Breathlessly Miskeyed
Oh when a thousand tongues
sing praises
to an unbefitting god,
then the world turns
upside down,
somersaults,
flips over,
plunges into depths
under violent waves,
no breath
for shriveled lungs
till blue meets blue
in direful depths,
suspenseful
waiting,
pleading
for a gasp
of air,
for life,
for truth.
© 2012 by D. G. V.
* photo: Swan Underwater by Viktor Lyagushkin @flickr
Ripple
How many pages of time have fallen like leaves
shaken from oaks by autumn winds —
You came from a distant land
fragrant
with plum blossoms,
where weeping willows shed their tears
upon the lakes,
and bamboo groves rustle love songs
in the summer breeze —
I remember
late afternoon by a lagoon so long ago,
into the water you threw a pebble,
concentric circles carved in liquid,
widened into forever,
flowed into the oceans,
kissed the setting sun.
I remember
you gave me a name,
inscribed in ink:
two characters in graceful dance,
as you pointed to the circles,
the ripple you awakened
with the pebble in your hand.
I have forgotten
the rainbow,
the butterfly by that lagoon so long ago,
and milky water lilies sprightly with scarlet hearts,
for a thousand footsteps have carried us miles away,
to separate continents,
other loves.
by D. G. V. © 2012
*** Photography by Oleg Dmitriev, Circles on the water
for my father — a childhood memory….
Late morning silhouette:
unwelcome shadows,
purple grey subtlety
suffocate the sun
I am befuddled by the silence,
absence of laughter,
ordinary talk,
the smile on my mother’s face —
Sunday respite away from home,
a town where my father was born, we would
spend hours at Aunt Andrea’s house
until the sunset bid farewell
and the gas lamps gave light along with fireflies
and the crickets chirped on.
I was a little child less than school age
in pigtails and petticoats
wondering where my father went that day
for I longed for his strong presence
amidst this baffling purple silhouette —
I crossed the pebbled country road,
climbed up a stunted hill
to Grandma’s house and I found
my father weeping,
hunched under a native fruit tree,
mournful violin strings uncontrollable,
relentless rivulets of tears cascade
for a brother to be buried,
at height of youth,
poisoned
at a town feast the week before
a chef’s senseless blunder —
Wide brown eyes watched in wonder,
my little child’s heart cried at his distress and he
looked back and beheld his daughter,
his countenance contorted in grief softening,
and slowly the mournful music lulled
as he staggered to where I stood
and my father held my hand
and he and I chased the purple shadows out of the morning
as we walked down the hill
along with life and the sunlight.
© 2012 by D. G. Vachal, revised 2021
* photography by Аркадий Деев
Where Love Dwells
“And Jacob served seven years for Rachel: and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.” Genesis 29:20
Love dwells in eternal habitations,
where seasons form
as the dew from heaven
upon the grass —
In quiet abodes
where burdens are weightless
as scattered feathers
afloat
between the branches —
Where the waiting
is not waiting
and the silence is palpable
as the song
of apple blossoms.
by D. G. Vachal © 2012
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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