Thanksgiving Message

Vulture“Thanksgiving Message”

One cannot be so generous in war.
Our Bird’s analogy; his bold account,
compares this siege of Syrians to shore
as long ago our Puritans did mount!

Our enemy now interweaves their tread
with innocent, who, striving to be free,
must mock us with their ugly whore,  instead,
so filled with all her manner of deceit.

The Caliph sees no borders from his horse
deceptive as the Trojan War drum rolls.
See history repeat with deadly course
as refugees rush borders to cajole.

Comes answer, sly, suggesting Syrian vet.
Obama knows no record’s there to get.

“Waiting For the Morn”

seagulls-flying-26933029“Waiting for the Morn”

Morning lifts
my dark curtain of night;
sea-gulled and wing’ed;
warm satin bright.
She’ll scatter the dust
of a billion stars
grace sweeping the universe
here to Mars.

Copyright, Jacqueline Casey, 2012.  All Rights Reserved.

“Between Two Worlds”

“Between Two Worlds”

Though heaven’s place is grace-filled for the soul,
my heart still hovers, halting, near this earth.
Unless you,  only love , were there to hold,
my courage dare not leap beyond this berth.

My life has need for your familiar ground.
I want no more than comfort from your kiss.
You are the warming soul my arms surround.
A quiet bliss; I want no more than this.

If other orbs contain such shining light
seen glowing from the depth of your kind eyes,
then bravely I might take that unknown flight
to worlds where I still hear your gentle sighs.

For now, my cautious heart must harbor here
where you, my love, are heaven to be near.

The Clown

RainThe Clown

And so the old town clock is winding down.
It’s time to leave the party; say goodbye.
Some souls would rather stay and play the clown.
His fantasies go deep and so he sighs.

He thinks he’s Bogie; somewhere there’s still life.
He’s lonely; haunts the bars for his Bacall.
She’s blonde and does not look much like his wife.
“Hey, better you should go before you fall!”

The bar-keep opens creaking door to vent
the hours of smoke and conversation stale.
A pale and misty rain the mornings sent
so, for this clown, a cabby he must hale.

The blazing light still shocks. He’s out the door…
He knows its time to go before it’s four.


“He’s Back”

Snow“He’s Back”

The rustle of cold colors whirl and shout

and in their dance, a warning to revere.

A halo’s on the mountain tops about

and breezy waves of solemn shades appear.

Soft yellows made among gray clouds, aloft

and whisper to the shiv`ring wintry scene:

“I am the cold, blue howl that bellows oft

and scurries down your icy, trickling stream”.

Then comes insanity; bold groans below

among  the forest faces painted white.

I hear the branch’s thoughts that break; bestow

a heaviness of heart in fading light.

Here burns the ghost of winter’s bleak return;

repetitive, yet for our souls we yearn.

“Cradle Song”

A BabyPainting by Berthe Morisot, 1872

“Cradle Song”

A sleeping baby girl; she slumbers here.
Her breathless mother watches as she dreams.
Her tiny mouth moves just to share the air.
In twinkling innocence her young face beams.

Her baby’s here; her sleeping star is near
and mother listens for the slightest sounds
as all the world is silent just to hear
each moment as her beating heart resounds.

Her child is here; her precious daughter sleeps
and all the realm of nature could not best
this miracle awaiting as she peeps;
the gentle murmur of her babe at rest.

Outshines the stars, this being full of grace
as mother rocks her cradle mid the lace.

The Rescue of Dryopteris


“The Rescue of Dryopteris”

An afterthought, I took
broken pot
and held her. Barely does she sigh.

Partially dead, I shook
what was not
held deeply in her branches dry.

“Still a trace of life’s green”
she whispered,
faintly audible to my ears.

Water-misted her clean;
tear drops heard
as she began to shed her fears.

Dryopteris, she screams
and she sings!
Her leaves are reaching for the sky.

And then my garden beams
returns that love back to her eyes.

Tri-fall Poem- abc,abc- 638/638