The Garden

Field of Flowers

The Garden

Imagine all the love our lives enclose

 if placed within walled garden’s memory.

There gently falls the rain where grows the rose

as droplets tremble in the wind and flee.

A wondrous world with rain-bowed colors blown

‘neath places in the sun where true things grow.

So be our rose whose petals now are flown

yet youth and passion’s heart remain and glow.

Oh, love’s true colors want to beam and breathe.

She grows, undying,  in green bowers where

her petals show a bold, bright destiny

so wild,  her vines are willing yet to share.

And our imagined rose, forever free

remains within our garden’s memory.

 

 

“There May Be Dragons”

Photo by Jacqueline Casey

There may be dragons in that soul-less flight

where harpies;  hovering aloft her bed,

born of a spell that chills the wicked night

and winters in her heart some unknown dread.

There may be dragons in the hate-filled gloom:

a whistling as the icy wind now drones.

As thundering is heard; impending doom

may crack the branches of the empire’s thrones.

Oh, seek to know the reason they are here.

The slow roll and the glaring eyes proclaim

love’s mated with a devil’s crushing leer.

There’s mystery; their birth is foreordained.

There may be dragons in the frozen night

as all those kingdoms hold their breath in fright.

 

(this poem influenced by “Game of Thrones”…)

 

 

“Mother Eclipse”

Solar Eclipse August 21, 2017.

Mother Eclipse

The morning doves now pause their cooing, grand!
The infant’s little lids close heavily.
All nature yawns at fading of their land
while green has turned to black too instantly!

How must our father’s fore us felt when torn:
their brightest sun is sprinkled on black leaves.
Like little half-moons dance about the morn
convince him of a dark eternity.

Forever gone, man’s mother-light has left:
she hides in darkness, cold, their world up-ends!
And falling to their knees, their heart’s bereft
as blackness shakes their bones and leaves no friend.

“Oh, light of all our life, please with us stay
as from your breast our universal sway.”

“How To Write A Sonnet”

How To Write A Sonnet

The miracle of birth when words do sing.
The hungry mouth so round from out its shell.
Stout voices from the nest may try their wings.
Newborns and rocking horses may rebel.

I am not made of steel”, the riddle plays:
“A magic song is soft and full of sighs”.
My bonnet, as it tilts and then sashays,
I’ll grab the golden ring before it flies.

And as his nostrils flare; we gallop round.
Calliope’d,  his pipes now spin and turn.
My pen becomes a dagger ‘fore he bounds;
escapes my inner critic ‘fore he burns.

For love of form, some well might offer scorn
but from my heart a sonnet, sure, is borne.

 

 

 

The Hankering

field-of-dreams

“The Hankering”

Then suddenly September rain comes down.
The green peas whisper to the thirsty corn:
“New seasons yearn before your silk turns brown.
Some nameless hand will bend you one dark morn!”

From Miller’s Pub, our hero drains his beer.
His dream: to leave this red-clay country life.
But not before the dinner bell will steer
a thirst and hunger back to waiting wife.

“Oh, Maudie, do ya hear the crushing claim
of wind that rushes through our restless stalks?”
Old Maud is deaf; can only feel the train
that shakes and rattles dishes as he talks.

The railroad curves avoiding corn and peas.
The train sweeps, weeping past old Walt’s disease.

 

A Frosty Love

 

It seems I’ve lost my way amidst your chill.

Was only yesterday our love abloom

but your intemperance a wanton spill

of words as cold and listless as the tomb.

I’ve wasted quite away from your cold draft.

A sullen gray has settled on my head

and you, your frozen pauses, seem quite daft.

My heart endangered by your talk, instead.

Oh, rose of romance, bent amid the drift

I pray the sun will waken this cold trend.

Will love , now lost before your sullen shift

be gone and dead and never come again? 

A warmer, kinder glance, a tilt or phrase

might yet, my icy sadness, you erase. 

 

“All The Beautiful Young Men”

300px-Into_the_Jaws_of_Death_23-0455M_edit
June 6, 1944 Landing craft at Omaha Beach.

“All the Beautiful, Young Men”

I see the beauty in their brave-lit eyes.

At Omaha, it is their shining hour.

The camera’s caught the gray of early dawn.

Men stand; committed to a greater power.

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

No turning back ; this is no time for pause.

Momentum made and like the muscle torn

from out its place , it is for raging cause.

“Oh, captain! I have done my duty now.

I’ve given you my soul and this bold heart.

I’ve nothing more to offer or endow.

As water takes my body, I depart.”

War, then, would strip bravado from their smile;

our young men gone in such a little while.

(copyright, Jacqueline Casey 2013)

“Adrift, Upon the Lee”

free-wiki-Max_Jensen_Großes_Marinestück-seascape-640-pxAdrift, Upon the Lee”

My soul’s adrift; her spirit lost to wind.

I’m tossed and vainly seek a safer lee.

I pull the anchor chain and with it send

my heart a-flutter, full-blown, out to sea.

My boat has ample weight yet she is trim.

She dreams of color and a high romance

with sun and wind and frothy water’s brim

across a deck that cherishes the dance.

But I am ghostly silent.  Lethargy

and fear within my muggy heart resides.

No compass; no direction do I see.

My stern into a darker water glides.

Oh, save us from that whore; my soul set free,

or else this landlubber; this poet, bleed.

 

Fish Fantasy

Fish Fantasy

Upon this beach, the people saunter by.
Idyllic children play at water’s edge.
The warm wind blows its foam into my eyes.
My heavy heart sinks silent from this ledge.

But, lo! my body; buoyed by the salt,
forgets. My mind now slips its bony cage.
Free floating, spiny blob.  I’m fish, default
as once defined me in some ancient age.

I’m orca, splashing through his innocence.
Suspended, I am Pisces lost to shore.
Steered by my fins, I search with rounded lens.
I’m free…no more aerobic carnivore!

But suddenly… old Triton blows his hornorca
and I am banished; back to shoreline borne.