poetry - n. 1: writing that formulates a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience in language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through meaning, sound, and rythmn 2 a: a quality that stirs the imagination b: a quality of spontaneity and grace

Name: dthaase

Monday, October 30, 2006

Today Is Song

An autumnal strain of falling leaves
Blown about by sweeping breeze

Rustling across the ground, the mind,
The tempo of a whirling time

The bending of the towering trees
Bound to ground and Nature’s deeds

Sweeping clouds across the sky
The world awakes within the eye

Echoed in the heart of man
The song is sung through his pen

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Bluff View Art District

Chattanooga, TN

It was autumn –
The trees were on fire –
The smoke of extinguished maples was gathered as the grey-blue sky.
Singers sang the songs of evergreens –
Painters caught their song and grew it out of the brown tones of earth.
Steel and bronze, wood and clay (shapes of lament and play)
spread upon the lawns an illumination.
Hand-in-hand the lovers held what was a present future.
Children cast a blaze of wonder –
Retold, in the passing river, was the war and peace of the world.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Conquer Our Wandering Hearts

We woke to a world of darkness, maddened by the torment of mind—
An incessant emptiness fueled by the lunacy of time as held by a beggar—
In a tin cup, no more, held out with a limp deformed hand—
A crooked smile as a mirror reflecting crooked thoughts—
Spread out before the world—a lonely banquet—
Wishing the lore of virtue, as it was now deemed, had proved true—
As when all is lost and what is found has purposefully been left,
The heart may sink deep into the chest and rot a beating rot.

So comes the light of day into the city street of our life—
Burning the dew in a flash of brilliant heat and time—
Holiness might ride on the wings of the mornings—
At least reconciliation does; in a chariot name Dawn—
The breath of her steeds breathing into the death of our deeds—
We will rise, for that is the meaning of a day—
To stand, to walk on crippled feet filled with new blood,
Shaped like wonder as only wonder can.

But daylight leads to dusk and the coolness of moon shadow—
What to do with a day asks those who have seen for the first time—
First there will be quietness, and then a stir—
Then, laughter heard throughout the poverty of mankind—
A waking of the neighbors to be sure—
As the nectar of triumph fills the mind and greets the heart—
Soon the scars of the world will all hear this sound,
A trumpet—for the wandering heart was lost but now is found.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Student Update 2006

They wear the albino serpent –
With its forked tongue,
Split at their neck –
Spitting venom into their minds –
Or if not direct poison,
At least distraction away from civility.

Humanity has been cashed in for consumption.

Anxious and lonely,
Inhabitants of themselves –
Cocooned in the winter of their world…

Only awakened by the disco groove
Or ghetto ring of their cell phone –

“Hey, Where are you?”

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

A Farmer Mourns

Last year there was too little
Last night there was too much
Yet the outcome is the same
In year of drought or all-night rain

Monday, October 02, 2006

To Bradley On His 31st Birthday

Here’s to the submarine days -
To the scuttle of a year -
And Newton’s law reminding us
We must come up for air!

To sit upon the bottom
Of the belly of the sea,
When man was given lungs -
A breaching to decree.

The universe through periscope -
Causes loss of sight -
But a footpath on the land of years
Can bring a man delight.

So here is to the setting sun -
The making of a day -
The aura of the moon above -
While you stand at bay…

Here’s to the friendship -
Bound beyond all binding -
And to the journey now and then
Left to our reminding.