This house

The house is speaking tonight,
commentary, with clicks and sighs.

Its mouthpiece a north wind,
moaning, as the zephyr whistles.

Then, gathering itself up
to move, with the darkness.

Somnolent solitary shifting,
as if, the night hides secrets.

Does it hide truths of the past,
a desolate sentinel of time.

Lives lived, lives lost, composted,
can its timbers remember, and speak.

A whispered reciting of life’s passage,
I do not understand its language.

An ancient part of me hears, feels, and
knows, this house dwells in all of us.

©2014, Donald Harbour

Humanities legacy

For a moment I felt panic,
reaching in mankind’s pocket I found,
not a spiritual coin there,
not a cent to our name,
thus it occurred to me,
how will humankind be valued ,
what decides its weight in gold,
a child collecting for the hungry,
a minister begging for his church
a greedy banker holding forth for more,
a politician sending youth to die in war,
corporations queuing up for contracts of death,
what stain decides our existence value,
how does life weigh the human soul
is the evil of mankind more weighted,
than the purity of love and kindness,
has humanity so lost its way, that
it has become a pox upon life.
and what will give worth to it,
what will weigh its soul against destiny,
will nature turn her back on us,
lack forgiveness for our transgressions,
humanities castigation of lesser creatures,
defiling creation the essence of the eternal,
how can we find the worth of humanities name,
how will we be defined by the Celestial,
will our name become parasite, pariah,
carnivore of the cosmos, succubus,
vandal of the weak, the less fortunate, poor,
I fear our name is Dante’s king,
I fear we have grown cloven hooves,
the defilers of all that is good,
perverting spiritual beliefs,
and yet, there is a dime left,
it shimmers in the pool of tomorrow,
waiting to be grasped and spent,
a dime for our salvation, redemption,
will we spend it wisely, give it worth,
will it decide how mankind will be remembered,
finding value on the scales of the universe,
or will we be come curious fossils,
studied by our world’s next experiment.

©2014, Donald Harbour

 

An episodic moment

I saw a girl with rosy red cheeks,
her delight was in her innocents,
indeed a rare quality in women,
seeing her was a dun upon my soul,
a demand seeking my inner pillars,
sounding the depths of my passion,
she was white light, pure as linen,
the sun paled in her presence,
birds hushed at the sound of her voice,
fallow ground blossomed where she walked,
I know that time separates us forever,
my mind reeks with the desire of her smile,
how can I compare her to life’s reality,
she is only a vision, a dream in my head,
an episodic moment in life’s pattern,
that is what haunts me, pulls at me,
evades my days, nights, my search,
unfulfilled, unsatisfied, lost.

©2014, Donald Harbour

What will you give

I am not ready, not ready,
I do not want to grow up,
I do not want to become a lemming,
in this playful existence I ask,
why do we rush to that cliff,
the abyss of no return,
living in the shadow of life,
only a ghost of what we could be,
fearing the dark beyond life’s walls,
making excuses for mortality,
seeking immortality in myth,
life is how the sun feels on skin,
life how the snow feels on your tongue,
a gentle breeze in loves hair,
the caress of a baby’s touch,
the sweet smell of a puppy,
the small things that touch you,
what will give you eyes,
where will you find it, where
will life rear its head and kiss you,
will life hear your final thought
into whose arms will your spirit return,
life is so precious, so unappreciated,
what lives will life merge with yours,
and, what will you give back, what?

2014, Donald Harbour

Wood envy

Before me an ancient table,
a lustrous finished piece of wood,
the surface slightly marred,
dull in spots, yet having
a depth that seems translucent
encasing waves of flowing hair.

There is love and character
in each twist of its grain,
years of stories written
in multicolored age rings,
what volumes are there, if
only one could read them.

A master gifted by time,
handled and buffed this wood
until, its surface was mirrored
to a sheen that reflects back
each transfixed soul gazing upon it,
marveling at its golden warmth.

With all my heart I do adore
and envy you for you will be lost,
I weathered and twisted by age,
will loose grasp of your touch
and, you will seek to be treasured,
capturing another admiring lover.

©2014, Donald Harbour

Aware

I am aware of my own fleshy mortality,
that flying sparrows fall from the sky,
and old dogs finally lay down to die.

I am aware this prismatic life is finite,
that all iron must turn to rust,
and mountains are worn down to dust.

I am aware material hypocrisy is vain,
that gathering objects is all in jest,
and forgotten when we are laid to rest.

I am aware of the cusp of creation,
that a spirit’s fire can never dim,
and we are not forged to this life again.

I am aware that being is what I am,
that we are a momentary flicker of light,
and cosmic voyagers in the infinite night.

