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

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Beholding The Beholden

In the Hall of Portraits –
The eyes of the portrayed
Wear sorrow like the moon’s loneliness;
The way the light strikes them so –
Like the light of a distant sun
Bringing to brightness a desolate face.
And yet we stop and look in awe –
Wondering about their wondering,
Wishing they would blink,
And begin to speak.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Thanksgiving Song

Shout for what this new day brings –
Treasures to a sun-touched land.
As gladness in the heart can ring,
When like a bell it moves a man

To know at once the time of day
By chimes that ring in the mind –
Reminded, of time’s fleeting way
Yet bursting forth with rhyme.

Sing, O sing within the hall,
As grief and gladness greet,
Gladness in the hearts of all
As grief is in retreat.

O sing, O sing, young and old,
The feast has been prepared –
Invited are the thankful souls
Whose bounty is to share.

So bring the feasting of the hour,
Come gather without haste –
To the table of our Lord
Whose giving is a grace.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006


In my mind I hold:
Light—in the likeness of Old
Man Winter’s white soul.

Friday, November 17, 2006

The Lantern

In the garage –
A globe and mantel

Sit in a cardboard

Stained with oil
And years –

A green base,
On the self above –

Half full of fuel
And memories,

From camping
In 1987 –

When the children
Caught fireflies

And youthfulness
By its light.

We played

Cards stuck together
By hot marshmallow.

To the kitchen sink,
Globe in hand –

Warm water and soap.
Now, a crystal ball –

Where grandkids,
Eyes wide

At the first hiss
Of the gas & flash –

See –
And are seen.

Friday, November 03, 2006

Out Of The Quiver, Into The World

for Christopher & Benjamin

My children are the arrows
I will shoot into an age –
A time I will not travel;
A world I won’t engage.

Over crested mountains,
The contours of this land,
Are beyond my recognition,
Yet not beyond my hand.

As I will shape the arrows,
Notch them in their groove,
Send them through the heavens
So settling my brood.