1/ Glide on
My surface
says
The water.
I will welcome
You as a mother
Does a child.
2/ Outline me says
The cloud,
And the light
Acquiesces.
3/ Walk through me
says
The breeze,
And the body
obeys.
4/ Listen to me
Says the universe
And the mind
listens
With all its heart.
A horse bolts
Across a distant fenced horizon,
Like a maned, muscled
Zipper,
Separating blue sky
From pastured green.
The Boatman
has grown thin
He has shaved his head and beard,
limbs are very slight.
And he is wearing rolled up pants
a kin to Gandhi.
He plays his ancient
Oar and mandolin
With an even greater passion
Seen only
In his eyes and
Quickly nimble fingers.
As he plays an eastern tune
by a placid river shore.
The journeys seem
Fewer now.
He doesn’t sing,
Yet his gentle smile is there.
He stops to rest,
puts his strumming hand on heart,
Thankful for another
Day
on one side of the river;
A benign lump
in his throat.
1/
So many summers
Passing
Renewing
Reviewing
Repeating
A rejuvenating
Laying of a gentle
Touch and waste
To skin.
2/
Summer days,
When the heat
And the light
Shine,
rise white
on city pavement,
And persistent
memories
trick
the mind,
Without the
luxury of repetition;
Simply a lingering taste of
The summer wonder
Of green childhood.
3/
The poplars wave
And clap
A flickering Gold and green
A rustling sound
In balm of sunlit wind.
The grasses
Genuflect
Bowing tasseled
heads,
To ground,
And high up
green and
Sky bound,
Golden
Boughs sway
In overarching
Gratitude
of
The boundless brilliant sun.
This Time the Page is Waiting
featured in LIT SPHERE
Strand Publishers
http://strandspublishers.weebly.com/lit-sphere/this-time-the-page-is-waitingpoetry
My father taught me
to
stop and look up,
To survey the stars,
Each night
before you close your eyes.
Late at night
When the
7 silver stars
Gyrate across
The midnight sky;
Quelling sister’s
Great despair
I by soft white light
Of virgin moon
And 100 stringed
And glowing stars
lie sleeping,
sailing,
eyes closed
in eternal stare,
And you whisper
Sweetly, gently,
In my ear,
Cathartic words
Of love,
and selves repair.
I am comforted,
By the companionship
Of friends,
In the midst of all
The suffering and
The pain,
Whether it be theirs
or mine;
I drink deeply from
Refreshing waters
With cupped
and grateful
Hands.
PWChaltas 