reguiny2006 Poetry (108)

Alas! from times remembered hills
cold blows the air, the heart it kills.
Flown happy days, where once thou went
amid the sisterhood of love's content;
now, love-caressing, soft whispered sighs,
touching kiss, those sleepy too tired eyes,
tear washed by vast oceans spent
with murmuring voice, love's echo eloquent
speak of thy most beauteous things,
as a haunting lilt on plaintive stings,
reflecting sorrow like grey ashen flowers
through aching pain's sad empty hours.
Yet through opaque tears, beauties lore
recall, love that we had known before,
Lord overseer, master of the deep dark night,
shall torch a star of finest light,
bursting forth as a flower from a bud,
serving warm the sorrowed flowing blood,
ever stay regardless of clouded moons,
to brighter burn than summer's noons,
spill music o'er our once known shore,
to serenade its sweetness all the more;
thereby ease pain from which we strive,
keeping all that's ours awake, alive,
shall see through tears, shinning without stain,
till by grace, sisterhood chance meet again
in evening chapel, coloured vespers store,
church quiet love, measureless by its door,
wherein, memorized breezes charm compel
us listen to the music of its spell,
where all anguished cadence dies away
and restful peace finds its long awaited day.

Inclement climes set early in today,
lacking mercy at dawn's soft hour,
the lake now ruffled torn and dour,
as sad the world was hard at play,

Thus to counter my abysmal gloom
and annihilate nature's harsh brooding storm,
sojourned I, to my much favoured cozy room,
lit the lifeless fire, then my inglenook was warm,

Thus contented I, relaxing by the blazing air,
I thought of thee, soft faced and fair,
tho' dull outside, embraced your vision rare,
whilst inclined upon my rocking chair,

There, dare but I, my eager love set free
and behind the curtained wall, discover
hallow time, where fond thoughts prevail,
and life's emotional knot ne'er be severed.

The late lit hour appears to be a dark conspiracy
from Heavens once bright azure gold spun sky,
so, in heavy heart, bid day farewell that oft
turns to soothe its pains with colours soft
amid dimly burning beams of blazing stars,
in that low light of quiet distant from afar,
such hypnotic purity, yon pulsating seas
perfumes realms of sanctity, each daily anniversary,
bequeaths a healing silence o'er its twilight shore,
embalms sweetness on the threshold of life's door,
to recede in quietude where fragrant airs are made
in all its glowing brilliance of furnaced colours played,
loitering long in a tinge woven captive bower
before the lap of Morpheus our drowsy dreams devour,
so in this tranquil hour review our anguished day,
whence we in laboured toils, envy others slothful play,
who wallow in the very flame of a fickle burning fire,
whose lust laden coals fuel an hours fragile desire,
painted bright, in all that visual tones include,
a perfect canvass, garlands of hopeful vicissitude,
leaves a narrow view in backward looking eyes,
reaps no more than each earthly hour's surprise,
such their gloried time in veneer of virtue quaint,
remember well, each days anger and complaint,
thus to the future blind that still born minds attack,
wise to fast flown days, yet tomorrows vision lack,
Life's dear future, art as a distant star to me,
a vast and hidden treasure in our colossal galaxy,
that with softer grace receive our earthly scorns,
a human frailty, that we in shame should mourn,
So, cast the envied stone that corrupted greed employs,
in callousness of wanton time, a perfect hour destroys,
sterile shallowed thought wastes our life's career
amid haunted avenues of desperations fear,
So, fear annul and from greater regions of above,
kindle understanding, form a new found love,
from evening's vespers that heaven in fondness wear,
invites all latent thoughts, genii of creation share,
beneath the starry canopy, lies life's enchanted lover,
imaginations wealth, in ritual warmth discover,
like the artistry of embroidered lace, nature upon us heap,
purity of starlight, visions kept in sleep,
imparts its sparkling hue on earth's darker face,
commands a breathless view of beauties truthful grace.

How first I grazed upon your outward view,
a perfected bloom in full maturity,
where, smiles upon thy countenance ever grew
wider far than the sea's untamed enormity,
clothed the common air with moonlight's pearly blue,
that vanished not with life's troubled hours,
thy being, e'er bright eyed as exotic flowers,
loiters long, rich bathed by twilight's hue,
yet thy presence like as the sun full glowing,
that dress harsh winter in it's golden light,
within thy heart, flourish green fields delight,
yet alas! the world would pass without full knowing,

Such is this truth that rides the Ocean's swell,
Such is this truth, this poet pen doth tell.

Methinks within each heart is but a womb,
to treasure hold, thereby conceiving captivate,
what once was sterile, infertile, desolate,
the flowered hope of love's own nurtured bloom
'tis but fair comparison to awakening morn,
whence in quietude shines Heaven's golden eye,
forsakes the abysmal chariot of night's black sky,
sheen shone, saffron paints the dew hung dawn,
thus honoured we, with one fleeting breath divine,
ides of hope abound, the heart to contemplate,
as oft, riches beyond wealth bequeathed in hours late,
neglected! then wander we, in thirst of love's rich wine,

Should thus, destiny deal four aces kind,
the ace of hearts, far better you'll find.

