Tag: poems

Last Days of Summer


Last Days of Summer

Lemon scents linger
from blooms of white magnolia,
while a cool breeze tiptoes,
donned in ornate lace
into a summer dusk cathedral:
I hear the mellow sound of shaken leaves
upon their sun-tanned branches,
harp strings stroked by fingers
of the wind —

The purple grosbeak’s song endures
into the night,
nectared notes delight
as I revel in these ardent days
of crimson apples,
the primrose pulp of aubergine plums,
the musk-white fragrance of orange
blossoms,
the golden cloak of summer’s warmth
upon the vibrant flowers.

by D. G. V. © 2012

** photography by Roman Niku

Breathlessly Miskeyed

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

A Childhood Memory of My Father

 

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

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