Category: Musings

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.

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.

I will.

I will survive no longer

I will live

I will surrender no longer

I will fight

I will suffer no longer

I will be content

I will stand still no longer

I will flow

I will hold on no longer

I will release

I will cry no longer

I will smile

I will hate no longer

I will love

I will be confined no longer

I will wander

For in the end,

if you can understand,

I will.

In Olden Tymes

“So what were you before…?”

“I was a knight: a defender of the weak, a protector of the realm, and a servant to the crown.”

“And what makes you believe that in 2017?”

” I always write about it. I see it in my head: the pastoral scenery, the castles, the nobles and peasants, I smell the wheat, the dung, and the hay, I feel the sparks of the forges burn into my forearms, hear the clang of metal, smell the tang of smelted steel. I’ve seen new blades gleaming in the sunlight over time become nicked and scratched by battle.”

“I’ve seen the gore of the enemy dripping from both.”

“I see the hills covered in winter snow, and springtime wildflowers. I smell the perfumes and sweat of the women I’ve known.  I’ve wiped their smudges and circled their nipples with my thumbs, kissed their tears, put my hands where they let me, and sometimes where they wouldn’t.”

“I smell the alleys of trash and waste, redolent and pungent in the rain and the heat of summer.”

“I hear the creaking of the rocking ships, the ding and clang of chains and anchors, and I hear the ancient sailor songs in languages I’ve never heard, from places I’ve never been, carrying heavy burdens and tying thick ropes. I hear the harbor rats, feral cats in their wake or on the hunt.”

“I see the grand, high-ceiling halls full of intricate sculpting, paintings, candles, garlands, splendid gowns and noble robes. I hear the lilt of lute and pipe and mandolin, I hear the torches sizzle in their sconces, see the idols of forgotten gods on the hilltops, and smell the rot of forgotten kings in their tombs.”

“I’ve been to the armories of kings of empires, and seen the high pyres of the dead from wars, plagues, famines, disputes, and fires.”

“I’ve traveled with players’ troupes in colorful wagons, tumbling in air and throwing knives.”

“I’ve seen the candles burn in the wizards’ towers and the sorceresses cottage, and the witches’ caves, and the mad hermits’ burrows.”

“I’ve heard the forest whisper, scream, sob and laugh when no one was there.”

“I’ve been in the dank of rat infested dungeons, staring at hungry red eyes.”

“I’ve been trampled, burned, butchered, beheaded, and strangled in my bed. Then I returned the favors.”

“I’ve lost my life to the raging sea and the calm, relentless desert sun.”

“I’ve been poisoned, robbed, and tortured at length.”

“I’ve scaled walls into treasuries and bedrooms.”

“I’ve fought in tournaments of backwater villages, and in arenas of cheering crowds, and in taverns of ill repute of both food and customers.”

“Everything in my blood harkens back to olden tymes.

“And I possess it still.”

Too Old to Dream, Too Young to Know

They say ‘You grow too old to dream’

They say that ‘You’re too young to know’

Yet say  ‘You can do anything.’

So do I stay or do I grow?

For if I am too old to dream

my time here is already done.

And if I am too young to know

then teach me, so the rising sun

will never find me void of thought

as I look at the world through eyes

of what I’ve learned of love and wonder,

cynicism and surprise.

A jaded innocence possesses

all the years I’ve been alive;

still taking people at their word

though most of them are talking jive.

I’ll never get too old to dream.

I’ll never be too young to know.

I’ll keep exploring although it may seem

there’s nowhere left to go.

 

Bells of Winter

At midnight ring the winter bells,

and snow will soon arrive.

The winter bells grow cold

for they are dead and not alive.

They herald in the harsh north wind

that drives the icy rain.

They ring discordant harmonies

that leave the ears in pain.

We’ve no escape from winter bells

through land or on the seas.

We’ll die just when the tolling fades

because the bells too,

freeze.

Emperor

From here I can look

all around

and survey my empire.

There, the distant hills gilded

in silver mist and emerald leaves

humble my own royal robes.

And here, the servants at my feet…

Young. Nubile. Fertile.

Mine to pluck like ripe fruit,

or slaughter as tender lambs.

My bride’s perfume is pleasant.

The eyes of my court are hard.

The halls of my palace

hold whispers of secrets and dreams.

My gardens host ghosts in the moonlight.

They tell me to be at peace,

take comfort,

sleep.

My borders do not

boil with rebellion,

and there is

no alarm of armies

at my gates.

I stand at the pinnacle of

all my achievements,

and realize that as I watch

the setting sun,

there is a smile

in the darkness of my grave

that

patiently waits…

Light Breaker

I heard the light crash like thunder into the darkness.

Saw the obsidian surrounding my cage

shatter.

Heard the screams and wails and curses

turn to laughter, songs, and shouts of joy.

For too long

I walked under the canopy,

shielded from everything.

Yielding nothing.

 

And the light broke

through the darkness.

 

I saw the sky blue swatch of sky

flecked and speckled with drifting clouds,

felt the breeze of an early summer evening

cool on my skin.

The slope of the climb

to the world above was gentle, easy

and pleasant.

My heart rejoiced.

My will rebelled.

I wanted this light,

this blue, this breeze.

This joy.

But I burrowed

further down and broke

the light,

and sent it on its way.