Poet's Corner

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Poet's Corner

A brief collection of writing that leans a bit toward poetry...

Enjoy!

The Dance

The gods do not bestow gifts lightly

Sitting atop the mountain.

Orchestrating man.

Selfish with pleasures.

Offering only here and there a glimpse;

The longed for state

Few achieve and fewer enjoy.

But when it happens the gods focus their energy,

Gathering clouds, wreaking havoc,

Replaying the trials of Job,

A handful of souls slip past,

Lightly stepping from beneath the cloud,

Venturing forth.

Rare souls all

And rarer still two spirits,

Seeing the other.

Recognizing the kindred.

Knowing the reflected.

And capturing a moment,

The reprise of the Ancient Song,

Again dance in the sunlight.

The Muse

She sleeps--the muse who guides my words.

And I await,

Questioning the place in which I stand,

Without language to paint the pictures of my dreams.

She rests--the keeper of palette and paint.

And I linger,

Perplexed that the strokes of color,

Remain out of reach.

She slumbers--the guardian of voice and setting.

And I tarry,

Confused that one who was so close,

Lingers in the shadows.

She stirs--the protector of all that speaks.

And I envision,

A moment of promise when inspiration,

And design again come together.

She breathes--the defender of wisdom and hope.

And I exalt,

The return of words and visions, ideas and dreams,

At last returning to fuel my passion.

She inspires--the curator of my soul.

And I enthused,

Lay pen to paper, brush to paint,

And together we compose a symphony of possibility.

THE VAULT

It glows with colors,

Warm, gentle, open.

And then the vault opens

Silently, the door sliding

With a whispered whoosh.

One by one from out the door

The steel ribbons unfold,

Seeking their target.

Sliding up, one envelopes the pulsing red.

Another enfolds the radiant green.

A third wraps round the electric blue,

Again and again,

Over and over,

Until nothing shows. Nothing glows.

Cold steel replaces the warmth.

And slowly the steely ribbons retract,

Drawing in that which no longer shows,

Into the vault.

Doors close.

Whisper.

Click. All locked away.

No warmth.

No light.

No color.

No air.

No need

My heart.

She wonders

She wonders if he'll ever see

The love he let pass by

Will he wake alone some night

And weep and wonder why

He let her walk from out his life

He didn't hold her fast

He let slip by his other half

He thought that he could last

A lifetime without love to hold

And cradle through the night

The woman of his dreams she was

And yet she drifted to the right

Of where perfection lay, and still

He wonders where it goes

The love he didn't grasp for life

The love a dreamer knows.

This day is good to run away.

Where we should go, I cannot say.

Perhaps a walk along the beach

In search of shells, all within reach.

Or spend a day without the mire

of daily life-- beside the fire.

And see amid the glowing embers

All the things the heart remembers.

When at last the night grows colder

Curl up on a willing shoulder.

To talk of all the hopes and dreams,

Repeated thoughts, recurrent themes.

And finally the night does come,

We hear the gentle, quiet hum

of waves that serve to wash away

The things that came before this day.