Star Struck
Last night, when least expected,
out of nowhere, a new star
and beyond it, the Red Planet.
Light fragments, disintegrates.
I grasp at snow flakes
as they stumble, falling stars
sliding down the sky.
I stretch out my hand
to grasp the magic of the moment,
but I cannot comprehend the mystery.
I shiver – knowing I must leave
the warmth of my bed,
my comfort zone,
to walk alone in cold and dark.
Moment
St. Patrick’s Day
So soft, so subtle, this moment,
when land and sea reach out
and touch each other,
sea hand offered for the land
to raise up and kiss.
The Equinox draws near.
This is the moment when sun and moon,
day and night are equal.
It is the moment when the world
seems to stop, then moves again
in another direction,
from winter’s darkness into daylight
and the spring’s delight.
And still I live in hopes to see
the land of my birth once more,
the land of my fathers
where my father and mother met,
the land where I first saw daylight,
felt the land reach out to the sea,
felt the joy of the sun-licked sea kiss,
saw daffodils dance on the shore,
and swans swimming on the sea.
“And still I live in hopes to see…
Swansea Town once more.”
Hope
In the half-light, on my evening walk,
the first pale-green spears of spring
stuck out their tongues
from the lips of leaf mold
and dark earth to mock me.
“Back home,” they said, “the daffodils
are in full bloom. In Ireland
the shamrock refuses to surrender.
It will not be trampled underfoot.”
“But this is my home,” I replied.
“Believe: and spring will come,”
the earth cried out.
“La paciencia todo lo alcanza –
patience achieves everything.”
The darkness deepened. Night came on.
But the sun still shone within my heart,
and filled me with hope.
Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
Hope.
Outreach
It’s so easy to cast the tiniest
pebble into the tranquil pond.
Sit and watch the ripples spreading,
flowing outwards, touching unknown
shores with a smidgen of warmth,
a lapping of love.
Reaching out, from the center
to the periphery, not knowing
where the outreach is going,
but knowing that the effort is
never in vain if it helps someone’s
suffering, reduces their loneliness,
brings light to their lives,
and relieves their pain.
Bread cast upon the waters,
returned in great store,
three, five, seven, ten times
more than what you cast.
Your spider-web lines
thrown inwards and outwards
in a gesture of faith, hope,
and a charity chest of tenderness
to lighten a burden, to remove
the dark from another’s heart.
It’s so easy to select a pebble,
but who will throw that first stone?
Mallards
They flew twice around the house, then settled in on the snow. Not a pond in sight. Six of them: beautiful. The snow was fairly fresh and they sort of swam through it, looking very clumsy. Between low light, fly screens, and dirty winter windows, the photos aren’t great. But what fun. This is the best way to shoot things: with a camera.
Surrounded
Surrounded by beauty,
a magical paradise
trapped for a moment
in a sunlit mirror,
the past laid out before me,
the thought, word, deed
of a painted reality,
of painted realities really,
visions leaving the mind
only to be caught in line,
color, shape, and paint,
and frozen in time,
each one date-stamped,
and placed here, there,
everywhere on wall after wall,
until I am surrounded,
breathless,
within this circular
vista of visions filled
with inherent beauty.
Light
Striving onwards to the light
I don’t need a ladder
nor an Aladdin’s Lamp
to transport me upwards,
not to stardom
but to the sun and stars
that wait, day and night,
outside my window.
Prince of Mirth,
soon to be Lord of Light,
I will wear my hibiscus crown
for a short time,
but with joy and pleasure,
a treasure I will treasure
until the natural end
when stars, sun, and crown
come tumbling down,
leaving me alone,
naked, yet clothed in,
and surrounded by,
light.
Click here for Roger’s reading.
Light.
Hold Fast
On days like these,
the center must hold,
but not just hold,
it must writhe and strive
to live longer, be stronger,
to hold together so that the periphery
understands that it too is at the center
of an extended web of life
that contains us all,
you and me,
past and future generations,
in a great chain of being alive
and knowing that yes, we are here,
we are, at heart, really only one,
and totally unique,
is spite of the sameness
that sometimes surrounds us
as time’s spider-web
unravels, oh so fast, so slow,
and yet still we are here,
and still the center holds.
Click here for Roger’s reading.
Hold Fast
Mood Music
Mood music caught between brush
and paper then trapped in notes
that sing in acrylic colors.
Colored music and music
expressed in colors that dance
on the page and light up
my face and the room
with joy and light.
What figurines dance here,
before your eyes, partners,
each one different for each of us,
moving in a musical mood
that captures a moment of magic,
brush magic,
with silent colors flowing
but all too ready
to burst into song.
A Moment
“A moment in your life,” she said,
“a moment that changed you forever.”
A bad boy,
banned from representing the school,
condemned to acting as a servant
to the chosen few,
those who were good enough to go.
They gathered early in the refectory.
I served them tea.
But first I salted the tea pot with Epsom Salts,
or something similar.
The tea pot frothed and foamed , then settled.
Later, the house master called me.
“Can you dance? he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Show me,” he said. He handed me a chair
and put a record on his gramophone.
I danced, six legs, to his satisfaction.
“Put on your Sunday suit,” he said.
“Be on your best behavior.
It appears we have suffered a bout
of gastro-enteritis.”
That’s where I met her.
Age seventeen. At a school dance.
The one. My one. The only one.
Sixty years later, we’re still together.
Writing this, I see us as we were back then.
My chest goes tight.
My eyes overflow with tears.
Click on this link for Rogers reading.
A Moment.
rogermoorepoet 