Tag: poetry

New York Harbor, One September


I first published this poem in 2012, remembering a sail into New York Harbor only days after September 11, 2001—the altered skyline, the smoke upon the water, and the journey back toward home.

New York Harbor, One September

… a September memory, 2001

September comes
with its whimsical wind,
and the bittern’s barbaric yawp
echoes across the creek,
a snowfall of seagulls perch
upon the jetty,
watch
as we hoist our sails
at the mouth of the bay —

the sloop floats like paper
blown
by a little boy’s breath,
past inlet coves and marinas:
we reach the Harbor,
the sun’s golden glint turns to rust,
the air is clothed
with subtle shrouds of grey
for weeping —

far off into the distance the skyline
is a ghastly dream,
toothless
of two towers,
and the salt air mingles with smoke
and burning steel,
ashened mortar,
the  putrescence
of flesh and flowers —

we turn around,
maneuver the wind,
the charts and tides,
to reach our own secluded harbor,
cradled by the arms of moonlight—
we throw down the anchor,
fall asleep under a cupola
of infinite constellations.

by D. G. Vachal. © 2012

*** photography by slgckg @Flickr Commons

A Fragrant Place

A Fragrant Place

Let us go to the calling fields,
for the grove is pregnant with olives
ripe with rainbow
shades of purple, and celadon
pearls enter the race,
awakened from dreams
of yellow blossoms,
butterflies
and bees.

O bring me rinds of bergamot,
mandarin and lime,
branches of cedar
and sandalwood,
lemongrass —
and in the clearing
build a fire
for my kettle
of perfume.

Let the scents simmer
while with the sun
we walk the day,
but remember the pathways,
twists of trails,
faces of forests —
take me back
to that fragrant place
when twilight falls.

by D. G. V. © 2012

Originally posted 2012-05-23 10:10:23.

Music of Childhood



… for my mother

Music of  Childhood

Play for me the melodies
of childhood
as the apricot glow turns
to voiles of lavender
and crickets chirp
in the coolness
of twilight —

come sit with me
on this piano bench.

Play not for the crowd
but for me alone,
Polonaise
in A-flat major —

let me watch your fingers
caress
the ivory keys,
let my heart explode
with pounding octaves,
climb crescendos,
dance with staccatos —

Tell me how long time ago
before bedtime stories
and childhood dreams,
you dipped my spirit
in the romance of Liebestraum,
the sweetness of nocturnes,
of etudes and preludes —

Now, as your fingers tend
the autumn flowers,
come sit with me,
play the melodies,
the music
of my soul
once again.

© 2012  by D. G. Vachal

*** Photograph: Heart and Music by Dragan Todorovic 

Originally posted 2012-05-12 01:08:29.

In the Evening Hours

In the Evening Hours

Give me these moments
when gardenias ascend the sky
to sparkle
with the stars:
a fragrant scroll blazes
with ancient sonnets
of constellations.

Indigo waters are silver
with moonlight —
I tell you a secret:
my heart harbors many cotyledons
that bud at midnight,
but the purple garden
I must walk
alone.

by D. G. V. © 2012

*** Photograph: Tetonic Moonshine by Jack Sparrow

Originally posted 2012-05-06 01:00:17.