Morning's Mural

The rain, it paints the sky in shades of gray,
as I sit to watch it drip from the drenched and aching
day. I notice the fallen leaves, as they sit beneath the dew
and lonesome lay. Above, I see the morning mist, as young
and as ancient as Spring, as it from the distant hills makes
way. Into my room, candle lit, my safe and glowing womb,
the dampened fair aroma of rain and midnight slain arrives
in a soft and sweet array. The morning, it paints in broadest
strokes, soaked in rain to the fallen leaves dismay. My eyes
trace the horizon, far and faint, while on the window's other
side the tears dancing, prancing play.
O morning filled with song,
scents and sense's other on display,
promise you will return,
promise me your song
will never fade away.

The Lady of Shallot II

Beyond the path and river stands,
A tower seen from Camelot.
Where breezes fly, and lilies sigh,
The lonely Island of Shallot.

A lady sits, a lady sings,
Upon the tower night and day.
Within its womb, upon her loom,
She spins a web in color’s gay.

She weaves the fields of flower’s fair,
The sun, the sky, and all that grows.
Knights and brides, the moon and tides,
She weaves what in her mirror shows.

She would out her window set her gaze-
But for whisper’s warning she cannot.
Cursed when born, she weeps forlorn;
The Lady of Shallot.

Across the fields and water calm,
A knight appears in armor full.
To Camelot, rides Lancelot,
From he her gaze she cannot pull.

Her weavings come at once undone,
As the mirror starts to shake.
‘The curse’ thinks she, ‘O destiny’,
‘My fate to die for beauty’s sake.’

Winter's Reply

O frozen winter, fierce and bold,
Why do you come to Fall destroy?
With iron will, you thrash and spill,
To silent Autumn’s winsome joy.

Your frost sewn quilt, in shades of gray,
Covers the last of Autumn’s flame.
Your dancing loom, spins beauty’s doom;
You dark and wanton life reclaim.

Silent winter, have you poem or song,
Have you words to me reply?
Speak of death, of frozen breath,
Barren winter, tell me why.

'Long years I’ve come- bold and sure,
Long years my winds have blown.
Through all of time, with verse and rhyme,
I’ve pondered every tree and stone.

Of all I’ve seen, of lifetimes passed,
None to Autumn’s doom compare.
Through endless years, my frozen tears,
Fall to beauty’s end declare.

Color’s fade, and life and time,
Alone I’m left to weep and mourn.
I this burden carry, to Autumn bury,
And lament alone in song forlorn.

A melody sad, with lyrics few;
'Don’t sorrow for madness mistake'.
I ache and yearn, the joyous return,
Of beauty for beauty’s sake.'

O solemn winter, it surely dies;
Autumn’s sacrifice, you see?
In death comes life, joy in strife,
In its fall it life sets free.

This departure selfless
Brings hope for joyous Spring.
In its death you’ll find, its choice designed,
To us life and beauty bring.

O gentle winter, wrought in sorrow’s song,
Forgive my senseless blame.
Raise your voice, in sweet rejoice,
For Spring will come to life reclaim.

My Rose Asleep

This memory my rose I cannot break;
When long ago I cradled you so sweet.
While open-eyed my rose, I wept awake,
Your eyes to nameless dreams bowed in defeat.
My dancing, joyful tear ran down my cheek-
My gentle hand lain soft upon you hair;
O love, we two this moment could not speak,
No Spring or rose could ever bloom so fair.
O selfish, stubborn time what have you done?
Relentless time what picture have you drawn?
I'd give my years to see the weaving spun,
Of we together sewn beneath the dawn.
So beautiful a view I had my love-
You slept my rose, I joyful wept above.

Autumn Maiden

Upon weaving September’s quilt,
He wove one tree in color’s strange.
Beautifully forlorn-
The maiden tree to autumn change.

Drenched in shades of dawn,
She casts her auburn gold,
And amidst the blossom’s green,
Blooms in autumn crimson bold.

