Category: poetry

“Apples of the Unseen”



I grasp apples of the unseen,
bite deep into the pulp:
the tartness impels the furtive
flight of feet
to a wilderness far
from this tended garden —

Surrounded by the rustle
of sycamore leaves,
I hear the eagle
wingspans of Your voice,
I run for shelter

cocoon-ensconced
from the clamorous
strife of tongues,
I await
the song-soft whispers,
the lemon-yellow flutters —

Fragile wings bloom
with every springtime rose,
watered by vibrant,
crimson rivulets
flowing
from the distant hill.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

“Thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy presence from the pride of man: thou shalt keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of tongues.” Psalm 31:20

“Swept by Surprise to Moonlit Shores”


Swept by Surprise to Moonlit Shores

Is there a weeping too deep
for the knowing,
when beauty seeps into the open
pores of the soul,
descends to the ocean floors
of our breathing,
swept by surprise to moonlit shores
by irregular tides —

Beauty astounds,
ruffles the colors of the corals,
disrupts the nettled pearling
of the oysters,
arrests
the wanderings of hermit crabs,
the tapestral flowering of anemones
upon the glaucous-velvet rocks —

Underneath, where it is very deep,
the blinding light dazzles,
it reaches upwards
to interminable heights,
from the tide pool to the far distance
where ancient stars blossom
incandescent pink —

Tell me,
are there waters warm enough,
is there salt enough
to mold the tears that fall
from the wonder of it all?

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

Author’s Note:  My allusion to looking from the tide pool to the stars is inspired by  John Steinbeck’s words in his book “Log of the Sea of Cortez: “It is advisable to look from the tide pool to the stars and then back to the tide pool again.”

*** Image by Luis Argerich @ Flickr Commons

“August Air”

August Air

I walk, embraced
by the icy warmth
of this late summer dusk —
aglow, the embers of the fields
are fondled by the wind,
the wind that quenched the fires
of ephemeral dandelions —

Droplets of emerald blood
trickle down the boughs,
return to their invisible roots,
imperceptibly
the leaves turn flavescent,
the cambric air is drenched in waterfalls
of honeysuckle blossoms —

I hear nostalgic songs
in the music of their fragrance.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

*** Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia.org