Tag: seasons

How Could You Ever Love Me

How Could You Ever Love Me

How could you ever love me
now
after so many winters past,
carved rivulets form
upon my face,
winter cold tunnels
furrow
nettled branches
upon my lips —

now
when my arms and legs
are krummholz,
tree branches
disfigured by cruel
north winds —

what ever do you see
in my tired eyes
the way one tenderly beholds
a newborn eaglet
breaking from its shell
expectant
for its maiden flight —

do you see beyond the farthest
ebony-ice mountains,
the mystery of the uttermost
remote white stars,
the silent moon,
disregard
the momentary sparkle
of the here and now —

how could you ever love me
bone and marrow,
petal and sepal,
root and river.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by Susan-lu4esm@pixabay

Winter Tanka 1:2

1

flock of geese in flight
black petals against the sky
can you hear their call
on a sunset in winter
discordant harmonicas

2

trees in winter’s sun
cast long afternoon shadows
snow on their branches
wingéd angels garbed in white
singing praise in high places

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Images by Hans Benn @pixabay; Fietzfotos@pixabay

Could I Have Loved You More

Could I Have Loved You More

could I have loved you more
at moments  
when my heart
refrained from speaking —

would I at springtime sing
with tulips and apple blossoms
when as for love
there are no words?

silent was I in summer
amidst the warbled
music of bluebirds,
silent still
when peonies bloomed
scarlet
upon the velvet grass —

in autumn splendor
could I have loved you more
standing there
adorned in sunset gold and amethyst,
my muted syllables
would be stifled
by the melody
of violins and woodwinds —

when winter ivory feathers
clothe the swaying birch branches
would there be words of colors
to paint a love
more than a heart
can hold?

D. G. Vachal © 2024

Image by Alain Audet @pixabay

Laughter of October

Laughter of October

Mirth at sunset:
herons scream like children
in the shallows,
golden shafts of light
play with the shadows
of auburn leaves —

Come to me,
stay awhile,
for the laughter of October
is upon my face,
a golden glow,
a raging fire that hides
in the Indian summers
of my heart.

D. G. Vachal © 2012, 2014

Image by digital2 @flickr commons

Late August

Late August

icy warmth of late August
the wind has quenched the fires
of ephemeral dandelions,
beryl drops of blood
trickle down the boughs,
return
to their invisible roots —

the cambric air is drenched in
honeysuckle fragrance,
stealthy leaves
flavescent
among the pink petals.

D. G. Vachal © 2013, 2024

Image by Jesper Norkenborg @pixabay