Shadows In a Song

Some Shadows murmur to us from our past;

Some linger, singing in the misty dark.

They’re mournful memories, relentless cast

away with rhythmic beat and loss of heart.

Our song most over now that George is gone.

“He changed the world”_ a daughter’s wistful moan.

A stirring of the light among the leaves

and he has left a sigh. His day has flown.

Oh, deeper than our well of being _ dark!

From deepest depths we hear again his voice.

And we’ve no need to listen to the lark

who hurries through the trees. He has his choice!

I’m here. I hear the sadness in your call:

“I cannot breathe. Oh, Mother, help us all”.

Sahara

The setting sun now breaks my drifting dream

and threads that needle to my passion’s flight

resplendent in its dignity, our scene

compels imagination with delight.

The fading sun now cools to lighter air

and calm, our camels rock the dusty swells.

A steamy haze along horizon’s flare

where desert’s dying colors cannot dwell.

Sahara maze, mysterious and stark.

Intrigued, I hasten to his silken tent.

I hurry to my soul in evenings dark.

We coast in caravans of eons spent.

Slow burn and then the quickened, bold desire

as when Sahara sands alight with fire.

Papi and Me

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Photo by Carol J. Lee

I like my dog because he looks like me.

He’s patient, kind and has no silly whims.

He is the type we both aspire to be.

I dress myself accommodating him.

His love for me not based upon a selfish yearn.

If I forget to fill his water dish,

he comes to me with silent eyes that burn.

He stares, expectant, with disquiet wish.

His needs are often met with urgent bark

His wagging tail a gracious symphony

Much happiness begins at doggy park 

as both of us are suddenly set free.

He likes to walk; I like to talk.  We find

we’re birds-of-feather with communal mind. 

“The End of Love”

credit: Dreamstime.com

“The End of Love”

That end to our emotions mixed with doubt.
That chill is in the air and she’s a thief.
Her danse macabre comes with September’s rout
when green things turn and wither with relief.

When colors drunk with abnormality
cry out; their bloody cost then tossed to ground.
Their voices hushed. Dry, crackled brevity.
Plain-parted things, their dust cannot be found.

Forgotten now.  Dead thought without a trace.
And no one may recall our summer bloom.
That part of us inflamed with our embrace
now cold; dispersed to darker, solemn gloom.

Oh, dance, dear heart, before our final year;
before our fateful day brings winter’s sere.

 

 

jacquelinecaseypoetry.com

stamen“The Meeting”

If we should meet another time, my heart

when we depart this world and travel far,

remember how the looks between us start

us to another place among the stars.

Our love a pensive gaze; a sparkling shower

of light where we embrace the need of each.

Like shiv`ring tendrils of some stamen’s flower,

we cherish all such warmth within our reach.

Departed from this place, we may be hurled

into a starless night beyond belief.

Love’s consciousness then absent from that world

where caring has no sense to cause us grief.

Still, in that deeper night, our souls set free

I will be searching yet, for thee…for thee.

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For All The Beautiful, Young Men

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“For All the Beautiful, Young Men”

I see the courage in their brave-lit eyes

as Omaha becomes their shining hour.

The camera’s caught the morning’s gray, dull skies.

Men wait; committed with the bravest power.

The ramp now opens; there’s the glint of morn.

There is no turning back; no time to pause.

Momentum made and like a muscle torn_ 

yanked from its place_ they move for raging cause.

“Oh, captain! we’ve been born across the sea.

We’ve given you our soul and then our heart. 

We’ve nothing more to offer in this hell.

As water takes our forces, we depart.”

Our beautiful young men with bravest smile;

our heroes lost in such a little while.

 

(4,000 lost at Omaha landing that day!)

For Johnny

 

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(Photo by Jacqueline Casey)

“For Johnny”

When silver leaves sigh, trembling to the ground
a brilliant gold is sprinkled everywhere.
Sure, then I hear your laughter mid the sound
of steps that shuffle up abandoned stair.

When scarlet leaves dance, hesitant to part
lay deep in dusty shadows, they intone
and whisper “I have been here where my heart
knows sad farewell to memories we’ve known”.

When days grow short and bitter is my soul

among the frost and starry branches bare,
remember warm your humor I may hold
before the light grows dull to dark despair.
 

Once more I sense your autumn presence where,
among the jeweled leaves, you’re smiling there.

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Martin’s Dream

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

Martin’s Dream

I fall into the blackest hole in space
my soul now travels through the darkest scene;
a foreign place where there’s no time or grace.
I move through tunnels of relentless scream.

A message from my minister of flight:
“From swirling depths you’re not allowed escape.
And you will fall forever out of sight.
It’s written here for relevance of hate:

You broke the rules! Your punishment will end
when darkness turns to morning’s crashing fuss;
when love’s the rule regardless of the win
and Rosa sits beside you on the bus.”

The clatter of my clock begins to sing
as Monday calls all sinners to its ring.

 

 

 

Changes

Michael storm“Changes”

A summer’s day when all of nature grins
turns vixen when the wind begins to blow.
Then all her shiny leaves fall in a spin
while in her waters lurk bold undertow.

When nature’s beauty turns from sprinkled rain
to monsters of intense, repeated roar
an angry, churning beast may cause us pain
as all our roots upturn from nature’s floor.

 
So slight the sound; that aftermath of storm.
A blanket smothers all the torn terrain
and silent lies the land; a sight forlorn;
and gray as potter’s clay she may remain.

Bold nature cries “No Mercy!” as she reigns
nor words to challenge who made such a change.

“Bang, Bang”

 

She stood outside the window looking in;

Her parents and the colored lights recall

a celebration known as Christmas when

all hearts are light and people’s cares are small.

She stood outside the window looking in

but dare not leave the shadows. There’s a pause;

her hair entwined with twigs; her knee is skinned.

Her lips are bruised ; new boots are scraped with claws.

Four schoolboys offer her a ride that night.

Her devastation comes from shame within; 

she cannot face their laughter and her fright

has frozen her emotions with her sin.

Age fourteen, her naivete now dead;

her girlhood’s over; older life now led.

(Age of this true story: many years.  Yes, she remembers every detail.  Reason for not reporting:  “they would never have believed me against the 4 of them.”  Remembering that time in history, she was probably correct.  Damned if you tell and damned if you don’t.  Is a new age coming? We need to teach our daughters how to better fight back against abuse.  There is an old Nancy Sinatra song, “Bang, Bang” that is so poignant (1966).  Women have been victims too long.  Maybe we can start teaching our young how to fight back and survive without being murdered in a cornfield in the future.)