Crann Mor Feirm: Poetry

To Vicki Merry Christmas 2007

Sun, 30 Dec 2007 12:47:45 GMT

There was a moment

When satisfaction, contentment

Pried my fingers off the edge –

Falling into darkness is an easy ride

It was thoughts of you

Thoughts of you

That broke my fall

Brought me back

Brought me back to you

I looked death in the eyes

Her peaceful, alluring eyes

But it was your eyes

Happy, loving, gorgeous eyes

That saw me through

Breathe…breathe…

You…my every breath

You…my every thought

To live with you by my side

Merry Christmas 2007

Night Dance

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 13:54:22 GMT

I wish I could be with you there,

I wish you could be with me here,

As I lie on my bed

sweet thoughts fly to you there,

and when we drift into silent sleep

our spirits will release and dance in the air.

Going with the Flow

Mon, 08 Oct 2007 22:21:56 GMT

Darkhawk cruising the treetops,

senses the warmer, rising air,

catching the uplift

she turns on the rim of a vortex

circling, circling...

higher, higher...

elevated to the clouds

then floats away on a stream...

far, far away...

never once flapping her wings.

Landscape

Mon, 17 Sep 2007 00:35:27 GMT

Life -

between the borders of birth and death,

presumptuously brushed on a canvas,

suspended by a breath.

Gooseberry Pie

Sun, 12 Aug 2007 21:27:59 GMT

Grandpa Smith loved gooseberry pie.

So green and sour,

It puckered my eyeballs.

I forced myself to eat it.

Because he loved it.

Because I loved him.

I even planted a gooseberry bush.

Lots of thorns, small leaves,

Berries green and firm,

Ripened with a purple crown.

The morning I chose to pick them,

They were gone - not a berry left.

Soon after,

Grandpa suffered a crippling stroke.

He couldn't walk, could barely talk.

When he wanted to say, "Yes",

"No" came out instead.

Articulate, intelligent, honest Mr. Smith,

Reduced to mixed up Yes'es and No's.

We made him a gooseberry pie.

Storebought berries,

Canned,

But his wonderfile smile,

The tears...

I knew Grandpa understood.

Granpa Smith died.

We buried him

In a family plot

Next to a cornfield

In southern Illinois.

He was that kind of man.

I've planted

No more gooseberry bushes,

I've eaten

No more goosberry pie.

The gooseberries...

Are gone.

Jamaican Sunset

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 01:16:25 GMT

Jamaican Sunset

Cantering,

The skewbald mare

carries her regally

across the warm, absorbing beach.

Stopping,

the girl

with the golden hair

ponders the tide's ever intruding reach.

Musing,

in and out

of her mind

disquieting thoughts are churning.

Deliberating,

with or without

this man,

bound to him - forever for freedom yearning?

Above the sand there stands a man,

Looking on in silence and in sadness,

She must be free from his lock and key,

Her only escape from the madness.

Advancing,

along the shore,

she leaves behind

a love she does not need.

Turning,

against the tide

she follows

her horse's wildly charging lead.

Dismounting,

she leaps

into the arms

of the surf's cool, surging embrace.

Swimming,

the girl

with the silver soul

dissolves in the horizon's anonymous face.

Above the sand there stands a man,

looking on in silence and in sadness,

She must be free from his lock and key,

Her only escape from the madness.

Moon Over Me

Mon, 28 May 2007 23:29:38 GMT

O Peaceful Moon,

Salmon-colored tranquil moon.

O Zinfandel Moon,

Smooth, light, warming moon.

Gliding over our conflicts

Your hollow eyes

Calling me to rise above

To enjoy the beauty of our earth

Which holds us both

By her jealous power.

O loving moon,

Serene, calming moon.

Thank you for your smile

Which comforts, inspires,

Seduces me

To hope.

You will pass on,

I know,

Phase out.

A new moon will replace you.

A haunting moon?

A brooding moon?

Perhaps, even

An angry moon.

But I have met you,

Have known you,

O Peaceful Moon.

Giselle

Sun, 06 May 2007 12:47:03 GMT

So tender, so fragile, so young,

Targeted by the engaged prince's love,

Unknowing, she danced for him

With the joyful innocence

Of an angel from above.

This love was not meant to be,

The last petal never lies.

Slain by the sword of a man's

Pledged but untamed soul,

She staggers...she falls...she dies.

With firm, convincing, enduring steps,

Albrecht's life she came to save;

Betrayed, but uncorrupted,

Her love reaching greater heights

Beyond the grave.

Night On Bald Mountain

Sun, 15 Apr 2007 13:17:18 GMT

The mountain stands before them whiskered

only by a few clumps of grass,

While tiny grains of sand sparkle in

the evening sun like rough-cut glass.

But to the tender feet of the young

woman the sand is soft and warm,

As she makes her way up the side of

the hill seeking to cause no harm.

Spritely her partner follows behind,

carrying supplies for the night,

Up the mount they continue to climb

thankful their packs are light.

She turns to him and her wavy loose

hair teasingly falls in her face,

Contrasts of black and white disguise and

reveal her body's form and grace.

At last the lovers reach the summit

and there behold the sky and sea,

They gaze into the twilight sighting

awaking stars, a raft broken free.

Storm clouds are on the horizon, black

waves are rolling onto the shore,

Nature senses the lovers' tension,

a stronger breeze promises more.

The young man reaches into his basket

and lifts a bottle of wine,

He presents a glass to his girlfriend

who then pronounces, "Very fine."

They snack on bread and cheese and exchange

secretive, desiring glances,

They rise from their romantic feast to

engage in romantic dances.

The lady has brought a radio

tuned to a classical station,

Mozart has written a cheerful theme,

the lovers dance with elation.

