whispering kisses

above the rim of the wine glass

her eyes glance up at me;

sipping on a beautiful trance.

i’m gonna go

where in pictures others have just seen;

dare to dream.

today gave me new horizons

to seek and to find;

i get lost in her everyday!

a morning sun wakes

and she finds me by her side;

kisses softly whispering good morning.

i’m going to do

what others wouldn’t dare;

i wouldn’t think twice.

explore a world

where she makes

my heart beat wild,

my breath speaks her name;

she is such!

where the moon lights my midnight sea;

where trees

lined deep along the river of dreams;

reflections bathing in the waters

under the sea of the universe,

i stood upon the mountain top

and found her there

wishing on the same falling star –

above the rim of the wine glass

her eyes glance up at me

sipping on a beautiful trance.

c. 2016  bgw

 

 

in the washing rains

lightning sparks,

shining the reflection in the window mirrored.

a loud thunder clasp snaps soon after.

startling the sparrow, he flies through the rains falling.

there, it takes shelter under the leaves above;

watch as the old man walks under the dangling branches,

through the puddle ridden sidewalks.

past the neighbors window,

he walks by and their dog barks.

the rains come pouring down,

and washes away all the dirt;

storms move in and welcome the floods with a fresh scent –

through the mist of fallen drops;  swells the drying riverbeds.

in the washing rains

poor lady luna holding a sign

standing between the center line –

looking for someone to wipe away the pain

filling her empty veins

all awhile her newborn son lights up

and then cries out of hunger –

crying out of hunger;

lightning sparks,

shining the reflection in the window mirrored.

a loud thunder clasp snaps soon after.

startling the sparrow, he flies through the rains falling.

there, it takes shelter under the leaves above;

watch as the old man walks under the dangling branches,

through the puddle ridden sidewalks,

past the neighbors windows,

he walks by and their dog barks.

the rains come pouring down,

and washes away all the dirt;

storms move in and welcome the floods with a fresh scent –

through the mist of fallen drops;  swells the drying riverbeds.

 

 

c. 2015 bgw

the endless meadow of thought

night time storybook riddles,

the endless meadow of thought.

counting the stars above,

slowly the eyes draw heavy and fall back.

through these dream scape knacks,

she comes knocking at my door.

and all for a while in absolute calmness,

a beam of her laughter spills out

into my soul,  overflowing onto the floor.

she opens the frayed drapes of darkening certainty

and breathes out the sunshine warmth.

as the breeze drifts by,

under all the leaves of the trees above

over the rushing creek waters,

over rock and pebble –

leading us back again

to the elevated castles sitting high.

brick on top of brick

stone on top of stone –

inside the wall of my security,

are her arms wrapped around me.

the essence of her being i find.

flood my emotions in this bouquet of time

with her being with me

in the endless meadow of thought!

in the wiping of eyes awoke,

and the gorgeous illusion of what was,

was nevermore – halted and taken!

oh! night time storybook rhyme,

lead me again

to the endless meadow of thought!

 

 

c.  2014  bgw

winter’s morning

 

 

when i woke in winter’s morning,  grey and beautiful

snow had been falling during the midst of night

the hidden light of the moon falls into its slumber

and a stillness of the morning seemed to take hold of my thoughts

– in a grey morning dawn.

a leaping sun hides and hibernates

and yields to a gentle falling snow.

all the silence that is to be heard in the woods

i seek for it here as i sit at my desk in this cabin –

warm and comforting.

glancing out the window before me –

frosted and cold.

the desk lamplight shines upon the parchment,

the cobblestone fireplace warms the room,

and i gaze out some more.

hypnotized by the falling flakes dancing downwards,  searching –

finding the words in a silent wonder

i snap back out of my hypnotic state

as the chimes of the clock strike nine

soon fading back into its rhythmic tic toc.

