Rivulets of sorrow meandering
down tear-stained skin.
“Keep her comfortable
until it’s time.”
of eternal reminder within.
through the threshold
into the chill,
of realization emerge.
the molting trees,
their arid leaves
embellishing her hair
like fragments of
As if they weep for her.
As if even the ambiances
of ages past are beseeching
her not to leave.
Soon arrives the Foehn,
holding you within
its warm embrace.
whispering lines of truth,
sculpt a bittersweet tune
as they herald
the evening’s arrival.
by lyrics of singing ivy,
her expression calms,
your fears dissolve.
Consoled by a draft possessive,
you cradle her
through the darkness
and follow her
toward the seraph’s call
into the fold of
What do we do, come that day,
when walk we must through vacant streets,
when frore and tremulous become the nights,
and windowpanes with autumn’s dew weep?
What do we do, come that day,
when summertide flees from bitter air’s chase,
when even the trees forsake their leaves,
And swallows depart to a fitter place?
For that day has come,
and now we weep,
as the earth reclaims another,
their souls now sleep.
But come winter’s call new snow will fall,
then autumn’s death will be entombed.
And as morning rays gleam through curtain seams,
New seedlings in our hearts will bloom.
Then we will know that a new day has come.
This Poem is Dedicated to the Memory of Rhonda Elkins and her daughter, Kaitlyn.
Flames softening a heart of stone
fading away each zealous stream.
A spirit dulled through nights of black
blossoms stars from a faerie dream.
A soul once dampened by frigid tears
warmed by a love now found.
Mangled wings bound by the sun
now airily flitter upon the clouds.
Drifting through the sands of time,
celestial burning suffuse the night.
The sweetness of the morning dew
caress my heart with wondrous light.
Your grace, beauty, and wisdom great
have seized my heart in awe unbound,
The earth, now below us, faint-
how sublime it is, this love we’ve found.
Today has brought with it a brand new day, along with its graying skies and chilled dew. As I sit here, the beginnings of a particular Shakespearean sonnet come to mind…
“That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang…”
Take care everyone.
Phoebe and Samantha
Moisture burning her vision.
In the dark, it hides her eyes.
Clinging onto her, one falls onto her lap
and stains her skirt.
Tell her it will be okay.
That the shadow of a moment
may not stretch into tomorrow’s light.
That the ocean,
at its blackest
is still a reflection of the sky,
and she will not drown.
But the tide has come to take you home.
To her smile and her strength
she bids farewell.
Her heart, a piece borrowed and now returned,
departs with you.
She says goodbye.
A few words by Shakespeare which speak more truthfully than any piece I could write at the moment…
The flaming sighs that boil within my breast
Sometime break forth; and they can well declare
The heart’s unrest, and how that it doth fare,
The pain thereof, the grief, and all the rest.
The watered eye, from whence the tears do fall,
Do feel some force or else they would be dry…
Some people call this a hospital.
I like to call this a place of my P’s.
A hidden treasure
in a downtown peach orchard
where all my P’s roam.
But don’t panic.
This is the place
where physicians palpate,
pain is palliated,
and papillae are poked.
Patients are pacified,
parking is pitiful,
penlights are peddled,
and parolees panto.
I just call this home.