Porcelain Morning
Kinder still the porcelain morning:
kaolin clay
baked in the kiln of the evening
sun, cleansed
of the dross of darkness,
translucent resonance,
impermeable
white.
Pink peonies await
and the glossy leaves —
choose your colors,
paint
with care.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013
*** image by TTor
The Years, My Friend
The years, my friend, have not been kind
upon your marble face, I hear the river songs
tinkle with the cymbals,
your eyes are shriveled grapes upon the vine,
your mouth a wounded cherry,
pecked reddish-grey
by restless robins.
Take my hand, my friend,
let us go to the calling fields that blaze with diamonds
under the eternal skies,
to the orchards in the midst of these winter days,
where leafless branches stand dauntless
in the endless cold, with jubilant tales to tell
in the blizzard of their days —
harken to the legends
of the root and the bud and the sun,
and the promise
(believe the promise)
that warmth and springtime
will come,
(it always comes)
once again.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013
*** Photography by Farhad
Last Days of December
Time to be tranquil now
no longer the consonant prattle of leaves
in tussle with vowels of the wind,
whatever must fall
has
fallen
to the brumal ground,
flower by flower,
seed by seed.
Colors linger in the sky,
of rose bouquets and tiger lilies,
and the poetry of April crouches
in fetal position
within the uterus of vaporous
snow clouds —
Time to be still.
by D. G. Vachal © 2012
*** Photography by Paolo De Faveri
Before Night Falls
Purpureal murmurs,
gasps of pink,
orderly scribbles
of wind-swept boughs
scatter chantilly lace
against a silken
sky —
Woman:
wear the fragile veil
upon your crown,
tread softly into the twilight
cathedral,
illuminate
the candles,
sing
like the nightingale
before the darkness
falls.
By D. G. Vachal © 2012
*** Photography by Franzengel
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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