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

dig
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

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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The Flowers of the Field

Photo by Priceless Times PhotographySiyah with Dad

“The Flowers of the Field”

The reach within your baby hands so sweet

make father want to hold back ticking time

but even you, my child , are forced to meet

a different kind of father in this rhyme.

He’s called old Time and steals your innocence

Allows your golden play be thrown away.

You’ll not recall this moment with your Dad.

Time’s jealousy will steal and cause decay.

For now, a trust and love for father’s grace.

For now, your world is safe within his arms.

Within this moment is the safest place.

A moment, stilled, with all its poignant charm.

Yet, all the flowers of the field we know

must yet begin to stretch and then to grow.

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 with bitterness of soul,


among the frost and starry branches bare,

remember warm your humor I still 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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Remember Us

“Remember Us”

Like pictures on a screen in seconds, lost

or blips upon a monitor turn long

old memories are flown with deadly cost:

as quarks may separate eternal song.

The picture caught though words may flutter by

though hole is in my net and so I sigh.

A set of words surround my broken thought

say: “You and I” when, clearly, love is sought.

Before our memory may grab stale air

Before time takes the brain and makes a mush

Before the hurt that makes us want to share

Before the mind’s become a muddy lush;

inscribe upon some stone where century

from now our love survives for all to see.

Haiku for Lovers (photo by Robert Doisneau)

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.