Above the Tree Line
Aubade to God
Beside a Flowerbed
Compassion
Jealous Sea
On Choosing Synonyms
She's Pretty
To a Drawing
To a Painting
To Say a Name
Your Smile
This one is out of alphabetic order because it was my
first shot at writing a sonnet.
She's Pretty (dedicated to KAS)
Sifting through the jumbled ruins of time;
Painfully dividing the truth from lies,
Among the worthless rubble's ugly grime
Emerged a treasured face, sparkling my eyes.
My troubled days I can date by the tears
Has not hushed your singing voice from my ear.
Though many toilsome days, months, even years
Flew by, still your image remains most clear.
Close friends we were, near sister and brother;
Early mornings you greeted me with cheer.
Fondness was there, though you loved another,
So, for friendship, I dared not venture near.
What is beauty? What is pretty? What's true?
My picture of pretty is simply, you.
March 95
Aubade To God
In the still of the morning air,
My mind suffers from endless care,
Darkness surrounds, heaviness abounds,
Cacophony mounds, yet nothing sounds.
Pushing aside my dismal plight,
And torturous torment of my night,
Your Spirit soothes my soul serenely,
Singing your songs to stir me softly.
Songs of comfort, faith securing,
Love's forgiveness, Hope unending,
Reassurance of your Presence,
Applies its salve to my conscience,
As I arise this day to see,
Pray I love you as you love me.
April 1995
Aubade
Afterthoughts
Lord, I love your Word to read
And see within your Truths I need
To still my heart, ascribe anew
The way of Life that comes from you.
Direct my thoughts to what's noble
Judging else if it's admirable
Ponder what's right, if it's lovely
Testing what's pure, and praiseworthy.
April 26, 1995
There's a twist to this poem at the end. You'll have to read
it through twice.
Above the Tree Line
Above the tree line where low bushes lie,
Taller grasses thin, the summit most bare.
Changes in the terrain seen against the sky
Bewitches my soul, beckoning me nigh.
Unhurried, I wend along through the night,
Ever ascending with heart-swelling mirth,
Joyously content for the peak's in sight,
Eye-catching by day, stunning by moonlight.
Lightening strikes the tips, hot with fire growing
Flaming through scrub brush, consuming the brier.
Torrid waves of heat, rippling and flowing,
I pause to admire the ruddy glowing.
Mountains are wondrous with meadows alpine,
Hers are more beauteous when she is supine.
April 95
Beside a Flowerbed
'Tis such a simple act to sit,
beside a flowerbed,
and take a pause to ease a bit,
a toiling, troubled head.
Just watch the bees as they will flit,
and golden pollen spread.
Your worldly cares your mind must quit,
to culture peace, instead.
A peaceful soul, a tranquil mind,
a heart that's without guile,
adorns a face with grace refined,
if you'd but rest awhile.
What you will in a garden find,
brings forth a simple smile.
July 13, 1998
Dedicated to everyone born with a birth defect.
Compassion
Well known is she for gentleness and care,
And inward beauty which nears perfection.
She is modestly pretty, and quite fair,
Though Fate left a fault in her complexion.
Through long years she bore childhood torments base,
The teasing and mockery took their toll.
While tears nightly wept could not change her face,
They cultured a comeliness in her soul.
Her heart is loving, warm, and generous,
A well of tears which will never run dry.
Patience refined gives her tender kindness,
As now for others she is quick to cry.
Wonder not at her peaceful expression,
It's merely the full bloom of compassion.
March 21-23, 1998
I grew up on a river near the ocean
watching the tide come in and go out. Its a peaceful rhythm,
like watching the phases of the Moon. There's pun on the name of
this poem.
Jealous Sea
My Love's silhouette, breathing deep and slow,
Caused me to ponder the sight recalling,
The awesome ocean's endless ebb and flow,
By their same rhythmic rising and falling.
Tossed about by our harbor's tidal swells,
Harbingers telling of the coming storm,
The distant dinging of small buoy bells,
Could not bestir my Love's still, sleeping form.
Waves splashed skyward against its seawall cage.
Like angry words, shouting winds spindrift sprayed.
The frothy sea churned in a jealous rage,
As through the night, next to my Love I stayed.
From neither Love I want ne'er live apart,
For one's in my blood, the other my heart.
April 25, 1998
A
few years ago I wrote a column about words in a weekly
newspaper. A lot of my readers were not native English speakers
and it humbled me to know that they carefully read my column in
order to learn more about the English language.
On Choosing Synonyms
Kissing sounds better than osculation.
Between seeing or viewing can we choose.
Walking can be called perambulation.
So, how to decide on which word to use?
We can, however, view with gratitude,
Upon the ancient Norman invasion.
The English we voice acquired latitude,
With synonyms on that sole occasion.
Consider synonyms with supreme care,
To render the correct meanings they should.
Recall that Latin words may grant us flair,
But Saxon makes certain we're understood.
Saxon-based words abide in easy reach,
As Saxon makes up the heart of our speech.
March 28-30, 1998
Mo was once a room-mate of mine. He is a
quiet and humble Christian man who likes to draw. This drawing
is of a small sailboat finding its way through the storm because
of a lighthouse. Jesus Christ is the Lighthouse.
To a Drawing by Nathan
Pierce
Storm clouds rolled in like an evil Black Plague,
Cloaking the noon sky with the dark of night.
The horizon faded, distant and vague,
As danger crackled in explosive light.
Betwixt waters above madly churning,
Reflected by angry waters below,
Hopeless became the case in discerning,
Which way to shore's shelter, which way to row.
Set far beyond the levee's rocky shield,
Lay one last outpost, a lighthouse unmanned.
Its beam flooded the doomed craft as it reeled,
Blazing the way to its safe bit of land.
Troubling times will befall, but understand,
That no one can snatch you out of God's hand.
May 20, 1998
To a Painting by Ann
Tucker
Something about your painting made me pause
To consider another line of sight
And ponder yet deeper upon the cause
Of a strange but familiar play of light
Upon the serenity of her face.
Though resting still in a classic sitting
The air about her is exuding grace
Of movement as the sunbeams are hitting
Through an unseen window aside her chair.
Glowing would describe her brilliant attire
With flowing folds beneath her pixie hair.
'Twas more than her beauty I did admire
Her smile just in the moment you caught her
Betrays her as Mona Lisa’s daughter.
To Say a Name
(dedicated to LC)
Too often it gets pronounced like apple,
When he prefers it to rhyme with maple.
His surname has been derived from chapel,
But his recent forebears spelled it Chaple.
The confusion lays from many disputes,
In land sometimes Germany, sometimes France.
His name reflects his father's father's roots,
Regardless of the political stance.
It's rootstock makes it easy to misspell;
The English tongue changed the "a" from short to long,
It's spelled in French Chapelle, German Kapell,
But when rhymed with the word dapple, that's wrong.
It's only a matter of being polite,
When saying someone's name, pronounce it right!
June 17, 1998
Your Smile
(dedicated to Alexis)
Though it seem to be a simple pleasure,
It's true worth too easily discounted,
Your smile freely given is a treasure,
A cherished gift, not easily recounted.
To be sure, what makes your own smile so rare,
Is the early hour for it to appear.
Although it dawns from a face held so fair,
It's radiant warmth is what's held so dear.
How often you've become a welcome sight,
With your gentle countenance, sweet and kind.
Those sapphirine eyes beam bonny bright,
And bedazzle my morning-befuddled mind.
May naught ever becloud your inner sun,
Until your shining days on Earth are done.
Sep 97
