The next moment

Listen, I need to speak to you,
I need to tell you about now,
To pull you into the next moment,
As every raindrop, seconds matter,
Each breath taken, one of life’s gifts,
You must know that as moments begin,
So, surely will every moment end,
Here, open the cup of your heart,
Catch a bit of time’s cleansing moisture,
Feel its gentle nourishing,
Time can take away and time can heal,
You once called my name and I came,
But, you did not know I was there,
You are tomorrow’s hour
I am the day already past.

©2013, Donald Harbour

The end reward

there is a stream
silent running over rocks
where moss grows

wading its icy waters
slipping on green slime
is a dilettante adventure

on the other side
lies an ancient orchard
with gnarled giants

arduous is the journey
as all of life’s journeys
the only end is hope

before I reach to pick
the fruit of my desire
the grove’s scent assails me

I can tell the pears
are rotten this year

©2012, Donald Harbour

That word

There is a word we all have spoken,
a word as eternal as time,
a word not easily uttered,
although, it is whispered and shouted,
while it contains the parable of existence,
poets, cannot explained this word, yet
it is comprehended, and, misunderstood,
cleaved, it becomes a dichotomy,
a pronouncement of hate and desire,
such a word is at creations center,
a single word that begins a journey,
a step into insanity, jealousy,
a voyage of commitment, peace, tranquility,
it describes the deepest ocean,
circumscribes the limits of the cosmos,
has the power to drive nations to war,
or, cause giants to tremble as a babe,
it can bring souls together, as well as
force them apart into despair,
such a word is a magical source,
it should never be used foolishly,
for it has made fools of us all,
having conquered its tremendous power,
accepting it for its eternal beginning,
vowing ones heart to its burden,
is to become free, soaring lighter than air,
basking in its warm consuming light,
it is that word, which gives joy,
spoken in the brilliance of dawn,
murmured under the coverlet of twilight,
it is a reason for living and for life,
all languages contain this word,
sadly, few have the wisdom to say it.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Something is amiss

I have been wandering
through the mote guarded
castle of my thoughts
there is not a scent of you
nor a dusty footprint
nor a breathless shadow
not even a moment in time
when did you escape this defilade
leaving behind dark clouded stone
how did you flee the precipice
never opening the heart’s draw bridge
these ramparts held off armies
assaults from obtuse conflict
arrows of bland critical intellect
yet they could not keep you safe
did you run a narrow footpath
climbing down desolation’s rocky escalade
plunging into the past’s churning waters
you have been swept away
flying as lint before a broom
borne aloft by a changing season wind
truly something has gone amiss
the hands on the clock have stopped
each second has become an hour
each hour an eternity, the castle
is become a purgatory of pain
a prison surrounded by yesterday’s memories
and tomorrow’s lonely abyss
light cannot penetrate these walls
this world has plunged into darkness
its soul eaten by the mottled creature of regret.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Flowers need a promise

Diana Fritillary butterfly on Mike Harbour’s Zennias.

As flickering bits of confetti,
torn paper cast they float
attaching to flowers and trees.

Flashes of sparkling color,
iridescent hues of the rainbow
trace these aerial spindly creatures.

The trees are telling nature
to get ready for the season’s child
a capricious snowy headed cherub.

Yet here are the last hangers-on,
pausing to pose for a picture
then gliding away to another petal.

Do they smell the air as I,
a mosaic breath of warmth, chill,
blended with damp dead leaves, and musk.

Rest arises from the earth
pushing furry babes to deep burrows,
proclaiming sleep will save you.

Gray has muted the sun’s light,
scudding clouds have dismissed it
they forage to drop their burden.

I wonder why the butterflies linger
defying the moment to drink the last nectar,
fall is waiting with its frosty wings.

Maybe it is because only their kiss
can comfort summer’s passing flowers
to promise resurrection in the spring.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Thy prickly canes

Thy prickly canes!

Rose,
you have stems of beauty,
a fragrant blossom of love,
red garnished and velvet lipped.
Thou art a wonder of life,
and yet a thorny conundrum,
guarded by thy prickly canes,
all the while beckoning.
Your magic perfume consumes me,
thus its musky allure invites.
You have but to present yourself,
and so, to your occasion I respond,
for you, patulous pretty, my erotic heart,
rose.

©2012, Donald Harbour

A constant flame

There is a candle in my heart
ever burning steady and brightly.
It knows not a tempest swell
nor does it harken to breezes.
The flame paints each shadow
illuminating with golden hues.
Those darkest recessed corners
brightened by its flickering warmth.
This unblemished eternal taper
stands against the snuffer of time.
How can it be that a mere man
could come to know such wonderful love?

©2012, Donald Harbour

Lost in your moment

The blistering heat of summer
has been replaced by
the cool mint of your smile
the rush of day slowed
halted by your gentle breeze
you linger in my thoughts
the wisp of your memory
the manna that feeds me
where the sun is a keen knife
your touch dulls the blade
even in the sweat of a moment
you are a clear mountain pool
a reflection of winter’s beauty
now life sustaining, giving
why were you made perfect
and, why are you among mortals
writing words speaks not of you
only being in your presence
defines your immense treasure
summoning the glory of your love.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Fishing

Sharks and Barracudas always take the bait

she opened and closed
her mouth, a fish
out of water, gasping
for the air of life….
the angler deftly
chummed the moment:

“I did not do what
you wanted, because,
I did not want to do it!”

a ripple on the placid surface
of mental juxtaposition,
chanced dead reckoning
into an attitudinal tidal wave,
a fornication of latitude,
the belaying pin clubbing of
a constipated personal dilemma,
hooked, gutted, cleaned, and,
oh so… delicious to devour,
verbal sake soaked sashimi,
commented and parsed
on a sinker leaded  line….
a dysfunctional relationship
cast into the depths, it is
a soon to be swallowed
dangling morsel of raw fleshy
articulated…..bait.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Blossoms across the sky

Fingers of light stroke the darkness,
Dancing blonde filaments of golden pollen,
Its unrelenting awakening shadow foraging,
Though the room is cloaked against intrusion,
There is no stopping this creeping tendril,
The tree of dawn blossoms across the sky,
It has a mission to transmute night,
The candles on the cake are lite, blazing,
Morning birds sing a happy birthday chirp,
The tireless bed clasps the body to stay,
But, it has lost its amour of somnolence,
Eos has opened her heavenly rosy gates,
Coating the mouth with her sticky glaze,
As a rampaging bull, day paws at the earth.

©2012, Donald Harbour