… back from my travels… I turn around and once again, it’s Almost April
Almost April:
when crocuses,
aconites
speckle colors
on frigid earth,
and buried bulbs unfurl
their green fingers —
Somewhere
a cold cauldron sits
atop a flame,
warmth simmers:
imperceptible
as approaching dawn.
Almost morning:
when softest tones tiptoe
through purple darkness,
and wakening lark arises
in radiant song,
ruptures
daybreak deafness.
Almost laughter.
by D. G. Vachal © 2012
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,
your eyes are shriveled grapes upon the vine,
your mouth a wounded cherry,
pecked reddish-grey
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 these winter days,
where leafless branches stand dauntless
in the endless cold, with jubilant tales to tell
in the blizzard of their days —
harken to the legends
of the root and the bud and the sun,
and the promise
(believe the promise)
that warmth and springtime
will come,
(it always comes)
once again.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013
*** Photography by Farhad
Moonlight Silver to Autumn Gold
Amidst the ebb and flow of tides,
listen to silence
ineffable,
deafening to the restless
crabs that crawl
from shell to shell
upon the amber sands —
Look up to the strands
of moonlight,
above the darkened,
serried pines of cryptic
forests —
Ride the chariot
of the hours,
await,
watch the silver countries
turn to Autumn gold
in the warmth of the morning
sunlight.
by D. G. V. © 2012
***Photography by D. G. Vachal © 2012
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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