Life's precious hours its fleeting foot denounce,
like as flowing rivers touched but only once,
leaves us wondering, those haste spent days of yore,
when in soft repose, bloomed Springtimes scented store,
perchance, could fate again ignite those moments rare,
or with sullen impotence, at future's dark region stare,
thus we dream whence earth its flowered fragrance sprung,
and languished long when we our love songs sung,
Alas! the pen alone dare challenge with poetic guise
to chronicle times passage, scribe what's considered wise,
Ah! wisdom, 'tis not self conceits that we in abundance find,
more oft in quietude amid the peaceful realms of mind,
a kaleidoscope of tranquility within ones being found,
when stand we firm on Autumn's leaf coloured ground,
new salad days, no differing from that of Spring,
as thoughts of love, like Matin Bells still softly ring,
author of our days relate with profanities charged quill,
to find the Doyen heart lives in Springtime still,

Thus my love, circumscribe a loving thought for me,
of hope sponsored dreams awashed in joys reality.

Wandered I, as thy Wordsworth cloud,
soaring high, aloof and proud,
caressing soft yon hills bathed mist,
like as Angel's lips, whispering kist,
kindling imaginations own puissance,
to fire dawns new sprung naissance,
where Orient's glow tempers so the eye,
inviting axe and sword, obsolescent lie,
thus, rhetorics harsh tongue's wilful sway,
encased, tomb like in unyielding clay,
now, second Spring in new found infancy,
unknown to darkened corridors delinquency,
whence once again with naive trusting hand,
stroll Elysian Fields soft strewn strand,
open eyed espy rainbow's colour unfold,
emotional currency worth more than gold.

Yon lofty hills, dear lingering youth,
when we climbed life's sisyphean slope,
amid tumbling rocks, yet struggled on in hope,
now, backward glance on labours oft uncouth,
each blind day, we, green faith applied
upon the anvil of life's harsh forged sway,
each and every aching limb, relentlessly applied
the burning coals, to fire destiny's unspoken play,
to climb the summits unattainable spoils,
such salad days, inspired by trackless spheres aloft,
passion filed, like as when, both lover and artist toils,
flew on wings when life was green and soft,

yet, despite the woes and destiny our present foe,
we sallied forth to Autumn's coloured glow.

No court here played to feathered Kings
of once grand plumes and pompous things,
long since quenched and forgotten lie,
thier wanton greed doomed so to die,
riding high from the storms of fate,
the pen of justice did to all await,
to walk anew the sun blessed road,
relieved, once the down trodden native abode,
as now, beneath life's tranquil shade,
a monument to peace, here forever laid,
no glory plied or ingenious shame,
just freedoms unconquerable name,

its banners claim no marked grave,
just homespun joys they cherished gave.

Oh! Spring, how thou doth gently change
the chill of winter's cold barren range,
thy earth re-born with fresh fragrancy
of bursting buds powered energy,
soft lengthening day prolongs the view,
to the pot-pourri of colours new,
such as snow white daises sight
shine sweeter than diamonds bright,
nestling 'twixt fond meadows green,
where blows the scented breeze serene,
and watery carpets glistening dew,
caress the woodlands rich bells of blue,
as dawns crisp spheres of light invest,
varying hues most splendid drest,
where dew like pearls and opals rare,
make sweet the early morning air,
and the feathered songstress happy care,
pours melody upon the attentive ear,
emotional notes heart felt swell,
tell of love they bare so well,
echoes sweet like vespers tunefully sung,
or where the Matin bells are rung,
where re-occurring echos lull the hill,
to kiss the vales full furrowed rill,
like as a soft sung Mothers lullaby,
chase dull clouds to hurry by,
as in jealous beauty we stand in awe,
to the charms of its abundant store,
revives the restless spirit floating free,
blithesome, regardless all that age can be

Drink not the daily draught of fears
that changeth not a million years,
for all the seasons we live to know
shall rest its pains within its snows,
so, let our sight with onward looking eyes
mock the melancholy of our fateful sighs,
with all its anger that gloom doth borrow,
that's conceived again with each tomorrow,
for each hour we court shall be no more
as silence steals its once mighty roar,
for, impotent lies the futures ill intent
when we in mirth our days are spent,
as the blood runs fast, enjoy this happy hour,
or, forever endure life's darkened bower.

Sojourn must I to Provence again,
to its clear and love spun sky,
there, warm the breeze weaves a sigh
amid honeyed fields of sun kist grain,
I must go to Provence yet once again
where soft Orient rays caress the dawn,
languishing long on the mist hung morn,
as Lavender mimics the skies blue reign,
its quietude of beauty enraptures the lea,
from new sprung dawn to Westerns fiery eve,
unknown to fools frantic laundered plea,
unaware what the riches of the heart conceive,

Thus, my whispering emotion truly can say,
the spell of Provence has stolen my wits away.