Anthology (Gaol)

“Companion”

For each of us, Death waits at our birth.

We dodge and dance with Death as we grow on this earth,

We change when we first meet Death, getting to know life’s worst,

We learn to become Death itself - as necessary - without mirth,

We come to accept and understand Death as time will run its course,

At the end, We will each greet Death; we will return to source.

“The Poet”

Hear the universe…

Hear her sigh…

See her weep…

For the Poet who will die.

With a gentle heart,

Words of grace

Knowledge - love!

Waiting for his final place.

Peaceful warrior,

Gentle man,

Kind father,

His ordeal an ancient plan.

With sweet tragic joy,

Will meet fate,

Is he sad?

Beautiful agony awaits.

A debt to be paid,

Rose petals fall,

Will they care?

Time soon to answer the call.

For chains of pain bound,

She had cried,

Will any mourn?

When the last Poet has died?

“Shield”

A storm beneath simple sight rages damage severe,

As below, so above now rules truer than ever,

All existence in peril, rolling terror come near,

The only shelter? A bond the gods cannot sever.

Who or what can withstand such violent intent come here?

Something stronger than strength, wiser than the most clever,

A balance unbalanced, profound courage born of fear,

More than anything, true golden love - unknown? - never!

A dragon with star-scarred armor born a lower tier,

A lovely rose, a rising flame, soul of pure silver,

Together, small and large, the unbalanced… hold each dear,

From those two, brute and belle, divinely forged with world’s armor.

A great Shield against the surging tempest’s snarling leer,

Made of gentle hearts, tender flesh, crafted to deter,

A ship and lighthouse, alone from this darkness must steer,

Two kind spirits must move the world with the right lever.

Tossed about in a sea of torment, their purpose clear,

Tinker and dancer left to fate, loss, pain will render,

Suffering for higher truth… chance for hope - shed a tear!

Love saved us once, and by their love all will still endure.

“Rose”

Soft bright petals, soft warm voice,

Sweet gentle scent, sweet sensibilities,

Strong sturdy stem, strong of heart,

Sharp golden thorns, sharper mind.

“The First Dance”

Down stairs of stone, across wharves of wood,

She rushed, stumbled, as the fleet came in.

Eyes of clear bronze, great dignity stood,

Flowing dark hair, gown billowed with wind,

Sharp mind, soft words, heart sweet, warm and good.

Of adventure… stories she each time sought,

Her time to spend, with brother’s best friend,

Chance to show him all she’d been taught,

Each time he saw her - always! - he grinned,

Even when she broke the rules she should not.

Words flowed from her like festival wine,

Demanding stories; she could not wait,

She gave him no chance to take up line,

Dragged him from his work - not to be late!

To join the revelry, “There’s no time!”

Sounds of music, and joyous greetings,

As they climbed stairs into the city,

Friends and lovers, great family meetings…

She moved with smooth alacrity,

To where the fleet’s sailors were seating.

Her words ran low, his tales to be told,

He was a quiet young man, she knew,

But such was her gaze… he became bold…

In the swirl of it all, gave her due,

Gentle words of wonder from tongue rolled.

She listened with focused pure delight!

Her love of life bright and contagious,

He spoke with careful and warm insight,

Her favorite parts, most outrageous…

On, on through sunset into the night.

For the stories, she offered a dance…

Sure of foot on rolling decks at sea,

He was unsure he’d keep his balance,

Up she pulled him, her manner of glee!

Truth was… he would never miss this chance!

Spins of whorls, smiles through sweet golden steps,

Hands clasped tight in a warm, rich, simple joy…

She was elegant now, beyond adept!

A silver silence… forgot the noise…

Both glowing youth gloriously wept.

Theirs always, the first dance together,

There, pure… before the stormy weather…

“Lighthouse”

Glowing sword of guiding light,

Shining through the darkest night,

Storm washed decks welcome this sight!

Iv’ry towers of soft white,

Built to take the tempest’s bite,

Ready to set great lamp’s a’light!

Standing over sharp rocks’ might,

Des’late, lonely remote sites,

The dreams of sailors burn bright!

Steering true, the ship’s course right,

Fog and danger this blade’s fight,

Sentinel waiting on the height…