The flowers bend and bow
To her perfumed garments fair,
While butterflies and birds
Like hands run through he hair.

The brilliant leaves she weeps
When upon the breeze set sail,
Cover the sky and moon like stars-
A gentle wind caught veil.

Watching the sky erupt
And the melting sun decline,
She cradles soft her dreams,
Amidst September’s sewn design.

This maiden autumn tree
Wove upon His spinning loom,
Brought to tears His heart
Before with joy He did resume.

My Weeping King

Beneath an evening deep December sky,
A sparrow sings to weeping Father fair-
‘Pass not this cup my love for when you die,
To live and love will all your name declare.
My Father, O the Son he sent to save,
Your blood and tears and sorrow not in vain.
This loving act, this sacrifice you gave,
So beautiful in what we stand to gain.’
‘O lovely sparrow, perched in joyful song,
My tears like blood drop not for my own fall.
I weep for those who in my heart belong,
But listen not upon that day I call.’
‘O mourning Father, endless shall I sing,
This tale of tears and love, my weeping King.’

Wisdom Sewn

From the sea of constant crying,
Your loveliest songs I’ve heard.
In the moon’s escape from ocean mourning,
Your beauty upon canvas sketched I’ve seen.

But beyond the covenant fair,
Which across the sky you weave,
In fabric’s deep your wisdom sewn,
Reaching texture beyond my touch.

You the chords of Orion loose,
As the Pleiades chain’s you bind.
When together sang the morning stars,
Laid you the foundations of the earth.

As the seas burst from their fragile womb,
With doors you shut them in;
‘This far you come, no further more’,
At your voice proud waves be stayed.

You cause the dawn to know its place-
And the rising sun command.
The springs of the sea you enter bold,
As you do the recess of the deep.

You to the clouds lift up your voice,
So that covers you water’s flood.
The dwelling place of light you know,
And the place where dwellith dark.

O Lord, hath the rain a father,
Or who hath begotten the drops of dew-
Who to the frost of heaven giveth birth.
From whose womb did ice come forth?

Every day in awe I’ll wonder,
From where the scattered wind is blown.
Only ever knowing my Father’s wisdom,
In fabric’s beyond my touch is sewn.

Autumn Flame

Summer blossoms long past bloom,
As August green to orange turns.
The waking embers of Autumn’s flame,
Upon each canvas horizon burns.

This flame that burns, wild glows,
Casting colors to nature stain.
Beauty touches each and all alike-
Its brush the wind crisp and the rain

First falling leaves, the restless few,
Foreshadow this sprinkle the downpour certain.
Touched by red, by orange gold,
The bottom threads of Autumn’s curtain.

Summer back from the horizon east
Curls like paper by matches lit,
Until Fall’s colors, and the canvas fresh,
Like a stained glass mural fit.

From these crimson mountains drenched,
Dusk erupts to soak the sky.
What once was blue, and summer stained,
Is dripping now with auburn dye.

Across the fields, alive and wide,
Pipes the scent of Autumn’s flame-
Which with its brush in color’s crisp.
Paints in strokes too broad to tame

The Starry Night

O starry night,
You across the sky unfold.
Over the heavens, draped-
A weaving spun in satin bold.

Your orchestra sings-
An opera of crestfallen blue.
You dance and play, alive-
Honey thick with wild sorrow.

Colors pasted to the breeze
twist and swirl. This scented veil,
wind caught with random
leaping stars, glitters now afire.

The town below, in sapphire deep-
Steeples, chimneys, sleeping fair.
Beneath this sky, impressionistic,
Rusty light upon them sighs.

The moon a crescent- burning full,
Above the horizon dangles loose.
The hills and trees in colors drenched,
Drip with blue rained from the skies.

O starry night,
You across the sky unfold.
Over the heavens, draped-
A weaving spun in satin bold.