Darkling Water

Down by the river,

she runs through

the night.

 

Shade alabaster.

Shrouded moonlight.

 

Some rich man’s wife.

Some farmer’s daughter.

Some say she haunts

by the

Darkling Water.

 

Some say they’ve

seen her

run through the trees.

 

Some say she cries out

with keening and pleas.

 

Some say her pale hands

are dripping with blood.

Some say she’s lying so still

in the mud.

 

No name is given.

No questions asked.

Sitting on mossy stones,

in moonlight basked.

 

Chills when she looks at you,

grasps at your sleeves.

Crying, she clutches you.

Spectral heart grieves.

 

There’s no escaping now.

With her you go,

caught in the current’s

ethereal flow.

 

Some rich man’s wife.

Some farmer’s daughter.

Some say she haunts

by the Darkling Water.

 

Moon Song

Nothing between

me and heaven.

 

I waited,

watched the moon rise,

saw the earth spin

to look away,

 

But I did not.

 

The wind rose

to pay homage

to its lunar jewel,

 

And clouds

slipped across

its sun-kissed span,

 

a wolf’s eye

rimmed with kohl,

 

A lover’s eye

in a keyhole,

 

a peering beast

rising from

sleep.

 

In the night-blue verdant

branches of forest pines

and late summer leaves

the wind sang.

 

My heart found the harmony,

and for a fleeting moment

I was a floating note,

 

Unbound

in

Moon Song

 

In Word and Deed

In word and deed

I swore my fealty,

took the knee

and wore the ring.

And yet it

stopped not

your cruelty

to me

and everything

I held to be true

of love and loyalty,

valor and fidelity.

And so I withdrew

when love’s pale pallor

found no reciprocity.

I went inward indeed,

and have emerged as

something more,

just less

the burden of you.

No need

to carry on

the carrion

of love.

 

Silent Thunder

I heard it call

so clearly.

Nearly went deaf

from the

rumbling roar

of its

cloud shattering fury.

I walked the beach

alone

that rainy day

and watched the heavens

darken.

Harken to the 

thunder’s commands.

Lightning pulled its

pale lavender tresses down

and kissed the ocean’s face

in heated passion.

Crashing, the waves

sent their foamy fingers

to shackle anchors

to my ankles

and pull me inside

and down

to drown

in fluid beauty.

Drawn to the edge, I wandered.

Challenging.

Foolish.

And the thunder saw me

and ceased its call,

cut its command.

I waited, dreading what I wanted

until

the panoramic parting

of the clouds

let through a patch

of wan sun.

The thunderous voice

began to soften,

and finally, mercifully

went silent.

Love is Where She Blooms

On her garden bench she smiles.

In her eyes, no cunning wiles,

only shyness.

Humble, sweet

innocence I will entreat.

Quickly to one knee I go,

hearts beat fast, but time goes slow.

Everyone she knows above,

witness this display of love.

See the ring here,

diamond bright.

Yes, I love you!

Yes, it’s right!

Say you love me too, my dear.

Don’t let my heart dangle here.

Lovingly she takes my hand,

tenderly slips on the band.

Fading now, the vision’s gone.

It’s her grave I’m standing on.

Springtime’s redolent perfumes

always linger

where she blooms.

Where Will You Take Me?

Where will you take me?

“Where would you go?”

Up to the sky to play

in the moon’s glow.

Out past the night clouds

to juggle the stars.

There’d be no limits,

no chains, and no bars.

“Where will you take me?”

Where would you go?

“Down to the ocean floor

so far below,

stirring the sandy mud,

skimming the stones.

Passing by treasure,

and shipwrecks, and bones.”

“Come, let us go now.

First here, and then there.

Deep on a sea voyage

high in the air.”

 

 

These Sacred Scars

These sacred scars I bear are

not self-inflicted, but life induced.

I stand indicted

of others’ crimes

and cannot answer

for what’s not mine.

What I do

is cry in the dark

and bear witness

to the empty room,

the barren sky,

the callous cosmos,

that I bleed as

an innocent man.

Spring Yet Remains

Time passes, and seasons change.

I’ve walked this road with others who have

now departed, some not of their will, some not

of their power, but all the same,

not here.

It’ s lonelier now, yet no less lovely than

it’s always been.

It’s just that the silences grow deeper

toward the end.

Thoughts grow louder, and

small victories are

celebrated quietly in the heart

with whispered exclamations.

I feel gentle fingertips of a chilling herald wind

brush my cheek, and

smile at the inevitable winter.

And here in the cider- scented,

gathering autumn,

these vibrant colors

of my later years,

glorious before the blackened white

of my return home,

spring yet remains.

Blazing Trails

They speak of cutting bait

to untangle your life.

 

They speak of burning bridges

so you don’t return to the things

you wish to leave behind.

 

They speak of cutting losses

to start all over again.

 

But I am for blazing trails,

setting them alight so that

no one follows.