Colors were like to her
as music t'is for me.

Tints her words had touched, strongly felt
impassioned feelings, colors dealt
intensely echoed within her quiet soul
until beauty healed one - completely whole.

Til surmised she could almost hear
what colors whispered, distinctions heard
unseen by eye, yet felt by ear
what pure Beauty spoke - penned into word.

For me, sound is much more revealing
than tinge, tones, tints, shades, blush or hues
music measures a deeper feeling
than reds, yellows, browns - greens and blues.

Thereafter colors become but a blur
merging blends my eyes cannot discern
reddish or redder still, am never sure
black, white or grays, tis these - my concern.

I love beauty, knowing color has its place
but if to hear how color makes one feel
her poems reveal with such subtile grace
til color's beauty sung - with poetic zeal.

Melodies Nature sang, words will ever live
Abbieís music intoned - by what colors give.
October 19, 1998

(For A.H.Evans)
Still amazes me, as scan poetry's page or two
perhaps shake out those stray webbings, my long day had spun
full of brightful colors, soft tintings - yet light in hue
with words turned askew, allowing whence her thoughts may run.

How did her mind find, then grasp from those unknown hidden caches
such disparate adjectival notions, til gave such flair and flash
ordinary parlance would leach down to but sterile ashes?
Paints her poetry with varied shades, brushed with strongly colored splash.

She will start you out on a known road, once have traveled
thence clearly remind you forgotten things, one now remembers
soon twists, ties what you know with some other - loosely raveled
thus juxtaposed as two - ignites burnt ash back to embers.

Much of what she had written, nurtured from Nature
her source from which all else engrafted thereon - from or to
truly in tune with land, sea, sky, ice and glacier
her heart and mind blent all reality - from God to you.

For me, she would have been a kindred Spirit
though I try, only chance - would bring me near it.
January 4, 1999

Fast pace of Spanish music, Russian dances too
starts out softly strummed, beginning very slow
comfort felt deep within, til heart begins to brew
becoming louder as pace picks up - with quicker flow.

Tender beat gently heard, soon after begins surging strong
until that rapid cadence - inspires its lively song.

Churning faster then louder, stronger - beating
til heart and mind found pulsing, pounding - heating
as power of its music engages oneís inner mood
pouding cadence, loud volume, strength and speed - Spanish-hewed.

Music, Cultureís gift birthed from dreams and mathematics
piercing into one's soul, until gifts one ecstatic
fandango Spanish music - always so dramatic.
February 24, 1999

Contrived, contorted villainy of those devil-hearted
wicked plots wove with weird circumstance, true-life uncharted
parade proud women's purity, more pristine than thought of nun
loyalty lent far beyond frail man's wanted trust - such tis done.

Many murdered, so might gain some vain-sought lustful scheme
fashioned fables, fully flushed with wants and ways most extreme
wed unlike-espoused as two, thence to war in marital's fray
characters each one can know, for we too - are such as they.

Speech enlaced with poetic words, ancient poets stole
til hearts and souls of millions, reflect within their soul
raised English language to those ultimate heights, untold since
reached everyman - from poor pauper to ill-fated prince.

An endless anthology poetical expressions writ:
Lord what fools these mortals be, Briefly tis the soul of wit
Every inch a king, My kingdom for a horse, To the manor born
finding daily usage from old English - still proudly worn.

Humanity measured by its drive to become or attain
for every age equates those with power, as but fools or vain
five-hundred years, still accurately describes life's wanton ways
as if Time held still, timeless theatrics - tasted in his plays.
July 18, 1999

Listening to Chopin after long day's work done
evening spent reading, as music-records spun
reflecting, do not think of Poland nor far back then
although music Slavic-written - Irish first put to pen.

Innate magic of those classics, for such are timeless
their depths, scope, anything, everything - yet not mindless
awakens universal thoughts, though of Western style
for music tis Culture-bred - will listen for a while.
March 15, 2000

Was aging fast, of that he knew
this aria sung, would he get through?
a voice strong and rich, held ever true
yet if should come - knew his singing through.

That limit: second D or E above middle C
a measure of keys, as to how high oneís voice could be
when easily reached, such a joy - sung high and free.

But should age at last bring singerís voice to crack
attendance thereafter, invitations go slack
simply because oneís voice broke - now but a hack!
March 19, 2000

A special music bred of those sterile soils Ireland grows
nurtured from brief Summers or coldly cast when harsh Winter blows
a persistent life of meager means, rocky lands, embattled coast
shrouded by fog, Winter's fueled from Gulf Streamís warmth - its grateful boast.

A culture long steeped from Druid days, fabled folk-lores of ancient ghosts
later inculcated with Christian faith, long-fired in povertyís oasts
its history replete with deprivations - scant harvests, foreign rule
a language much hid behind, yet expressing depths unlearned in school.

Both Nature and History combined, long taught - sufferings gift one strong
poverty found their hearts first to cry, then healed by song
til Time came of age, when others heard - sang and played those ancient airs
voiced those human feelings, poverty suffered - songs expressed as prayers.

Its lilt and laughter, their loss and lees, long-suffering often breeds
beneath their melodic stir, those dreamy drifts humanity needs
music of the Irish, a special blend of notes, sounds and word
graced what other Cultures lack, around the world - still proudly heard.
March 21, 2000

Should oneís day swing with happiness, danced with gayful sway
search midst olden lays, writ by bards of playful lilts
but should moods sour, gray clouds gather to fill oneís day
best heard of those Irish airs - sung by celtic Kelts.

