
Whisper softly,
“Miss you Sof”.

*A Big Thank You to Kathleen Briggs who painted the portrait of Sofia.
Portrait In Pastels…pets and people.
To obtain more info add comment for information.

Time For…

Christmas is the time for remembering,
It’s the time for all those hidden thoughts of days gone by
And all those dreams that might have been.
Christmas is the time to recall friends of the past
And times shared in moments of warmth and joy.
It’s what makes the rest of the year worthwhile
Or life more bearable.
Christmas, a word that brings forth smells of bread and cakes,
Of wood smoke and pine boughs
Or Granddad’s pipe.
A time for choirs and carols,
Bells and steeples,
For snow and ice,
Grandeur and a humble stable,
A moment of peace in a world of turmoil,
A brief period, when all turn to noble thoughts,
A Holy Season of a Child’s birth.
Christmas, the perfect plan for life.

Beyond

Rejoice,
Silently Christmas approaches.
That Spirit filled time
When humankind united,
Turns to thoughts of peace and joy.
It comes,
Like the first one,
Without orchestras,
Slogans and jingles,
But humbly,
Softly,
Foretold and awaited.
Join with me,
Pray with me,
That this Advent
Will last beyond the tree and glitter,
Beyond the gift and tinsel,
Beyond the ringing bells,
Beyond the tears,
Till the Lamb rules us
“One and all.”

The Feast

The white mantle of Winter’s robe descends
Upon the frozen land.
Grey clouds adorn the crown of earth
As the chill of day
Rides the wind.
My heart is a blaze,
As tho the center of the Yuletide feast,
Raging with sparks of joy
And kindl’d by desire.
Come close,
Be warmed,
The hall is filled with merriment,
The keep in boughs of green.
Let us drink the toast together,
Unite our voices in laughter,
Entwine our hearts in the Season,
And go forth as one.

The Wish

There is a story told ’round fires bright,
Of an ancient birth, which was to set the world right.
But due to man’s inhumanity to man,
Turmoil ruled throughout the land.
So in that Spirit of the birth of old
May I wish you a season and a year of gold,
Blest with love, faith and humanity.
This I pray to God, in all sincerity.

The Eve 1973

I bow my head in prayer and ask the Father of us all for guidance.
It is the Eve of the most hallowed day in all of Christendom, and I am alone.
He was born among us, then died among us,
Yet He too was alone when forsaken.
The choir sings its anthem as flames of candles dance,
Casting light upon the humble congregation.

Where is the future?
Where is my new birth?

Whisper softly, “Merry Christmas.”

Christmas 1995

Years ago,
Lost in the haze of time,
Stuck between graduation and Viet Nam,
I changed.
Yet in the vast scheme of life,
During Christmas,
I find myself again.
What a magical time,
A Holy time
Of Spiritual birth and re-birth.
Wish it would last forever,
For there is no pain
At Christmas.

The End

Somewhere across the void of time,
I left behind the soul of my existence,
And with the lonely lost feeling I experience
within my heart,
I know I will die.

I dream of a silent, unending death
of contentment, a sublime peace,
but mine will be a violent end,
struggling to the last in search
to find what I am made of
and what my purpose serves?

You the passing traveler use my thoughts
and life as a game.
A game to satisfy your beliefs,
to satisfy the continual movement of your
blind pattern,
thru a maze of destined hope.

I will be dead
before you knew I lived.

Simply Hard

It is the simplest task,

to love.

But the hardest task,

to find.

Night

Gentle night, quiet blackness,
Close friend of my youth,
Approach, as you have so often,
Unannounced.
Sliding into all the corners of my day,
Capturing beams of light,
Till you enfold yourself about me,
Touching my being with a caress of peace,
An embrace of solitude,
As if you wanted and needed me.

Footsteps

The night has been long
And somewhere off in the East
The morning light hovers
Out of sight.
Here the evening is dark and cold.
My tears make a storm
As I lie alone.
I listen for those familiar footsteps
Of my youth,
But only silence
Greets my ears.

Morning

Rub the sleep from your eyes,
Night is banished.
The hour has come.
Sent from a most Holy place,
A willow wind blows through the nodding firs,
And a new day is conceived.
In the westward sky,
A star makes it journey
Leaving a blazing path in the lofty fall.
To the East,
Glows the crimson announcement
Of a far greater glory arising to meet the heavens.
It’s happening,
Amid the chorus song of birds,
Amid the silent yawn of flowers,
Morning awakens.