Song of Night and Other Poetry

Song of Night
Our love intones the song of night,
A hymn of scattered trills and deep crescendos.
The notes ascend like water birds in flight
      from rippled pools:
A silhouetted score against the pallid summer sky,
Crooning with the summer's breath its throaty lullaby.

Upon the rolling fields is the scent of dewy grass,
Like undulating velvet draped in folds upon the earth,
Over which the pungent essence of amour's caress has passed:
The fragrance which has melded with the brown
      and earthy skin
Is exuded and inhaled in the nostrils of the wind.

And like the wings of gulls returning home,
The panting breath of love
Invades the bosom of a lofty hill at dawn:
Finding there a nest, the song is quieted to sleep.
In timeless hush and wonder,
It abides within the deep.


The Bridegroom
He didn't know it, but his eyes betrayed him on that day.
The canvas of his countenance unveiled to display
All the passions and contentions which the painter had applied;
And with silent agitation,
Like the teeth which clenched at times,
Undercurrents spoke the truth as he appraised his novice bride.

A collage of all his past and future struggles rose and fell
Upon the thin veneer of screen which was his face;
And the figure of his naked soul careened before the crowd
With the convulsive effervescence
of a dancer's shameless grace.

His piercing eyes were calling to the maiden
down the aisle,
Though the audience was deaf to his appeal:
For they had turned to see the maiden,
And their unsuspecting hearts didn't fathom,
Nor his raging yearning feel.

They saw the maiden's smile,
But her elegant facade was a decoy
For their shallow understanding;
They didn't know her twinkling eyes
Received their eager palpitations from the dancer's heart,
Which taught them with demanding.

He had practiced, she had followed,
Till the journey up the aisle
Had been traveled in a million painful ways;
And though their artistry in tandem
Was in view for all to see,
Only simple eyes looked on while they performed their youthful play.


The Dreamer
The season is the night
and she's asleep for all the day:
Ambitious dreams careening through her head.
Her children try to wake her--
"Come and play!" they call and plead,
But they can't arouse her senses from their bed.

In the past she planted hope,
and seedlings sprouted into faith:
Future glory was determined from their birth;
For today is but a dream--
A rehearsal for tomorrow
When performance will be made for all the earth.

"Shining fame" the angel whispered
on the night that she was born,
Though obscurity was all the watchers saw.
Unaware her star is hung upon the hem of twilight's coat,
When it rises they will shun their sleep for awe.

In the brilliance of her orb
are beams of graduated hue--
The tools of kaleidoscopic rays.
Her personal inscription will be etched upon the fabric
And the ordinary lives of all who gaze.


Poetry
I have a secret love
to which I flee at every chance;
In our trysting I find freedom and reprieve.
He speaks to me of mysteries
which are hidden in my heart,
And draws me into long soliloquies.

Our intimate exchanges
are concealed in our private world,
And by heartless critics won't be bothered.

But, like children,
which disclose their parents' union,
Seen by all
are the offspring
which sweet Poetry has fathered.


            Ambition
I want to write like the gales
                                which strike at the trees,
      And declare using truth's forceful lung;

To sing gentle breezes
                          with eloquent pleas,
          And appeal to all the unsung.


    For the tree must give way
                        to the will of the wind,
            And the shoes achieve flight from the dancer:

  The words of the poet
                            abide solitaire
      Till they find in their reader and answer.


                  Bedtime (sigh)                 
                    rumble bumble
                      wiggle jiggle
          Joseph's running laughing jogging
            jelly rolls and jolly jump up
          jamborees of rump and bump and
                    naked crawling
                  wriggling sprawling
          baby fat and skinned wet rat
      he's had his bath and made a splash!

                  pumping jumping
                  blinking shrinking
          bumpy hands and impish plans
                      gone smack!
                right into waiting battle
                      combat rattle
                        sofa saddle
                    he'll skedaddle
          quicker than a mom can think!

                    shaking quaking
                    run from towels
      no such jacket keeps the racket down
              on wonder boy who howls
                  yells and screeches
                    bellows reaches
          everything his fingers stretch to
      Mommy thinks she'll never catch you!

                    stinker thinker
                        out of gas
    you may be fast but my brain's quicker
                  cornered captured
                  got you trapped sir
                      diapers pins
                  a kick in the shins
          'jammies with the little bambis
                      zip and click
                and locked in flannel
            banging on the grand piano!

                    no you won't sir
                    don't be so sure
                      off to bed sir
                  lay your head brrr
          sheets are icy nicely tucked
              with rump on haunches
                spaceship launches
                      into dreams
   
              Ahhh!  No more screams.

