Poetry | Winter’s Song

A poem written in February 2017.IMG_1911There is a silvery song that sighs
When snowflakes fall from leaden skies.
Through frigid air to frozen earth
The melody of silence flies.

Winter’s song like silver bells
Rings cold and diamond bright,
Echoing clear from glorious dawn
And murmuring into radiant night.

It is the song of silence
Of snowfall thick and deep,
Of whispers soft in waiting woods
Where summer’s memory sleeps.

It is the song of reckless joy
When skies are crystal blue above,
When jaunty breezes laughing free
Shake bursts of snow from frozen tree.

It is the song of artistry:
Of paintings in the drifts…
And windowpanes, like crystal fine,
Are etched with ice and etched with time.

There is a silvery song that sighs
When snowflakes fall from leaden skies.
Through frigid air to frozen earth
The melody of winter flies.IMG_3791e

Poetry is far from being my main form of artistic expression, and I admire those poets of the past who left such a gorgeous legacy of verse. It is something I enjoy dabbling in from time to time, but hardly a written form I’m particularly comfortable in. Maybe that will change.

Poetry | Dusk

Dusk: A Poem

How I love the dreaming dusk,
When drowsy life falls fast asleep.
And into houses, nests, and dens,
All breathing things do creep.

The silence falls like heavy dew
As one by one the stars appear.
The darkness comes with gentle step,
A quiet mother, drawing near.

The silver crescent of the moon
Is tangled in the trees,
While a gentle hushing lullaby
Is murmured in the breeze.

The amber turns to lilac
In a sky of deepening night.
And a gentle rush of wings is heard
From an owl’s silent flight.

In the last light of the day,
That smoky dimness, clear and cold,
The trees stand grave and dark and still,
Like father-kings of old.

The pearly light fades from the sky
And above the far horizon’s rim
Diamond bright a star is seen
Like a candle, flickering dim.

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Poetry | Dawn

Dawn: A Poem

I love the earth before the dawn
When sleeping things awake,
When pearly breezes kiss the grass
And birds their lovesongs make.

Before the day has yet awoke –
Those fleeting moments, oh! How few!
Before the golden dawn has broke
And turned the hoary frost to dew,

Then a shimmering spell is cast
And all the world in slumber dreams.
There isn’t heard nor breath nor sigh
|And the moon on mirror waters gleams.

The softest stirring in the trees –
A rosy blush where sky meets earth,
A hidden joy, a waking love,
A welling forth of mirth.

For then! The light of glorious sun!
The east in flaming glory stands
And paints each hill and rock and vale
As if by touch of tender hands.

And at the first light of the dawn
The silver world is bathed in light
Of amber sun and sapphire sky
And all forget the night.

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