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”.

Veteran Poets

 

Bright, sunlit banners wave as soldiers march.

As Francis Ledwidge, Irishman, parades,

The sight and sound of laughter fill the air:

“To war!” The drumbeat stirs all hearts to share.

 

Bold men are damned yet ready for the dare.

Brave men, for glory, stepping forth as one

as Wilfred Owen’s ‘Artist Rifles’ share;

as Robert Graves, ‘Goodbye To All’, declares.

 

Their family and parents cheer as well.

The goodbye girls wave hankies in the air

as hurried hugs abound, excitement swells

before reality meets deep despair.

 

Oh, ra-ta-tat, the gleeful drums abound

before the sound of bullets split the air.

Sigfried Sassoon of Royal Fusiliers

gives up Owen prior to the Armistice.

 

And, Rosenberg still writes among the dead

before he’s buried with them in a trench.

As Isaac speaks for all, his soul will rest;

his poems on scraps of paper mid the stench.

 

Gray throngs of people slow to ghostly swirl

and float above the fog in fate’s mirage.

The young and hopeful heart, his body hurled

lies stripped of gaiety mid this cortege.

 

The veteran, with courage, harp and fife

survives the battle has the hardest write

for he remembers faces filled with worms

and frozen eyes who’ve lost their warmer light.

 

The poet’s name now writ upon a stone.

The ink, now dry, describes his final line.

Reverse his boots upon a saddled horse;

Slow roll of drums, now distant, heard no more.

The Choice

The best of dancers ruined by a host

of other loves that to the heart may call.

Some choices must be made or not at all.

The dance too brief ; the song may end for most

and fly away from splendor of romance.

Crescendo reached and still the dance she owns.

Life is too short to settle, oh, for less.

Eshoo the heart; don’t make the dreadful choice!

Her soul now hovers.  Grief is like a plow

that pushes every goal to here and now.

 

(Was watching the Movie, “The Red Shoes” when I wrote this.  The agony of being forced to make a choice between two over-whelming loves can drive one mad.)

The Mending

overgrown house

My world abandoned, Nature makes amends.

A wild confusion grows at my front door.

The mutterings of children heard no more.

Beneath her gnarled roots a sallow floor.

 

Vines grab the windows once held curtain’s sway.

With ghostly tread, cold silence roves her halls.

No more the scent of Jasmine blossom calls.

What mystery escapes these stucco walls?

 

What place is this once held such loveliness?

Mad roots now rave and overrun my past.

They strangle wistful longings of the heart

and love’s become a stranger for my part.

 

I hear the moan; that suffocating tease.

My past grows pale; the withered vine my frieze.

An End to Eden

“An End To Eden”Eve

Eve offered it to Adam: “Take a bite!”

Meanwhile, the devil wormed his slimy way

into the apple’s core and out of sight.

“Hey, Eve, where did you find this fruit today?”

“My friend, the snake, said ‘eat it’ and I did.”

As Eve complained her stockings had a run,

poor Adam tasted evil that was hid.

They say the silkworm had such enterprise

as silk became the fashion of the day

to cost poor Adam all his daily pay.

Oh, Eden’s lost!  Our hero’s doomed they say

when Eve did stitch a fig leaf round his bay.

 

 

“The Gift”

How may I give you

my unconditional love?

Pent-up, it is difficult.

Placed in this small box

it presses hard and escapes

this tsunami in my soul.

The Sodoka (a pair of Katauka) is a single poem which may address the same subject from different perspectives.  It consists of 2 to 3 line Katauka, the syllabic pattern 5,7,7.
Image I was using was a pair of hands holding a small, wrapped package.
 

 

 

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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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!)

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

 

IMG_20141215_211007_1

(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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