Tag: Life

A Stranger at Sunset

A Stranger at Sunset

the sky was light mandarin
the first time we met
you, a stranger from far away,
my task to welcome you
to our land
for just a few hours —

you and I
walked to the bus stop
you with your crisp white shirt
long sleeves,
creaseless
I with a topsy-turvy skirt,
mismatched blouse
checkered,
floral,
yellow, pink, and green —

shy and tongue-tied was I
you spoke on through my silence
your footsteps
confident
upon the cobbled streets
while I stumbled on —

you found a place for us to dine,
a table where the light fell soft
upon your face
for the first time
I looked into your eyes
as you looked into mine —

the dusty red bus brought us back
to the same stop
there we said goodbye
your smile lighted the night’s darkness
it was then I knew
I would see you again.

D. G. Vachal ©2025

Image by ELG21 @pixabay

A Cold December Night and the Rain

A Cold December Night and the Rain

A cold December night and the rain
pummels the rooftops,
drops colorless pearls
on the kitchen window
my reflection
cloudy on the wet glass,
as icicle fingertips put away
pots and pans where they belong
hidden
until tomorrow’s bidding —

Long ago on a cold December night like this
while the rain pummeled the rooftops,
a porcelain cup broke gently,
delicate Saxon flowers
shattered on the floor
as I knelt to collect the broken pieces,
soft footsteps walked towards the door
and in an eternal moment
the door closed
slowly
like an ebbing tide —

A cold December night and the rain
pummels my heart
and once again
the rain brings me back to a place
of scattered Saxon flowers,
a broken porcelain cup
that once was whole.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by AnNeef @ Pixabay

November the Penultimate


November the Penultimate

Never was a month so motley in its days:
November, penultimate month
of a year that frames the seasons,
when leaves in early days
turn to brightest garnet,
blazing topaz,
illuminated gold —

the latter days arrive
with the fire of the winds,
and the burning leaves take the plunge
from infernal towers of the branches
to the burial grounds of a gun-
metal, brumal earth —

November, November,
calves ache from the marathon,
hearts pound the door
to another December

when holly berries huddle upon the petals
of the soft-spoken snow,
and the fallen leaves breathe again
at the sound of the carols of the children,
the children rejoicing.

D. G. Vachal © 2013

Photography Credit: November’s Decline by Bucaneve

The Years, My Friend

Winter by Farhad
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,
I see your eyes shrivel
like unpicked grapes on the vine,
your mouth a wounded cherry
pecked 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 winter,
where leafless branches stand dauntless
in the endless cold,
telling jubilant tales
in the blizzard of their days —

Hearken to the legends
of root, of bud, of sun,
and to the promise
(believe the promise)
that warmth and springtime
will return,
(they always return)
once again.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013, 2025

*** Photography by Farhad

Waxing Moon and Summer’s Farewell

Waxing Moon and Summer’s Farewell

How swiftly the season turns:
moment passes by another moment
as in my elusive nighttime dreams,
all the while the ardor for life abides
though cooler breezes quench
the noonday fires —

I hear summer’s last melodies
edged with change
cedar waxwings whistle among the birches,
the meadow edge
hums with crickets and katydids,
mourning doves croon their yearning calls
into the twilight air —

evening approaches:
a waxing half moon sheds silver threads
upon the garden fronds,
forest trees cast blurred shadows,
open fields lie platinum pale
half radiant, half shrouded,
inlet waters quietly flow
into their appointed oceans
in albescent half-light —

last day of August
I stand at the precipice of summer’s departure
on a quarter moon evening,
revealing yet secretive
of what approaching Autumn holds.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by W.carter, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons