Poetry
contributed by
Colin Laird
colin.laird@oracle.com

The Stroll

The genteel browns of Autumn compliment her hair.
Bronze tinted leaves, an augury of the seasons wares.
This jeweled nest, the home they both knew,
strolling through the garden draped in mid-October's hue.

The emergence of war; first to draw them apart.
The breeze of death, a searing second to her wax sealed heart.
Votary of love, tattle in the shade.
Infinitum shattered? Her dream has yet to fade.

"He is still with me" she knows with all she is.
This pale olive lovelace and her mourning spiritual bliss.

A raven's piercing shriek, as it passes her near.
Serenity broken, a single tear.

Soft reflection bathed in dawn's forgiving rays.
Dew sparked glistening colours, trawlers ambling in the bay.
A blanketing of calm, as if descending from his will.
An essence by her shoulder, directed winter chill.

Entities, living each other's love.
Across the expanse, a wing clipped dove.
"Time does not exist" she now doth know.
Sharing farewells on their eternal Autumn stroll.

Century Past

So many events to fit in a rhyme,
some to forget and some shaped time
Speeches, wars, inventions so plenty
Shaping our thoughts and guiding the many

So much negativity there is no doubt
although the presence of the opposite, was available throughout.
For that is what changes, not stifles or kills
turns the trivial and monotony into adventure and thrill.

Can we let go? I believe that is the key
to that which does not serve our humanity.
For everyone to have, may seem impossible work.
It's when each of us gives, that all of us touch.

Enough heavy words, time to lighten the load
Feel the warmth of the sun or the spark of the cold
To continue to move together, seeing each other as the same.
Journeying forever as one eternal flame.

The Angel

Contemplating forsaken, his knees meeting concrete bare.
Brow of punctured rubber, a creature finished with beware.
A pulsation from the cell, of within and entrapment be.
The senses say an angel, coact love; "Please, I wish to see."

Attollent belief, faiths foundations creaking.
She shimmered with outpassion and unconditional sharing,
appearing before the grey no strength left to wan.
The raw morbid mind, soothed; a King remembers reign.

As if in ethereal farruca she danced before his eyes, gloom dissolves.
Surfacing pain quenched with loves sweet sigh.
Silent song to the ears both bathe and wash the seer.
Vibrations traverse the body as his eyes both shed their tears.

A remembrance and recognition, of a past, he cannot place,
this compelling light liquid, her perfect omnipotent face.

Alas, this resonant oscillation dims to form before.
Leaving a sanctity of self governance. Tales of lore explored.

Now the ascetic sitting, his back against the wall, cold.
Gazing upward, his matchbox porthole calls.
The break of day; the juncture, his mind's eye does decree.
An everlasting longing stare, "was there she danced for me".

Attollent: Lifting, upraising, as an attollent muscle. (Return)
Farruca: A flamenco dance. (Return)