Like fire, but colder

Like fire, but colder,
like a whisper, but bolder,
she laid her head upon my shoulder
and succumbed to the gentleness of sleep.

The flames began to smolder,
still young, but getting older,
I put my arm around to hold her
and then I myself fell asleep.

Like darkness, but brighter,
like iron, but lighter,
in my dreams I held her tighter
as we breathed together in sleep.

Morning-fire

Morning-fire, the open sky,
a brilliant blossom passes by
with blazing heat that burned away
the shadow-cowl at break of day.

The celestial cup begins to brim
with golden-wine, as a glad hymn
is intoned by clans of feathered-kin
who rejoice that day has come again.

The obsidian-velvet night descends

The obsidian-velvet night descends
as the dying-candle daylight ends.
The last among the brilliant slivers
of golden dusk, like gilded rivers,
shudder not as they cast off life
but in grace depart without any strife.

When endless caverns above the world
are fully revealed, the stars are unfurled
which, along with the moon that soon will appear,
will shine through the darkness to quell every fear
and to rouse night-insects from daytime-dreaming
to sing shrill with joy under silver-lights gleaming.

Lucid in Sleep

[Composed by the late William T. Moore (d. 1974) and found among the many boxes of treasured items kept by his wife Claire (d. 2011). It was handwritten on the back of a utility bill dated November 15th, 1956.] 

I am awake now, Claire, after hearing you say:
Tomorrow will bring but another day.
You uttered these words from where you lay
with eyes open wide to see.

Before I could respond, you fell back asleep
(if indeed you had even emerged from sleep)
leaving me wakeful, my vigil to keep
with eyes open wide to see.

I am thinking of what I had wanted to say:

that each morning brings us a better day,
but I see from your face you are now far away

without eyes open wide to see.

You are sleepwalking through the halls of your mind,

through twilight and shadows, hoping to find

something you lost for which you have pined,
keeping eyes open wide to see.

The shadow-shapes shift across these walls

as the bright round moon quietly crawls
across the sky, with a light that falls
on my eyes open wide to see.

You, in your slumber, are now quiet and still;
I remove my vigil to the windowsill.
Tonight, whether I want to or not, I will
have eyes open wide to see.

The grey light of dawn will soon stir you awake

and furnish us with gifts of time we can take.

But stay lucid in sleep this night for your sake

as I keep eyes open wide to see.

The Shadow-fall

The shadow-fall, the nettle-weed,
the petal-pile, the settled-seed,
the sleeping-trees, the lucid-leaves,
the mirror-stream and spangled-eaves.
The nectar-winds from fields afar
breathe bashful under moon and star
and pass this way in whisper-drifts
to bring the dewy darkness gifts
of brittle kisses and solitude
and, finding the night in pleasant mood,
joins half the world in gentle shade
and caresses every leaf and blade.

Winter Hopes

Wherein what is DEAD is brought to LIFE

[This piece incorporates the solution to a "doublet" or "word ladder" word puzzle, in which one word is changed into another by successive steps of altering one letter at a time. Each intermediate step must also be an actual word. The original concept was invented by Lewis Carroll in the 1800's. The DEAD/LIFE pairing is my own. I thought I would attempt to make the solution into a poem. You may want to try to solve it yourself before reading my poem, which gives one of several possible solutions. The original rules, as given by Carroll, involve competing to come up with the fewest number of steps. My solution has 23 steps, and so there are 24 lines in the poem. Technically, the steps in lines 11 and 21 are not needed but I included them for the structure of the piece. There is an alternate solution with only 18 steps.]

O DEAD world, will you heed my call?

Are you DEAF, can you hear me at all?

The LEAF is brown, the year is old,

the horse is LEAN, the weather cold.

The summer months called in their LOAN,

the LOON gives one last mournful moan.

LOOK! The geese are flying away,

the black-cloaked ROOK alone will stay.

As hard as ROCK this earth will be

and stay a while under LOCK and key.

Good LUCK to all, and may all take heed

who enter this time of LACK and need.

Queen Anne's LACE will not grow there

along the swift RACE of waters fair.

When the RAKE has gathered leaves,

a WAKE is held and each tree grieves

and waits cold months until a WAVE

of blessëd warmth returns to SAVE

this world from the CAVE of winter drear

and brings us all into a COVE of cheer.

In trees will be heard the coos of the DOVE

and lilies will nod in zephyrs of LOVE.

The robins will sing because they LIVE,

as the earth springs forth with LIFE to give.

In Edith's Room at Nightfall

Her face pale in the mirror,
       a vase of dry roses,
a half-eaten pear,
       a painting of Moses
in anger overturning
       the calf made of gold,
The Complete Works of Tennyson,
       some bread growing mold,
a dust-covered photograph
       of a young bride and groom,
a large cobweb hanging
       in one corner of the room,
thin curtains blowing
       over letters on the floor,
Edith brushing her gold hair
       and whispering: nevermore.

Ocean Reverie

Heavy waves of blue-green tears
are falling with fury and rushing away
beneath a noisy flock of seers
who, with their screeching voices, say:

Come away! Come from this shore!
From shifting sands and fading sky!
From lands that soon will be no more!
Come with us now! Come with us fly!

I awakened then where I had slept
and dried the tears that I had wept.

The sky was bare; the gulls were gone.
The evening had grown swiftly chill.
Sunset was dwindling drear and wan,
but the darkened water was heaving still.

Heaving and bringing up to my feet
dead seagrass and broken shells,
all the things the ocean beat
and scoured clean within its swells.

Then over the tide flew one last bird
but silent as death it spoke not a word.