For such were honest-earned upon wry barren clays
people long suppressed by harshened rule, sparse lands dealt
deeply learned to feel sorrow from deprivationís nays
of love early lost or never gained, sung - of how tis felt.
March 27, 2000

Gathered old and frail, yet human just as I
hearts and ears keen, ready laughter quickly brought by
so in I plunged, reading poems filled with Irish wit
a mixture of sad, silly, holy ones - once writ.

Their attention given with respect and expectation
quiet or soft laughter, as droned on with recitation
when ended, gave such applause as had never earned before
a happy read for us all, those nuns - asked for an encore!
May 26, 2000

To translate heart-felt feelings into sounds or compose, must be divine
hidden innuendos humans recognize from musicís strange design
quaint sequence of notes, allows one's soul transported far away
simple flex of ten fingers, genius of performing - by what convey.

Not those modern beats to quell that ennui, their youth seem to require
but harmonic blends crafted long ago, deeply delved - sought to inspire
translates human feelings, quells that beast within - tis such music makes one whole
but why tis so, an enigma never solved - one's pleasure its wanted goal.
June 14, 2000

Blending notes played with soft-touch of gentled hand
so slowly knew its serious, therefore grand
each note longly held, vibrates echoes in our minds
whisperings Culture longly bred - such music finds.

Tints with gray shadings, hinting of some drear melancholy
darkened clouds of some impending Doom - its ending finale
deepened with a richness, brought on by music's intended strain
recasting ephemeral hopes, til felt realistically sane.

Drifting midst those Elysian dreams still undreamt
discovering new meanings with each attempt
balm to soothe one's soul, calms the heart - Otherwheres and Time
much as might find midst old versings - someone put to rhyme.
June 25, 2000

Soft nocturnes, night-turnings - a quiet interlude
quells outer noise, dark nights gift with gratitude
tis those slowly played found best, old memories blest
day's end filled with introspections - before sleep's rest.

Late-learned were discovered by Chopin from severaled Irish airs
recrafted within his gifted mind, nocturns became their heirs
somber quietude brought of Celtic lands, late evening shares
grateful what life gave or took, proffered as one's nightly prayers.

Once brought of Irish moods, thence re-tooled by a Slavic mind
again to end my day, entranced by music of such kind

so real yet surreal, blending Now with Future's hope
music's mystical magic, much like what past poets wrote.
September 26, 2000

There cast one's words of love, among world's murk and mire
deeply felt, laced with verbiage freely thrown to inspire
stray strands of gifted thoughts, out-flung for all to view
invade their eyes, minds mused within - though false or true.

Birthed by circumstance, time and place brought to bear
happenstance wrote down what mind traced, wrought with care
so others might reap true grains sown, their thoughts ground down to grist
savor those olden dreams hinted of, someone's life had missed.

For those who know, gather rich depths of life, love, grief - the soul
for the common man, what poets may reveal - makes one whole.
October 13, 2000

Ah! - that magic of wonder from the very start
like title of a poem or story, wrought as art
when first glanced or heard, instantly one's stage is set
magic of the moment - until warm hearts are whet.

Mere magic of sound, like lettered characters read upon a page
oneís hopes quickly searching, for what may soon be seen on stage
as lines unfold, actors speak - those scenery-sets have put in place
there to dream of one's fairy-land - joyed excitement of the chase!

All else held unthought, now fully attend - but within the mind
another world-scene, factual or fancied - far different kind
such power dealt by mere sounds and/or words, no elsewheres find
oft recalled long after, no matter what oneís age - or if blind.
October 19, 2000

William Shakespeare, that bard par excellon
those who think as dull, have not read upon
unacquainted with those Middle Ages
when first performed of inns - or on stages.

Look to it thy snub-nosed toad
or get thee fast down the road
ever after, hearts are stirred
five centuries - still often heard.

A paragon of Old English usage
words welded with their historic fuseage
dispite some think their talents so clever
a goal oft sought, one might gain - but never!

For those English proud, Shakespeare tis their best
convoluted plots twistwd with evil's quest
not one to be copied nor paraphrased
simply read as is - still holds one amazed!
October 26, 2000

Back when people thought people lifeís greatest asset
unlike now-times, used for greed or lusting's outlet
poignant paintings by Norman Rockwell left you to study their faces
persons user-friendly, gifting what Rockwellís art truly graces.
Oft too busy to look at others, prefer to eye beyond
rapid flight from understanding others, tis why some despond
only within, will people feel Spirit's touch human found
Rockwellís perspectives Nation recognized, back when love still sound.
November 5, 2000

Should chance to hear Chopin's minor nocturnes played
caught midst some quelled quietude, haunting notes had strayed
instantly brings back those lost memories, life had tossed
not of war nor death - but of those who were after lost.

For in that course of time, much unfound to last
their miss-ment, Chopinís music innately hast
as sharps and flats, selected chords, slow tempos throbbed
echoing former friends once knew - deft Time has robbed.
January 5, 2001

Is it so strange that letters flung as word
if understood when read, oneís mind is stirred
is it so strange that words strung out in lines
communicates meanings - from simple signs?

Thence is it so strange, that notes sung as song
impinge the ear as neither right nor wrong
resonating feelings one finds unique
yes tis most strange - that mystery called music.
February 23, 2001