Love Haiku 31:33
31
asleep beside me
peaceful as a joyful lamb
songs of jade meadow
32
moonbeams and starlight
white petals turn lavender
your voice calls my name
33
spring tide and neap tide
the ocean breathes with the moon
your heart beats with mine
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Philip Graves @ Unsplash
Momentary Blooms
Are there memories
senseless
to logical sentiments,
written off as never-
happenstance hypotheses
by mountain goat-bearded
wise sages —
why then
do rainbow whirlwinds
hover over peripheries
of my befuddled mind,
radiate
in the recessive
penumbra
of my tranquil heart —
thoughts of loves
long forgotten
momentarily bloom
like purple
crocus petals
on the frigid soil
of weather-beaten
March gardens —
why then
do they disappear
in April.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Couleur @Pixabay
Yet Will I Trust in Thee – A Sonnet
“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him: but I will maintain mine own ways before him.” Job 13:15 KJV
Though Thou slay me, yet will I trust in Thee
Thou holdest my fragile world in Thy hand,
The tides and seasons turn at Thy command —
Speck of dust am I in eternity,
Bestowed a moment’s breath on earth to be —
The wildest joys came I to comprehend,
Life’s strange conundrums yet to understand,
Someday revealed in immortality.
I have no stake in my own life but Thine,
Possessing nothing in this world but Thee
Thou sittest in the altar of my heart
The ever purest love I know is mine
Through hail and thunderstorms I have one plea
That from Thy house I never will depart.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Mohamad Hasan @pixabay
End of February
delicate brush strokes,
embroidery of deer
mouse tracks,
red fox paw prints
melt in the snow —
music
in the white silence,
aspen trees
trembling in the wind
put on flesh and sinew —
long have I shivered
in the cold,
long have I huddled
by the fire —
I only know
the long-awaited promise
draws near.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Oyvind Holmstad @ Wikimedia Commons https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pilegrimskulturlandskap_21.jpg
How Could You Ever Love Me
How could you ever love me
now
after so many winters past,
carved rivulets form
upon my face,
winter cold tunnels
furrow
nettled branches
upon my lips —
now
when my arms and legs
are krummholz,
tree branches
disfigured by cruel
north winds —
what ever do you see
in my tired eyes
the way one tenderly beholds
a newborn eaglet
breaking from its shell
expectant
for its maiden flight —
do you see beyond the farthest
ebony-ice mountains,
the mystery of the uttermost
remote white stars,
the silent moon,
disregard
the momentary sparkle
of the here and now —
how could you ever love me
bone and marrow,
petal and sepal,
root and river.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Susan-lu4esm@pixabay
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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