Month: May 2026

Twilight and the Scent of Honeysuckle

Stepping outside this evening, I was unexpectedly greeted by the lingering fragrance of honeysuckle climbing through the lilacs. The garden, at the end of May, seemed briefly suspended between bloom and fading.

Twilight and the Scent of Honeysuckle ​
​
twilight—
the scent of honeysuckle​
fills the lavender air,
lilacs and dogwoods ​
sing their last notes
of song—
​
twilight—
the scent of white peonies
intoxicates,
while yellow and purple irises​
are at the tip of bloom, ​
and day lilies
await to explode ​
in tangerine madness— ​
​
twilight—
at the end of May
in my garden
suspended
between blossom
and fading

—D. G. Vachal​ ©2026

China Blue


Some poems come back to us differently over time. China Blue began in memory and longing, but also carries quieter inheritances—of Spain, of family, and of journeys that stretch farther back than I once understood. When my father brought his children and grandchildren to Spain, it felt less like travel than return. And somewhere behind the blue of memory lingers an older story still.


China Blue

China blue in my veins
throbs
with Valencia orange groves
sways
with weeping willows
beside the bamboo-lined
waters—

El Greco blue
lines my heart-valves
pulsates
with nightingale songs
dances
with crimson chrysanthemums
under the autumn sun—

Where the sun rises
I greet the dwindling sunset
speak the dialect
of disparate vernaculars—

China blue in my veins
and the orange groves.

D. G. Vachal ©2025

Unexpected Rain

Unexpected Rain

I straddle behind you
on the motorcycle
the sun tans our faces,
your back rests content
with my steady warmth —

we wander
through little known byways
where roads are rough
and vines overgrow their bounds,
and we meander with butterflies
across meadows of wildflowers

then suddenly
the sky breaks open,
pours rain by the buckets,
as wind and water pelt our faces
and little streams
flood our pathways —

I close my eyes,
hold you close,
in a little while
you bring us to a tavern
decked with rain-soaked
begonias:
we step inside,
into laughter and song.

D. G. Vachal ©2025

Image from pixabay

Polonaise in A-Flat Major, Op. 53

Polonaise in A-Flat Major​, Op. 53
​
The last gold of evening​
lingered ​
upon the piano keys​
after the music ​
had already ended​—
​
I come back to the old piano​
my mother used to play​
her etudes and concertos,​
the ivory keys​
yellowed by time—​
​
suddenly I hear ​
the ecstatic pounding​
of Chopin’s Polonaise ​
in A-Flat Major—​
​
my mother’s hands​
striking the old piano​
long after evening​
had darkened
​
D. G. Vachal © 2026​

Accompanying image created with AI assistance
​

In the Candlelight

In the Candlelight​
​
the white curtains​
lifted once​
in the evening wind,​
settled​
like a thought​
unspoken​
​
a candle flame—
scents of gardenia,​
magnolia,​
Spanish moss​
drift through the room​
​
a voice
deep and tonal​
softly calls my name​
​
barefoot I run ​
across the bedroom’s​
mahogany floor,​
grasp​
brass handles—​
​
the door opens wide—​
​
your eyes​
in the candlelight​
​
D. G. Vachal © 2026​

Image by Melanie H.H. @pixabay