eyes move
random patterns
searching the dark solitude
within a breath
staccato flashes
ol lights
add forte
to night’s last lullaby
moonlit clouds part
to reveal
a statuesque figure
in a death pose
just beyond the perimeter
a jacal calls to its mate
but there is
no answer
nor shall there be
for anyone
when war
sings its song

thinking or arleen..

thinking of arleen

how many times
can we say
to the dreams
we held so dear
cornerstones of belief
that have proven
to be
no more
lies well told
how are we to face
the new day
when the sun
does not shine through
the clouds of fear
is it
that a song
of job

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guardian angel…

guardian angel

aunt bea
was sitting
on the back porch
humming an old gospel hymn
the words
as i recall
seem older
than most beliefs
an internal harmony
with the world
every creature
that breathes
the kind of song
that gives rise
to visions
of the true glory
and meaning
of this brief interlude
we call life
i felt the stress of the day
melt away
be replaced by
a sense of wealth
not the kind
you can spend
it was
the kind that gives
to just being
i hesitated
to interrupt her
she softly said
doesn’t that


an uncomfortable waiting period…

composite image cwmartin

when pain
is deep
into the bones
there is no
other thought
than death
the joy of
bright-eyed children
shared sympathies
are as empty
as the promises
made over
cheap wine
menthol cigarettes
in a conference bar
far from home
and family
where vacant blue eyes
attempt to refocus
on the conversation
and the reason
for it in the first place
just as you try now
to refocus on life
but the pain
the pain
stops each refrain
of the song
of life

the song…

long before war
grief’s tears
there was a land
a land
hate or envy
a place
of peace and joy
a paradise
where everyone
sang a song
a song
with just one word
but all these things changed
when one word
was added
to the song
love me

a lost song…

not one feather
ruffled or out of place
no visible signs of distress
all your colors still bright
as if resting from flight
beside the road
and for one moment
i thought you would fly
but you had lost your song
and so i wonder
my little friend
why you should be here
did your lover break your heart
so badly that it just stopped
were you poisoned
by the promises of friends
thus draining your life spirit
or did you hear the dying cries
of your brothers and sisters
of air and sea
struggling in the gulf
and your heart
just burst with sadness

image for a valentine’s aftermath…


she would sing to you a night song
but she has forgotten
the words
and she is uncertain about the tune
so she might speak to you
if she can but
recall what words to speak
or perhaps she shall only stare
at you
and hope that you can feel her thoughts
as you can feel the warmth
of her hands
against the base of your neck



This is the second poem that grew out of a question posed by Mirella about Valentine’s Day. Vist her blog!