– in a grey morning dawn.

a leaping sun hides and hibernates

and yields to a gentle falling snow.

all the silence that is to be heard in the woods

gave way to the crunching sound of  footprints in snow –

stretching my legs i wander towards the wood pile and grab another armful.

from the corner of my sight,  i found the cardinal perching  in the twiggy branches

the morning snow slowly cloaking,  coating the bare trees,

and all the while the creek below sweeps it cold waters downstream.

the chimney smoke softly drifts upward,  and bellows outward the sent of a welcoming warmth awaiting

i rush back into the cabins comfort.

the tea kettle slowly starts its soft whistle as i brush off the gathering flakes of snow

now melting on my jacket and in my hair

– when i woke in the winter’s morning,  grey and beautiful

snow had been falling during the call of night

the hidden light of the moon falls into its own slumber

and a stillness of the morning  seemed to take hold of my thoughts

 

 

c. 2014 bgw

a poem for the reign

 

the pre dawn winters sky was crisp

the snow blanket  glows bright white as full the moon shone aloud

all the open trails the lead me here,

through woods blindly i sought

*

some come, seek  to love me

some leave and hate me

i  can make them laugh and understand

i can make them cry and leave them scratching their heads

*

some seek to follow me

and others want to hang me at dawns early light

*

but ive seen it all before

the same place where they call me saviour

is where they cursed me all in the same breath

always looking for the favour –

poem for the reign

*

so i run up to the highest point

i scream at the top of  my lungs for some support

i scream out and it echos all

but lands on deaf ears

*

oh,  poem for the reigns –

a broken heart floats down river –

a river rushing and flooded.

the current carrying away whats left

a million little pieces,  all in a million different directions

*

the pre dawn winters sky was crisp

the snow blanket  glows a bright white as the full  moon shone aloud

all the open trails the lead me here,

through woods blindly i sought

 

 

c. 2014 bgw

in the summer woods

 

the woods,  cool and dark,

cloaked the indiana humidity.

green leaves of a young summer sit motionless –

the days sunlight dares not  trespass.

all the while,  the native birds sing a song –

one of search and one out for love.

look above and two small hawks lingers in perch

one seeks its prey,  as the other tends her nest.

the mouse on the cooled moist dirt of  the ground

burrows itself in the pile of leaves,

inside the years of untouched earth.

the sounds of the creek water slowly babbled by,  washing the rock in its bed

the woods,  cool and dark,

cloaked the concrete jungles of  marble and glass

inside the realm of  the woods,  silence tells a story

a peace that has been long forgotten –  a throne to an earth that once was

the woods,  cool and dark,

cloaked the indiana humidity.

green leaves of a young summer sit motionless –

the days sunlight dares not  trespass

 

 

 

c 2014  bgw

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

early morning sky (fisherman’s peace)

72

feet crackle through the dry brush of a left over winter foliage, brown and dead.

the coolness from the night’s starshine lingered.

up on the horizon the sun breaks,

peaking through the grey overcast of  an early morning sky.

twenty feet ahead lies a clearing,

set the tackle box down,

and seek the favourite lure, set the hook –

casting back and casting out,

soaring  through the air

the bait hits the water and sinks down below the surface

disrupting  the mirrored stillness –

the ripples traveling closer to where you stand

this is the place where one comes to think

this is the place where problems find their answers

this is the place where you can hear the silence that surrounds

and this is the place where you can come to restore

to catch or not to catch, really doesn’t matter

look  upon the trees on the distant shore

and find the birds singing  their midday song.

casting back and casting out,

what have you found?

just an early spring days sun,  warm and welcoming

the bait hits the water and sinks down below the surface

disrupting  the mirrored stillness –

the ripples traveling  closer to where you stand

if one hand fishes and seeks

the other reels in

and so it goes,  to the peace that was found

a fisherman’s good-bye

feet crackling through the dry brush of a left over winter foliage,  brown and dead.

the coolness from the evening crept back in the day ,

up on the horizon,  the sun slowly disappeared.

of orange and pinkish reds,  all of an early evening sky.

 

 

 

c. 2014  bgw