The First Warmth of Spring

Oh, deep, the silence of the night,
And clear the distant stars.
The silhouettes of evergreens,
The soft red pulse of Mars,
The warming breeze of early Spring,
The wild moon’s craggy scars.
And I am trapped in hopeless dreams
Beneath the distant stars.

Still, the hush of drowsy trees
And still, the un-mown hay;
The little whispers of the night,
That hide in garish day,
Spill forth like secrets kept too long
And giggle as they play.
Alone I linger in the dark,
My thoughts in disarray.

Yet, soft’s the breeze that stirs the trees,
The curtains on the sill,
And stirs the heart inside of me,
Though darkness holds me still.
I smell the spring, just out of sight,
The bobbing daffodil
The crocuses and tulip blooms
Across the mossy hill

And though I linger in the night
I sense the coming dawn
So I will stand up in the dark
And simply carry on.

Moments from a Quiet Weekend

The Mist and The Mountain

The mist and the mountain
Bound by the cold
Never too far apart

The mist and the mountain
Closely entwined
Each is the other’s heart

The mist and the mountain
Crisp in the light
The winter’s frozen art

The mist and the mountain
One and the same
Joined from the very start

A Lost Love

I saw your face as I walked in
It took my breath away.
I lost you years ago and yet
You stood right there today.

I felt the breath catch in my throat,
I called you by your name;
You never even looked around.
I turned away in shame.

I know that you have left me here,
And gone where I can’t go,
But he looked so much like you there.
And I still miss you so.

While the Color Sets

My mind drifts off in solitude
Amid the noisy throng.
The chaos of a dozen tongues
The hoarse blow dryers song
Slips far behind me as I go,
A distant little whir.

Behind my eyes I see the sea
And hear its waves a stir;
The hush of breezes through the trees,
The chatter of the birds,
The silence of the meadow grass,
A song of light, not words;
The laughter of the dancing brook
The smell of sun warmed sand,
A hint of wood smoke in the air,
A lover’s gentle hand…

And then I’m startled back to now
And to the noisy here
The moment’s sojourn in my mind
Now lost in chatty cheer,
The bustle of the busy shop,
The real world, loud and clear!

Thank you, Angie!

Whispers in the Night

There is a whisper out my door
Right at the shadows edge
There is a scratching at my screen
Just at the window’s ledge
There is a rustling in the shade
Beside the garden hedge
Oh, could it be that finally
I’m working loose the wedge?

Still in the darkness of the night
I linger silently in pain
Just at the edge of warmth and light
I know my voice will come again

The Absence of Sound

Where are the voices that sing to me,
Where are the songs they sang?
Where are the rhythms, meters and rhymes,
Where are the words that rang?
Where are the thoughts captured in ink and
Scribed in joy on my heart?
Where are the songs of sorrow or praise?
I can’t begin to start.

Where are the words and where are the songs
Where are the dreams they paint
I hear them echoing far away
Lost and growing more faint
Why am I cast on this barren shore,
Shattered, empty, alone?
Why am I punished? For which great sin
Must my poor heart atone?

Why have the voices abandoned me,
Why did they take my song,
Why did they leave me alive, yet dead?
Voiceless amid the throng
Of words that hunger to leave my throat,
To dance across my page;
Bringing a highlight to breathless joy
Or shade to bitter rage.

My songs are gone, the words have fled
And silent is my voice
Until they find their way back home.
There is no other choice.
Look not to me to bring you song
Look not for laughter here.
Look only for a barren heart
Reflected in a tear.