Category Archives: Poetry

A few of my little ditties…

Seasons

My favorite verse is from Ecclesiastes, sometimes know as the “Wisdom Books” of the Old Testament.

I was not aware of this beautiful set before I heard the “Limeliters” group sing the Pete Seeger song back in the early ’60s. The song’s haunting lyrics were a good preview of life. Thomas Wolfe wrote, “… Ecclesiastes is the greatest single piece of writing I have ever known…”

For it is indeed a summary of the life experience: a guide, if you will, for the young; a reminder in midlife that we are within God’s pre-ordained passage; and at the end of life, the story of our own personal voyage.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (King James Version)

3 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Ashes in the Wind

This abiding deathless wind
this lethal wind is blowing
within this wind are blowing ashes…

it is singing
I am dying
I am dying
I am dead.

It is howling in the void
it is screaming in the cold
it is breathing neath the stars…

it is singing
I am dying
I am dying
I am dead

Doomed Sweet the Warmth is fled
bitter now this uncompromising frost
it cleaves me from my bones…

it is singing
I am dying
I am dying
I am dead

In this ferocious gloom I perished
within this abyss beneath the stars
prithee lay my ashes in the wind

it was singing
I am dying
I am dying
I am naught…

Sunrise on Dead Horse Crossing

Down in Badlands Park,
is a campground without a tourist’s mark,
beyond which rises the high scarp
of Sharpshooters Peak.

And if you rise,
under the star-spangled dark skies,
long before the cold dew dries,
you’ll see God’s very best sunrise.

First the tainted light plays,
in the far, dark purple haze,
pushed by the endless days,
riding on the sun’s sharp rays.

Then a lighter saffron tinge,
giving way to an orange binge;
for a moment this is the hinge
the day’s swinging door,
upon the ridge.

Bright reds and gold,
as the day becomes more bold
and night loosens her hold;
for this instant, my sleep I sold.

Now the pink clouds drift,
and my spirit lifts
leaving me memories to sift.
Thank you God, for this gift.

The Early Quest

THE EARLY QUEST

Sitting on a moss covered rock
and seething with the early morning chill,
I watch the misty tendrils
rising over the still waters, placid
beneath the spiritous, dancing forms.

The newly born rays, golden,
over the mountains
crest, color the dark depths
of the sky.

The song of a mocking bird follows
my concious, wandering mind through
the forest,
across the river,
climbing the mountains rise,
to the bright heights,
where I send it seeking in far distant places
for you,
my love.

DANCING POINTS OF SILVER LIGHT

DANCING POINTS OF SILVER LIGHT

I see your face
through the swirling mist,
filled with dancing points of silver light
like a frosted window pane;
candle light within
and a bitter, frozen winter moon without.

The perfect vision,
like the love you granted me,
lives forever in another world;
banned and severed, nevermore am I to see,
those eyes which take
and hold my very soul.

Would the world could change its course,
or we could build another;
then, I might take you in my arms and
loose my spirit into the timeless depths
of those dark swirling pools of silver light.

In Freedom Beyond the Frontier

The lonely cries of a roving pack
echoed across the hills.
At the sound she felt a bitter chill
in the lonely Adirondack.

She turned to lift the babe
who started in her fright.
Fear is so very easy in the night
until she stirs upon his tread.

Bursting through the oaken door
he filled the room with strength.
Hearty laughter at length
banishes fear evermore.

“Hear you,” he inquired,
“the sounds of our brothers?”
“Nay,”  yet she wondered,
what had transpired.

“The joyful spirits wild,
of the wolves upon the prowl.”
“I reveled in the howl
of another wilderness child.”

Fear, he knew, was within her breast
and share of his courage he would.
“We and they, well, we really should,
feel akin, to have passed freedom’s test.”

To survive, to thrive, to feel alive;
with no overlord to please.
In lonely independence we find release
and allow our spirits to revive.