The Wind

Hear the strong wind blowing,
Blowing the cause of our sorrow,
Our sorrow far, far away,
Away, leaving no cause for joy,
For joy. Only emptiness stays,
Stays, only emptiness stays...

T. G. 2/24/19

Heavenly Art

I thought the sky was painted with a brush

                By some almighty Hand,

As though the clouds which ‘cross the heavens rush

                And shade the fruitful land

Were oily pigments mixed in some clay jar

                With some great stirring stick,

Then spread upon the sapphire canvas far

                And near, in places thick,

Where cumulus like cotton dot the blue,

                Or nimbus shed their tears;

In places thin, where stratus, all one hue,

                Are stretched like wat’ry smears,

Or cirrus, feather-like, are flicked on high

                With strokes both swift and sure.

And as upon that canvas of the sky

                Stretched taut with such azure

I gazed, upon my soul there fell a hush,

                A silent peace, because

I thought the sky was painted with a brush

                And realized—it was.

 

T. G. 4/9/22

The Mist

One evening, as I made my way

Through city streets that homeward led,

There rose a thick and shadowed mist

That filled my very soul with dread.

It shrouded all the lamps that shone

Like beacons in the twilight sea,

And blotted out the stars above

Which do the fate of men decree.

About my feet and face it curled

And lay there like a clammy snake.

I could not run, nor walk, nor move,

Nor yet a cry or whisper make.

Within my heart was kindled fear

That chilled my blood and made it freeze.

Into my head came horrid thoughts

That limped my hands and shook my knees.

Then to the earth I stumbled, stunned,

As though the mist had dragged me down

With fingers withered, old, and grey,

Draped in a drab and dripping gown.

From deep within my tortured self

Arose a thin and wailing cry

That pierced the mist, drove back the gloom,

And rose up to the starry sky.

Then, stumbling on, I forward fled

And pelted down the stony street,

In constant fear that once again

The mist would grasp and mesh my feet.

Across the threshold of my home

I hurtled like a river's tide.

A match I struck, a candle lit,

And stood within its light and sighed.

Then from without my sturdy house

There came an answ'ring sigh, as though

The mist was saying: "Just this once,

O fated man, I let you go."

T. G. 4/10/22

The Sea at Night

Sunk is the sun beneath the sea,

    And now across the spray

Stealing as softly as can be

    In place of radiant day

Comes peaceful night; its silver lord,

    The shadow-spattered moon,

Orders the waves without a word

    To sparkle as at noon.

 

Frothy and light, the waves take heed

    And glisten as they go.

Each droplet, like a crystal bead,

    Into his beams they throw.

Yet, as they play and splash the light

    And never seem to cease,

All still and silent rests the world

    In undiminished peace.

 

T. G. 2/27/22

The Reign of Winter

The seasons in procession slow

    Pass on their way.

At last the rain yields to the snow

    The rule of day.

More white than wool of purest sheep,

    The flakes drop down

To cover with a blanket deep

    The earth's dull brown.

The air the dainty doilies fill.

    A windy gust

Makes drifts like to an ashen hill

    Or mound of dust.

A night both cold and dark draws nigh

    With bitter breeze,

And makes the snow piled up so high

    Turn hard and freeze.

When from on high the dawn breaks forth

    In streaks of red,

The cold-baked hill is perfect as

    A place to sled.

With breathless speed the children zoom

    And glide on by.

As flecks of dust beneath a broom

    Do snowflakes fly.

And when they tire of merry play,

    They drag their feet

Back to their homes where, night or day,

    They may get heat.

Meanwhile, the outside world stays cold,

    Peaceful, and still,

From frozen stream to fenced-in-fold

    To each white hill.

But not forever cold and white

    Will all things be:

At last the snow yields rule of night

    To rain's decree.

T.G. 12/8/2021