            Till tomorrow we have quiet,
          borrowed from a sleeping giant. 


                    I Am Woman, I Am Child
from the darkened womb of night comes the heart of mother beating
       
              to the dawning of the light goes
                                        the course of life repeating...

  from the petals soft and still comes the angel full of wonder;

                            hush! hush!
                whisper softly moving wings.
                            blush  blush
                color steals upon new things.

      we are in the Mother      Mother are we all

          we give to one another
               
                of the sweetly crooning wonder
                of the softly stealing thunder
                of the surely beating drummer

                of the singing song repeating
                of the rustling secret bleating
                of the love fall oft reseeding all the earth.

                          I am woman
                          I am child
                          I am mother
                          I am child
 

                          Joy of Being
                                I am.
                          And that is good.
                                I love.
                          That is enough.

                        I knew a turtle once
              Who always hid inside her shell
          And would have burrowed in the sand
                        If she’d been able;
                But the windy rains of trouble
            Wrote their shocking explanations
                  On the surface of the shell,
                      Which was her label.

                She learned to raise her head
        And stride with strong, though stumpy legs;
                Plodding steadily with purpose
                            On the sand.
                  Now the story on her back
            Is read by all who know its language;
                        Those who don’t
                  See but a turtle in the sand:

                                I am.
                          And that is good.
                                I love.
                          That is enough.

                   
                  Psalm of Thanksgiving
I moved to the country and created a new life for myself eleven years ago. I wrote this poem when I was digging dirt by hand to build a mud and straw house, which I now live in.

If it wasn’t for the wind, the trees would never get to dance;
If it wasn’t for the rain, the earth would never get a bath.
If it wasn’t for the sun, we’d all still be asleep;
If it wasn’t for their hunger, hatchlings wouldn’t make a peep.

If I hadn’t been so sad, I would have recognized the scheme.
If I hadn’t been so mad, I would have heard the kestrel sing.
If I hadn’t been so low, I would have welcomed winter here.
If I hadn’t been so scared, the thunder would have spoken clear.

“Wake up!” the pixies chatter. “Don’t be afraid to play!”
“Come out,” the grasses whisper. “It’s a splendid, sunny day!”
A million voices beckon me, a million hearts unfold
To welcome my shy venture into exploits yet untold.

When I sift out my dirt, the rocks take a vacation;
I toss them aloft, and they fly with elation.
The dirt gets to wiggle, the grubs see the light;
The earthworms all giggle, and squirm with delight.

The air draws a breath, and the juniper sighs;
The bees take a break to come see what arrives.
The sun’s one long smile from morning to night
And does all my make-up in red, pink, and bright!

The breeze is an uppity hairdresser, see,
Who is sure that the blown, tangled look is just “me”!
And occasion insists that I wear what is “in” -
Mud-spattered jeans, grubby shirt, and a grin.

There is love in the dirt, in the rocks, in the trees;
There is joy in the cactus, the dry grass, the breeze.
There is peace in the howling and cries to the moon;
There is laughter throughout every square inch of June!

The world is a festive kaleidoscope,
A home made of love when I dare to hope;
A bed made of roses without any thorns,
Now that my heartbroken soul is reborn.


My Soul Has Gone Out Wandering
My soul has gone out wandering…
She’s looking for a home,
And left me here to navigate
The billows of the storm.

My soul has gone a-wandering
Amid the purple fields
And the waving, dancing wheat-stalks
And the summer’s autumn yields.

My soul, she lifts her skirts
And wades among the delicate ferns.
She twirls a pirouette,
And bows and jumps by turns.

She sleeps in hollow buttercups
And licks the dew at morn.
And only when the air is chill
Are petal bedclothes worn.

She lifts her arms to heavenward
And greets the smiling sun
And finds renewal wonderment
In springs that by her run.

I hope she’ll soon come back to me,
And bring her strength so fine.
I need the sun that’s in her world
When there’s only rain in mine.


Love Is The Reason
Love is the reason
To look round the next bend;
Love is the season
That comes round again.

Like a merry-go-round,
We ride our ponies more
To all the many places
We’ve seen somewhere before.

We pay our fare
The music plays
And swiftly fly
The nights and days:

Bringing sorrows, bringing fears;
Laughter now, and then the tears.
Finding soon that all the years
Dissolve in love as heaven nears.

Love is the answer
To all the questions, “ Why?”
Love is the dancer
Who makes our clay feet fly.

Like a wheel of roulette,
We let our chances spin,
And find ourselves back
At zero again.

We make our bet
And let it ride:
We lose, we win,
On our chosen side.

Bringing anger, bringing pain,
First I want, and then disdain;
And then only to remain,
Love comes singing its refrain.