“End of Autumn”

Igor BurdinMottled 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

“To The Living Of Us All”

YinkaOyeleseMy soul dwells secure
in pleasant mountains
Creator-carved,
where cloud-sent rains
descend to quench
the thirsty tongues
and rays of molten sun
embrace to warm
the evening-cold shoulders   —

What little matters to some
are minuscule,
momentary dewdrops
adrift
in endless possibilities,
whirling from the gift
of measured life-breaths
apportioned to the living of us all —

every sacred
miraculous moment
of what we call today.

By D. G. Vachal © 2015

Photo credit: Yinka Oyelese

“The Poet’s Voice”

Equatorial Jungle

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.

“Might I Behold You More Intently”

Jean Winters Olkonen

Might I behold you more intently
in rapid strides of summertime
when the wine flows endless
from the purple vines
and fertile trees,
pastel flowers
beckon
to plentiful pastures  —

Now,
in the dregs of February winds
when the wine turns to water,
the feasting table
to scattered breadcrumbs,
in utter starkness

I behold your face
and all that we treasure
beyond flesh and sinew,
bone and marrow,
root and river —

I hold your hand,
feel the rousing of crocuses,
the stirring
of daffodils.

by D. G. Vachal © 2015

*** Photography Credit: Jean Winters Olkonen

Blossom-Bound

by James Jordan @ Flickr

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