|
Motif Immunities
Words do not
lie down on sofas made for them set upright
tenderly on fluffy pillows words somnambulate
unprompted naked through the streets of lonely
hearts soaked with souls emotional inky foot
prints wandering off through countless
pages of minds eye they somerset
tumbling in complete denial
of sympathy or opinion
into deranged mood
lands their best
reminisce
are
immortalized
when you forget
they belong to
someone
else.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
From my Mirror
a tiresome horror is
past I have found again my dream desire
a lady who fills my thought with poetries cants and
night times filled with passion’s yearning fire who makes
me laugh in altered states her cadence perfections touch my
late soul with a love and laughter which sustains me long
after life has taken a tumbling role your silky hair
wraps itself around my heart keeping me
warm when others are doing their
best to keep us apart and
knowing your love’s there
its comeliness surrounds me it’s
obvious every word you say how could
one help but see the love and precious heart
you’ve come offering me no longer hearts
searching endlessly for keys the tire
some fear is no longer here and
I see your loving in the
mirror glimpse
back at
me.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Her Morning
Forlorn..! the
very idiom is like a bell tolling me
back within my soul only to find again things I
shouldn’t never tell... so adieu to your fancy scuttlebutt
can’t even cheat so well... as though your ashamed to do
your deceiving little squirt so adieu adieu... I won’t miss
seein’ your mournful anthem fade that I still hear in
somewhere past a near meadow o’er the hill to
far away streams up a rockys climb and
down another wood yet buried as
deep today in hidden valley
glades was that just a
sundry vision or
a waking
dream
well
fled
now is
the music
should I wake
or go back to
sleep.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Hoot Owl
The clouded night
winked a crooked smile thespians
glaze through moons retrospective fluorescent
trails off on to horizons darkness lies in sacrament
where emotions resonate with resounds of silence a
quickened spirit howls in circles prancing wildly
through broken gnarled pines swaying to a
timeworn tune dark sepulcher cries
in darkened times as frivolity
specters upon moons
having been ornamented
in laces of wind flung in patterns
that sweep where gypsy dear never tread
between reflection and silhouettes northeastern
skies dressed in flowered June she smells the taste of
apprehension and without a bough crackling glides there
the watchful eye of hoot owl’s howling across her darkened
northern skies onward e’er soaring o'er silver etched ponds
echoed asunder she dreams of mourning never coming
under such ivory shores realities where only living
reveries thrive she ravages their darkened
windswept dales in valley life and
within twisted scrambled
cries she howls at
reflections
off the
barren
mountain
sides slowly yon
lakeside conscious turns calm in
darkness and then to dawn building margins
where day and night divorce of anguish evaporated
as if by assurance of bright crystalline fragments
in dazed abhorrence then she grabs em..!
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
It Escapes Me
but when I was fiftyish
I think and not quite so distinguished but
loved of most our generation we began a reclusive life
as we thought on peaceful alienations with an idea to keep
a diary you know recollections and such accompanied by a
few choice daily routines sipping café with the spouse on
sonnets deck etcetera maybe to be published in part
upon life’s sundry times of June well past
the expected sell-by engagement
if we had any luck at all
with the copyrights
and so I opted to be
at peace with myself just
to scribble a few notes from days to
help and the resulting to which is become a tad
bit intriguing as I felt there was so little to say however
any lover of nature can certainly dote these quips surrounded
by kind hearts and sonnets lips not to mention a bit of daunting
sex it covers many sheets of quintessence and times concealed
on a shelf inside an inner existence of two reclusive’s living
within themselves to a joy of finally being at home alone
amid the book shelves of Idaho’s lawns & country
sides which found to be incurably fond
not to mention her snow.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Lightly Stirring
as the whisper of your
steps reach my tired and weary ears carefully
you come in take off your slipper shoes transforming to
nightingales dress careful not disturbing the beds floating
rippled rest yet your knowing I know you’re there as I
turn to find some rest still wandering between
here and my own alluding world
where your kisses cushy
touch my neck then
shoulder your
hand brushes
stray hair fraying
from so solemn face
and for just a brief moment
your hand caresses and then softly
nudges a soft moaning refrain not really of
rejection but alas I’ve been consorted to sleepy
hollow’s sanction it just won’t let me go or come
within hearing your sigh rolling o’er my back and
before I tread again to worlds of slumber my spirit
sheds sundry tears for wasted times in slumbers
realizing the night holds me in quashing grasp
grappling ever so tightly why must I be so
exhausted while I wander slowly into
losing site of forgotten musings
dreamed when night was
o’er would I have to
search us out
all o’er.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Love is
the only dynamic operative spirited
word in every writing in every poem and written
prose laced in and around and through every spoken
idiom it even dresses the broken hearted lovers in this
world who have spilled forth so many amazing
articulate expressions whether written
in anger or discouraged even
to that of loss or death
all speak though
notwithstanding yet
through all the times all
present the invisible words of a
most sincere love even those who live
what may appear the reclusive lonely those
even herald the piercing ostentatious words of
love there is not a single soul who is able to
project any feeling or emotion without
“them” encompassed and every
where wrapped around
the simple words
“I love.”