©2013, Donald Harbour

A gift: Twelve Words for Christmas

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Love knows no season, no gender, no race, no form, or countenance. It is a universal feeling that permeates the soul transcending time and place. It is the one word no one can truly live without.

Humanity is the essence of the Christmas spirit expressed in kindness, goodwill and benevolence, no matter what religion practiced or language spoken, it transcends the evil in life.

Perseverance guides us all in our chosen path, though fraught with difficulties, it gives the traveler a steady persistence in a course of action and purpose in spite of obstacles and discouragement.

Respect is often forgotten in relations, not only in esteem for the worth of others, but also as a manifestation of personal quality and ability; respect others as you would wish others to respect you.

Character is the building blocks of a person forming the aggregate of traits that define the nature of an individual, it is a compilation of all the good things and stalwartness of who you are.

Peace resurrects the passion for living among persons existing as a state of mutual harmony, its satisfaction allows the security of being and the joy of all things good in this world.

Fraternity does not relate to a group of men but rather the brotherhood and sisterhood shared by all human beings without regard to station in life or purpose, it is the quality that binds us all to one another.

Family is why we are here whether dwelling together or separated by generations, it is what identifies each one of us in the vast sea of existence calling to us across miles and ages to be a part of something greater.

Spirituality has value, not necessarily for religion, but for the contentment found in our acceptance of the unseen that is felt, rather than seen, in the universality of all creation.

Bravery is in all of us giving us the strength of conviction with courage to face the unknown, the mettle to place ourselves between on rushing events or things and the weak and helpless, it is the conduct that some call heroism but in truth is being human.

Honesty will help you find freedom from deceit dealing you fairness through sincerity and truthfulness, qualities that cause trust in a person and of others whose paths we cross.

Happiness is the biggest gift of all and is the culmination of everything, a magical word providing good fortune, pleasure, contentment and joy, for without it we have not succeeded in being what we were meant to be.

Be happy, be grateful, and allow yourself to love and be loved. Merry Christmas.

©2012, Donald Harbour

The colors of being

I do not know when it began or when
breath gave me the French kiss of life
but, I do remember its naked entrance
awash in birthing color, red, red as blood.

Life begins with a crimson passion,
a spontaneous ignition of the soul,
a firing of the spirit’s, spirituality, an
exploding kaleidoscope of pigments.

The nurturing soil of being dusky brown,
the rich fertile nutrient of beginning, rooting
flesh to bone, skin to flesh, mind to body,
a garden of composted existence.

Knowing is a universe of eternal blue,
a velvet dark blue of limitless forever,
pulling, inviting, a challenge to humankind
to comprehend the what and why.

Opening the mind’s eye stirs awakening,
surrounded by the green of our mother,
her trees, flowers, a teeming growing bounty,
a blinding awe of her sustaining abundance.

The firmament bares burnished golden hue
the purse of eternity gathering coin,
all the things we do or do not do, the gleaming
repository of the soul’s resurrection.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Kingdom come

can one contemplate forever
forever is the eternal plain
a distance without punctuation
unending since creation began
a horizon so unimaginable
constant as the wearing of time
to tread upon it finds no end
a soul decays on the journey
relief in acceptance of the trial
the testing of a human shell
watched weighted and valued
the worth only in forgiveness
there is so much that is lost
so many drop into the abyss
that purgatory of damnation
souls used and used and used
learning until they are ready
until they know the meaning
of life and its immutable cycle

©2012, Donald Harbour

A gift from a passing

a grey shadow has passed this house,
silent as the dawns first whispering,
the dogs lifted their heads, but
they did not speak, just observed,
as if in observing they could absorb,
what, I do not know, maybe its knowledge,
or maybe the essence of its tranquility,
can a shadow hold such benefits,
was wisdom carried in its passage,
ancient and secretive it is a part of me,
just as it a part of all mankind,
and I too know it with respect and wonder,
I cannot help but love its pace of movement,
a burnished streak without a furtive glance,
I feel somehow it took a particle from me,
a wonder of this life transiting nexus,
tomorrow I will stand in the still darkness,
hoping, wishing that it will return,
halt in its work and look in my direction,
eyes connecting to its piercing golden orbs,
there must be magic in its slightest gaze,
will I become a better child of nature for it,
is strength gained from its untamed soul,
it has touched a buried primitive part of me,
feeling a spiritual bond with this brother,
does it desire the same or abhor my smell,
repulsed by the savagery of my ancestors,
so then, it has every right to distrust me,
I watch yearning for a moment’s pause,
a gift of purpose in recognition, from
this enigmatic solitary wandering coyote.

©2011, Donald Harbour