Volume One
The plan for this blog is to place my poetic things in the comment sections for the posts.
I haven’t worked out all of the details but the starting idea is to use the post like a table of contents. That way each post will be like a little book and I can organize things better that way.It seems like a sensible way to use the technology but it could turn into one of those “Gee. It seemed like a good idea at the time?” sort of thing. Nothing to do but give it a try, see what happens, learn and adapt.
1. A reflection of Her Mother
2. A reflection of Joe’s Buddy
3. Dreaming in the Stream
4. Beat of Flame Among the Mist
5. One Heart
6. Flight
7. Hearts of Touch
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1. “A Reflection of Her Mother”
A timeless quilt from long ago.
How many have felt its warming glow?
It wraps the heart in bundled pleasure;
forever cherished, this precious treasure.
A thing so fleeting, yet made to last.
Through generations, it has been passed.
Each gentle passing an added square.
Each soul it’s touched, stitched in with care.
That timeless quilt, so soft, so snug.
True love’s embrace.
A mother’s hug.
(This was a response to the piece “Hugs” in overthemoon.)
On that day when youth met melancholy,
when joyous youth met with sad refrain.
That day when youth met with its finale.
That day when plane met with frozen plain.
First a humble start, “Blue Days, Black Nights”,
soon souls were freed with his magic way.
The souls of youth soaring at great heights,
then blackest night met with bluest day.
The souls of youth stamped on small black plates,
around and around, ring around ring.
So many circles; so many fates.
They put needle to circle just to hear him sing.
Why must youth always end with such a crash
that creates who we are and ends who we’ve been?
Why bury joy of youth in such a cold white ash?
They put needle to circle; he made young souls spin.
On that day when youth met melancholy,
when joyous youth met with sad refrain.
On that first blue day hearing Buddy Holly
and the joy of youth mixed with loss and pain.
(This was a response to “They fell from the sky” in Pagans don’t wear sandals.”)
Perchance to dream.
Perchance to dream.
The writer’s words whisper and scream.
The writer writes.
Both bleeds and heals.
The reader reads, the reader feels.
The writer writes.
The reader reads.
And deep within, some hidden needs.
Perchance to dream
Perchance to dream
The writer’s words, more than they seem…
And when
the writer’s words do flow.
The words
can paint
a winter scene
of snow!
Look there!
The horse’s stance!
The readers caught
by chance
entranced.
The words
tell all the scene
and fill the screen.
Come feel the snow.
So bright.
So clean
Just feel
the biting chill.
The icy thrill
no other pill
can fill
Frozen images
Verbal packages
Feel warm!
The horses stalled.
Your past recalled.
The readers pause
enthralled
Caught up
upon the web,
until,
the writer’s words
do ebb.
Perchance to dream
Perchance to dream
A constant flow, a constant theme
The readers seek
a lonely breed.
The writer stands as valiant steed.
The writers heal.
The readers bleed.
The ebb and flow, this ever need.
And so it goes
within this stream.
And all partake…
Perchance to dream.
(Posted as a comment in overthemoon.)
A flame of hope it burns this night;
a pulse of hearts, the moon, the light.
The sound of drums, the scent in breeze;
a candle’s light among the trees.
An endless ring that wraps as one,
the circle’s beat warms as the sun.
The love in light is passed in turns.
The troubles slip, the hope it burns.
Among the mist…
the world, it learns.
A group as one beats out the light.
A flame of hope it burns this night
(A drum circle piece posted at Celtic Mist’s blog "To Go Beyond")
There is a moment…
when it begins.
It’s that moment when
you end the past
and leave behind
what you have been.
That moment when
you feel that spark…
and your unknown future starts.
When between two beats…
your past departs.
And two single beats…
become One Heart.
At that one moment…
when it begins.
You must make the choice
to end your past
and go with those feelings
from deep within.
If there are two…
and both feel that spark…
and their unknown future starts;
if between two beats…
their past departs.
Then two single beats…
can become One Heart.
Some people will search for all their lives
and never find that day.
While others have it in their hands,
then throw it all away.
But when there are two…
who feel that spark…
and both can let the past depart,
Then between two beats…
their love does start
and two single beats…
become One Heart.
At that one moment…
when love begins.
At that magic time;
that double spark;
both far beyond
what each had been.
Now sharing joy
and sharing pain…
whether near
or far apart.
When both feel that spark…
and their past departs
In between two beats…
that’s when their True Love starts.
The two single beats…
become One Heart.
Two beats…
One Heart…
One Love…
One Heart…
One Heart.
Slan agat, Celtic Mist
Slivers of Innocence
Have you ever needed to make
The shape of a sound
With innocent, yet frightened eyes?
Watching frozen, as hands come hammering down
Into the child cradled deep within
Have it torn from what once was whole
To be left with only a sliver of innocence?
This rung that is clung to now is but an earthly paradox
What once was a giver of life
Closes its wings around me
And the taking of it surrounds me.
All that remains are just slivers of innocence
Casting shadows upon this soul
Pieces no longer appearing before me
Unable to make it whole.
Slan agat, Celtic Mist (CM)
For somebody who can’t write poetry you seem to write a lot of poetry and I bet most of the readers of your blog would disagree with you about your poetic abilities and you must have connected with your readers with this poem.
I am still trying to work out the details about the organization of this blog and how to group things together. And some things that I have posted elsewhere have a context that is important to the meaning and they might not transport well into this blog. But I suppose all written things are like that; of a time and a place so maybe I shouldn’t be concerned about it.
The “One Heart” piece has a more musical nature to it than some of the other stuff in this volume. There was a tune to it that was going on in my head as I wrote it and I hear that tune whenever I read it. So I may need a volume that is music related but the tunes aren’t in the real world, just there in my head within the words.
OY
6. “Flight”
As dragon lies
as darkened skies
as shadows past
and wintered cries
As search of night
As wings of flight
in huddled wrap
protected plight
As ever near
of distant fear
and silent pleas
dense atmosphere
As long ago
as ice of snow
in dragon grasps
for light and glow
As breath of flame
for future’s claim
As dragon’s light
burns out the blame
As peace deliver
As moon of sliver
As touch of heart
As mist and giver
As words as one
As wings in sun
As hope and light
As flight begun
As airborne kite
As newborn flight
As dragonfly
As beauty’s light
(Response to CM poem)
The gentle hearts of touch through light
they move within the minded place
and soothe, console, and calm, excite
to weave the hearts of interlace.
In wander time of souls of dearth
in wonder time of lonely earth
the gentle hearts who seek the worth
of lonely hearts who seek rebirth.
These tapestries of silken thread,
so softly tucked and overlapped,
weave images of arms outspread
and visions of the hearts enrapt.
In wander time of souls through space,
in lonely time,
dark day or night,
some move within…
as minded grace…
as gentle hearts…
of touch through light.
n.
I needed a place to put a few things so I started this blog.
OY