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Romancing a Heart
Romantic love for many today is a yearning to
dive down into ones own feelings and emotions and
come up magically changed in another era fully clothed
and dressed in the portrayal as though really there when
actually what is required for the making of an honest
reality would and is the deliberate pursuit of
consciousness in the present and
what is to be knowing
this to be the higher
truth as we should ever
be knowing howbeit many of us do
not allow ourselves such comforts in the
world in which were growing thus create
the idea of this “Romantic Love” as a
means of illumination—not only
in poetry but as well as in
life it seems—thus
today
comes as somewhat a
sudden descent in speaking or
of writing from the impressive
or significant to the
ludicrous
faery-like or
inconsequential,
yet anticlimactic
contention.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Rushing And Blushing
If you can
spare the time my dear to drive
me fifty miles or so off into the backwood
country hills of northern Idaho where I crouched
in a bush a nettles and pissed through the sumacs down
below that I was rewarded by a stimulating fright and twat
would you think I’d see but some wall-eyed green-aged
country boy with binoculars checkin’ out me tushes
while rushing and blushing to pull me things
and button up... oh such embarrassin’
astonishment so now I keep me
shades drawn tight while
lamenting romances
in me wandering
lonely nights
twat would
of really
aptened
if dat ‘lil ‘ol
country boy add
actually gotten in me panties.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Rusty
Well darn I must admit I’m truly rusty haven't
penned a line for so long a while now I see I’ve
become crusty I just hope it pours somewhere
out of me and while unorthodox yet hope
I you can sort some thing out of it
*smile* you haven't lost
your touch
in such
a while go with
your suspicions bleus you
will find it’s worth ambushes to be
hopeful with bright intentions a return
from pain unto promise love searching
for some itchy quenched lantern light
while warmed by yon ragged fire a
blazing isn’t it so wonderfully
amenable you haven’t
both blood to
death.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Seizing Water
Drifting tides flow
in white fast combs flowing o’er like seizing
water trying to swindle something of your essence
passing in a lash to sense you they brung more than
they took suckled yet so very untouched creating
constant deltas in desire stealing out to open
seas such enriching your ready fertile
conscious they settled into silt
and disappear this is the
way of seizing
water.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
To Be Home
to be at
home is the best cure for winter
Christmas sadness which falls upon us
inside our doors our own rooms are never
quite so snug as when the fires are lighted
which are like ‘ol friends who welcome
us after a long absence an take up
the threads of acquaintance
where it was dropped
off in spring there
are still some
flowers on
the desk
asters
and
our
last
dried
roses of
summer with
red and white berries
nestling among brown leaves
prolonging their radiance and beauty
of the spring that links the past to our present
but the glows of warm fires and the early evening
dressed in crispy airs along with bright stars out of
doors reminds me winter is come and makes me
glad I’m here at home and thankful not only
for its peace but for your warm loving
also.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Under ‘ol Apple Tree
As I gaze out
my o’l bedroom window at the o’l
apple tree it takes me back it’s so very o’l and
I’m sure she’s going to dying be its limbs are broken
and it’s fallen part crying towards the ground its age as
it swings and sways it’s slowly falling down as a child
I played in yon apple tree such blossom beauties
sprung and always loaded with luscious
apples ‘twas such a pretty one
the fragrance was
sweet when
in summer bloom a
righteous sight to see but now
it’s slowly drooping down as it’s
so very o’l to be I have to say
I’m going to miss o’l
apple tree.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Valets
Everyone needs
that absolutely endearing character in
their lives the most valiant of valets imperturbable
eminently capable and always available has anyone seen
em around lately my bumbling self always seems to land in
the soup with alarming regularity I would sure appreciate a
special polite and unobtrusive sort to intervine and save
my day but all I ever get is these typical characters
reacting to what appears outrageous
circumstances with charming
turns of phrase and of all
the things perfect
grammar.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Weak I Lay
beneath an
innocence where I had challenged
my faith over you I learned all the games you
play away all the things I thought I should although
time had often weakened the truth that’s in your voice
I need you now because I want to not because I have
no choice times have changed us both since the
primitive day we said good-byes we’ve
shared times unimaginable that
ever I’ll savor till ‘ol
thyme sweetly
ruins my mind
not asking for apologies
from a past that haunts us so
I want not of your eagerness we
have choosen not to show for
giving melts away the ice
of chosen hearts but
recovers other
broken
lines
we’d
forced to
push asunder.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
Romancing a Home
The entryway was
welcoming the interior cozy and
elegant the exterior was also well crafted
of intrinsic materials and accented by quirky
designer’s delights thoughtful attentions were
given to the orientation of the home and the
onslaught of the striking sun basically
this country cottage is but a faery
tale home enhanced by an
architect’s dream
with all
the
modern
amenities all the
while this scenario reflects
such changes of ways people are
really beginning think about their true
happiness and romancing a home they
wish to live in for their future thinking
years who can know why the many
reflections for such reasoning
as these.
(C) 2000 Dale Wayne Van Sickle Gwaltney
* * *
|