As their bare feet skip through the sand with

firm hands on one another's hips,

Thier happy eyes meet again and again,

as do their playful lips.

The lovers' hearts begin to pound,

The waves beat against the rocks,

The wind utters a haunting sound,

Above them a dark moon stalks.

Raindrops crash upon their faces,

Thunder beats its big bass drum,

Lightnings flash exposing traces

Of lovers' delirium.

Swirling as if tossed by the wind

Upon the ground they tumble,

Their love seeking to find its end

While thunders boom and rumble.

Her hair and skin are soaking wet,

His firm muscles tense and urge,

Clutching handfuls of sand they let

Their bodies and spirits converge.

The storm unleashes its assault

Upon the top of the hill,

Thus Nature rallies to exalt

Passion joined to lovers' will.

The storm is over. Lying on their

backs in complete relaxation

Their minds wander the pathways of the

sky in joyful contemplation.

The clouds pass and the stars see themselves

reflected in the lovers' eyes,

The stars neither condone nor condemn,

causing no need for alibis.

The great lake stretches before them as

if a pure, life giving fountain,

For the lovers, heaven holds the promise

of this night on Bald Mountain.

Secret Nightmare

Sun, 08 Apr 2007 01:35:39 GMT

Secret Nightmare

Sitting on the couch, trembling, his jammies soaked with sweat,

Still asleep, the little boy's eyes are fixed on a sinister object,

A gigantic wad of hardened chewing gum the size of the moon

Approaches head on - threatening to crush him soon.

Armed with only a sewing needle to aid him in his strife,

Something tells him he must pierce this massive bulk, or lose his life.

Slowly, ever more closely it bears down, intensifying his fear,

He cannot conquer this foe, each millisecond lasts a year.

Waiting...waiting to throw his futile needle,

Waiting...waiting to be crushed like a June beetle,

Waiting...waiting to receive the punishment for his error,

Waiting...waiting trapped in a twilight zone of unending terror.

His mother mercifully awakes him, the images are shattered,

But the little boy's spirit has been unforgettably battered.

His mother comforts him and says it was only a dream,

But he knows that nightmares are even more real than they seem.

A young man now - confident, positive, singing a successful tune,

Facing life head on, life - that wad of gum as big as the moon,

He's armed with better weapons: a new spirit and hope from above,

But a secret nightmare still haunts him...

a little boy

who will perish

without love.

Shamrocks

Wed, 21 Mar 2007 00:27:04 GMT

Raise the umbrellas lads, here comes the sun.

In the shade is where the Little People have fun.

They leap on the ropes and pull with their might,

Unfolding three-cornered leaves which block the light.

They quench their thirst on the morning dew,

They dance and sing and spin a yarn or two.

"Let's raise our flags the sun is high and bright."

They unfurl their pride: five-bannered silks gloriously white.

The flags track the sun as it follows its map,

The Little People lie down for their afternoon nap.

Arousing from their slumber as the sun gently fades,

They lower the flags and fold the shades.

"Light your pipes boyos, soon there will be no light,

Then we can work our mischief in the deep dark of night."

Who knows where they go, who knows where they've been?

But in the morning, the umbrellas unfold again.

Deep Waters

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 00:03:57 GMT

Your spirit

so pure and clear

I can see at the bottom

of its fathomless depths

your heart

so close and near

but to careless eyes

deep waters

very shallow appear

James Joycenames

Sun, 04 Mar 2007 11:46:27 GMT

Walking in the rain,

The plain rain,

The rain made plain

By the stain of the rain plainstaining my head.

Emily was her name.

The waitress's name.

What was her name?

The actress's name? Famedame.

Plain names of blonde fames mainframe my head.

We like our food.

The food is good.

The mood is good for food.

Good is food for the mood.

Goodfood Moodgood!

As I goodstood moodstood I foodchewed my head.

Stomachs are full.

Fools are full. Full of fools.

Fulled up.

I'm a fulled up fool for you.

Foodfilling fullfool faces fill my fool head.

A Moment in Late Winter

Sat, 24 Feb 2007 11:11:45 GMT

Glancing through the frosted window pane,

my eyes recoil

from the glaring chill,

and my soul shivers.

Intensified by the glass,

the sun's searching rays

penetrate the pores of my skin

to melt my brittle bones.

Framed on the floor,

this light heated

like a waiting oven,

beckons me to crawl within.

Taking off my clothes,

I lie in the shine

allowing the sun to fervently caress

my tender, absorbing flesh.

Open to the sun...

Open to God...

Open to the world...

I am exposed, free and warm.

A Robin in Winter

Mon, 19 Feb 2007 13:50:35 GMT

White snow on the frozen ground,

Cold rain spit from a gray sky,

Jeweled drops falling from the eaves,

Hardening into clear stalactites,

Hanging, dripping, lengthening,

Threatening to enclose me

Like a prisoner in Winter’s frigid cell.

A robin, cold and bewildered,

Perches in a Holly Tree,

Plucks a red berry,

Rolls it in its mouth,

Spits it to the ground,

Chirps, and flies away.

Heart's Longing

Mon, 19 Feb 2007 13:47:57 GMT

We search

for something or someone

we can hold on to

something or someone we can trust

something or someone

we can depend on

to love us throughout life

Parents are there

they will likely go on before us

Brothers and sisters are there

we long for something deeper

Friends have become too fragile, too mobile

Is God there?

but even the "Personal Savior"

seems too abstract...too far from our grasp

It is love we are looking for

Beyond our love

for family, friends and gods

we want the love that

breathes in our faces

rubs hands down our backs

places fingers in intimate places

But so much more than this

we want the love of a companion

One that we can trust with our love

not for six months

or three years

or even twenty

but for a lifetime

and we hope, somehow

into a new lifetime

Past failures intensify present risks

who love

who believe in the possibility of love

will take the chance