If you promise *

Ohio Christmas

If I come to the window one last time
will you promise to remember me as I was in the spring
when my whispers quickened your heart
and you yearned for my hair across your pillow?

I shall grant you one last glance,
but only if you see me as the lover
you so foolishly abandoned.

 *  In December 2012, a fellow blogger (sethsnap.com) invited us to submit poems on photographs he posted.  This was my contribution.  My original title was “House.”  His photography is quite good.  You will enjoy visiting his site.

Thoughts of My Father

Sky

I thought I might find you here
coaxing your precious plants to feed our family
with the help of shape shifters that transport mist

from mountain peaks that seduce the foolish
from insistent waves that soothe the senses
from meandering streams that inspire the poet
from salty tears that contain life’s yearning.

But the cerulean garden was heaven’s camouflage
for the ancient future of hope
that I might find you here.

Perhaps next time.

This is a re-post from November 2012.  I took this photo from the airplane as I was about to land in Hawaii.  It was like flying through heaven.  I changed the original title (“I Thought I Might Find You Here”).  

 

 

The Candor of Love

The Candor of Love (3)

Though our hues manifest
variant colors of heaven’s prisms
lit by stars and moons
and dusted by the Artist’s brush

Though our souls wax and wane
on life’s journey paths, wide and narrow,
mapped by celestial destiny
drawn in ancient times

You, my sister, I stand with
You, my brother, I protect
You, my children, I nurture
You, my friend, I love

Once More

carolina_wren_2

Though the storm abated
when the morning sky expelled charcoal clouds
whose light sabers summoned guttural roars
that shook my sleeping soul,

I remain cautious with dread
as I collect branches broken before their time
and leaves scattered across the path
leading to my garden pelted by hail.

My senses await the portent
of yet more of heaven’s random wrath
while my bones prepare to rattle
at the mere hint of barometric shift.

Then you bring me coffee
and bid me to pause
for just a moment,
so you can read to me
today’s forecast of clear skies,
light breezes and
perhaps gentle rain.

And you assure me that
the modest wren shall sing once more.