Poetry
• Angels• I Am
• Motes of Dust
• Ode to a Magnolia Tree
• The Rat
• When Shadow Fled
Angels
Do you believe in angels?Seen by few,
felt by many,
they are our silent guardians,
driving away the terror
which threatens to engulf our souls.
Perhaps you have heard
their nightly whispers,
gentle and soothing,
surpassing even the most tranquil lullaby;
or felt their invisible arms,
shielding you from the dangers and turmoils of the world.
Or perhaps,
on a quiet day,
you have felt the sweep of their wings
as they fly overhead,
assuming their tireless vigil
over mankind.
There are those
who entertain angels
unawares,
never imagining
that the old beggar,
with his shabby garments and gnarled hands,
could have a heart of gold
hidden beneath the soot and grime,
or that the librarian,
with her feeble eyes and graying hair,
could have a tireless spirit,
always willing to lend her knowledge
to those that need it.
These celestial beings,
who are so often under disguise,
are all around us,
touching us with their presence,
and soothing our ruffled minds.
Look hard enough,
and you may find an angel
in your very midst.
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I Am
I am the echo of thunder on a midsummer dayI am the pattern on a butterfly’s wing
I am the waves lapping upon the prow of a ship
I am the flash of lightning in an empty room
I am a tender sprout poking my way up out of the soil
I am a metronome, keeping pace with those around me
I am the velvet on a horse’s nose
I am a cluster of emerald moss, spongy and moist
I am the innocent smile of a young maiden
I am a standard, proudly fluttering in the wind
I am the luster on a pair of newly-shined shoes
I am a cat, lazy and nonchalant
I am the dew bejeweling the grass
I am the spirit of all these things.
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Motes of Dust
Sitting upon the base of a lampare motes of dust,
countless in number,
each a minuscule grain of next-to-nothingness.
Switch on the lamp,
and they become visible,
anticipating the puff of air
that will send them on their merry way.
There!
Now they are off, floating and cavorting
through the air,
resembling the tiniest of dancers.
Airborne, they wander aimlessly,
ever travelling downward,
until, at last,
they once more come to settle upon
the base of the lamp, there to wait
until the next puff of air
comes their way.
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Ode to a Magnolia Tree
Planted on a knolllike a bride in white
is a magnolia tree,
its supple arms bent under the weight of
a myriad of blooms.
Swaying in the breeze,
their bobbing heads are full of visions;
visions of spring and endless sunshine,
of warm, balmy breezes
and cool, tranquil nights.
Their petals are fingers,
creamy and soft
as a baby’s skin.
All who drink in their perfume
are overcome
with a sense of euphoria.
Most precious magnolia,
surely your beauty cannot be matched
by any mortal thing;
your purity is exquisite.
Many hands will reach for your blossoms
and you will give them freely,
so that your innocence and loveliness
may be drunk in by all.
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The Rat
Up in the garret,I hear a noise.
A subtle noise,
like tiny paws
scurrying across the rafters.
Do you see what I see?
A rat;
ambling along the edge of a beam,
his bare tail delicately poised
for balance.
Suddenly, he freezes –-
every limb held stock-still,
save his whiskers
which twitch curiously,
as if they are alive.
Don’t move, or he’ll see you!
See how he sits on his hind legs
revealing a creamy white underbelly,
soft as silk.
Sniffing the air for predators,
his sharp, intelligent eyes scan the room,
black orbs of liquid darkness
wary of every moving thing.
He is all-seeing.
His vigil is interrupted by a sound --
someone is climbing up the stairs!
Without warning,
the rat is gone.
Disappeared?
I cannot say.
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When Shadow Fled
Long ago, when Earth was young,
And Death was but a name,
A fair folk dwelt beneath the stars
Their raiment silver-gray.
Withheld were they from mortal woes,
Their hearts were glad and free;
Until the day that Shadow came
Ensnaring every tree.
Its icy grip---so cruel and cold---
Laid siege to every heart,
'Til fair from fell, and fell from fair
Not one could tell apart.
Then days grew dark, and 'neath the stars
Strife ran thick as blood.
Where now abode the Light of old
To quench this evil flood?
Yet e'en as Shadow preened and claimed
Its aim of darkness won,
Hope remained in hearts unbowed;
The light was yet to dawn!
For out of the east, a faint glow emerged
Piercing Night's thick veil---
Soft fingers of light grew steadily bright
While Shadow's forces quailed.
With bated breath the faithful watched
As evil's bane drew nigh
Until, at last, the burning sphere
Rose to fill the sky!
Shadow's ranks were seized with fear
And fled the piercing light---
Smote was the shroud from o'er the land;
New blooms came into sight.
Now hearts are warm, and fair is fair
And Shadow but a name;
Free folk still dwell beneath the stars
Their raiment silver-gray.
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