Mottled colors flutter
like butterflies,
await
the pristine white
canopies —
Wind-parched leaves
mantle the oak-brown
soil with topaz and jasper
above the dormant seeds
of wilted wildflowers —
Hearken to horse-hoof
raindrops,
the muffled fracture
of petioles letting go
at the eleventh hour
when all the coins of time
are spent
and the egrets of winter
alight
upon the emerald cedar
branches.
D. G. Vachal © 2015
Photo credit: Igor Burdin
The poet’s voice warbles
where plaintive cellos echo
from vine to hanging vine
in rain-
drenched equatorial jungles —
trills mid-air with the sparrows,
traverses
clandestine recesses,
myriads of breadcrumb
ant trails,
rocky mountain ridges
of wind-sculptured silence —
The poet’s hand gathers
the orchard fruit promise
birthed at nighttime
from fragrant white blossoms —
The poet’s feet dance
somewhere in a warmer province
tango
across a million grains of sand
aglow with the colors
of the dawning sun.
by D. G. Vachal © 2015
Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons, “Equatorial Jungle” by Henri Rousseau. This is a faithful photographic reproduction of an original two-dimensional work of art. The work of art itself is in the public domain for the following reason: This work is in the public domain in the United States, and those countries with a copyright term of life of the author plus 100 years or less.
Snowstorms congregate
like serried pines
as wind-blown flakes pelt
the pristine wool
of gentle lambs —
There comes a miracle
of seasonal winds
that guides the sails
of quarantined boats
to tranquil, emerald coves —
Light wends around the tents
of shadows,
cloud feathers fall upon the barks
of blossom-bound orchard trees.
D. G. Vachal © 2014
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
Petals under moonlight,
clusters
on a night when the month of May
is ending:
the owls play their piccolos
upon the branches,
the crickets, their castanets
on the watery grass —
Rejoice
in the muted colors of the petals,
foliage and sepals,
beneath the cloak of temporal
darkness:
the greening of things
innumerable
blazes across the fields of this fertile
continent,
drenched in the early rain,
warmed by the beams of the morning
sunlight.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013
Photo Credit: Richard Thripp
lilies, sparrows and grass 