A poetic lament

You sit alone, contemplating,
your mind pinched Gyrus and Sulcus,
images, words, clouded consciousness,
there it is, that sparkling diamond,
that treasure of thought you sought,
a brief moment of clarity, euphoria,
then a dung ball of interruption arrives,
a question or inconsequential comment,
the pointed needle of deflating conceit,
it is fleeting, this fragile inspiration,
a gossamer thread drifting, swiftly flown,
journeying on winds of distraction,
context lost to bitter miss direction,
the mind adjusts seeking a redemption,
but, the moment is gone, a lost corpse,
and you drift into tomorrow’s challenge.

2015, Donald Harbour

Confessed passion

I have to confess, I have a passion,
for the theatre. It is attended every
evening, every night of the week, and
I never tire of the performances.
There are occasional lapses in dialogue,
a hesitation for affect, but then
the stage comes alive with known
characters, apostles of what was, is
and will be. When morning dawns,
the stage lights have been turned out.
The actors safely tucked in their beds
resting for the next evening stage
call. There is no need to practice
lines, the audience of one is always
forgiving, appreciative of each emoted
posture or devilish burlesque kick.
No marquee sizzles and blinks, only
a subtle nod, a fluttering of eyes,
the ringmaster and playwrite are
are one in the same; “Ladies and
gentlemen, let the dream begin.”

©2014, Donald Harbour

One night

One night in the late moody spring,
when the humid air lay as a shadow,
a cosmetic darkness lit only by fireflies,
through a garden window lattice, I saw you.
With smoky eyes a solitary, sultry woman,
cradled by I know not what, though
I felt that deep beneath your breasts
an Andalusian Palos held your beating heart,
its rhythm a sensuous dance of Gitanos.
There seemed to be a sigh upon your lips,
Perhaps a whisper, or an invitation,
An intent that you were want to speak.
Did a past of secrets bind your tongue,
Guiltless life lived without love,
A treasure of a soul’s stored jewels,
Unspent, saved for life’s one truth.
There was nothing that could be said,
Not enough words to express you,
The old masters painted women in your image,
Capturing the essence for all to behold.
And then, you were gone, leaving a void,
Now every night I come here again, and again,
Waiting in the shadows in the garden,
The fireflies have gone to bed, but
there is memory and the latticed window,
and mind cast upon the glass,your vision
One night in the late moody spring.

©2014, Donald Harbour

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©2014, Donald Harbour

Feeling a little kinky today. Could  not find a muse except the spam box on my email.

Dali got it right

Last night I happily dreamed,
Our world’s ship turned upside down,
Giant oaks hung suspended in the air,
While birds flew on the ground.

Air was not polluted for breath,
All water pure for drinking too,
The earth’s creatures took photographs,
Of caged humans in their public zoo.

It was a world of imaginations,
Where peace reigned supreme,
Where guns were licorice sticks,
And oil was frothy whipped cream.

Blue skies were always overhead,
Rivers and lakes placidly flowed,
Fish were scaled in sparkling diamonds,
Multicolored butterflies paved each road.

Cows were made for milk and mooing,
Chickens cheerfully clucked a chicken song,
Lions laid beside fluffy white lambs,
No one ever heard the words: “This is wrong!”

There were no gods or seraph,
No torture or misguided religious grief,
No war mongers, government or politicians,
Pontificating their bellicose belief.

Pink peddle-pushers road horseback,
Through fields of limeade green,
Not found were homeless without homes,
Unbranded tennis shoes were only seen.

Dali was captain of this wondrous ship,
Sailing over the sea of cosmic space,
The passengers of his whimsical bark,
Different hues of the same human race.

Dawn pulled me from the dream,
It whispered a new beginning had begun,
Startled I realized in a jolt of epiphany,
All of us, could make this year, the one.

©2014, Donald Harbour

What makes her so

She approached, softly,
a pink flamingo perched
upon a frozen lake, each step
a fluid motion creating
a sensual languid moment,
the tableau hers alone,
time stopped to watch,
oceans ceased movement,
the air held its breath,
she is the whisper of mist,
lilac scented crystal dew,
a lover’s passionate sigh,
the space she occupies, a
captivating sacred temple,
where others fail, what
makes a woman so, what
magic does she possess,
in a field of weeds,
she is that one blossom
standing alone, rising
above the common grass,
her entrance silences a room,
it is not beauty, it is grace,
that indefinable essence of a woman.

©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

Shi Tao

Shi Tao, a Chinese poet and journalist, was arrested for an email he sent to pro-democracy websites in 2004. He was finally released from prison September 2013. It should be noted that his conviction was predicated by an email taken from his private account by Yahoo and given to the Chinese government. He served 8 years of a 13 year sentence. Congratulations Shi Tao, you made it. The following is a protest poem about the injustice suffered by Shi Tao, which I wrote 7 August 2008. It speaks for every person that promotes freedom and human dignity for all the repressed peoples of our world. You can read more about his arrest and the poem “June”, by Shi Tao, here.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shi Tao your thoughts are as water,
They will always find a way out.
Your suppression is a cotton gag,
Soon to rot and disintegrate.
Despot leaders and jailers all die,
Their passing the cleansing of stain.
Their trial against your humanity,
Rust on the steel of human rights.
History’s repressive governments,
All of them are footnotes in time.
The poets, the writers, the teachers,
Their words the soil of expression,
They pay the price for our freedom.
Your penned words etched on paper,
A killing field of social injustice.
The world’s authoritarians fear this,
Their minions the truth eradicators.
Shi Tao, unlike you they are fools,
They never learn the pen’s strength,
The weight of your written words.
They cannot dismiss freedom’s voice,
For your brothers and sisters speak.
Your indignity poison to the corrupt,
The gall that spills over black deeds.
Nothing exists forever except,
The verdant fields of knowledge.
The poetry of your life, Shi Tao.

Copyright: 2008 Donald Harbour

I write because

A poetry prompt group in which I participate, We Write Poems, wants us to write a line poem about: “I write (because).”  There are many reasons why one writes, however the greatest is most likely an inner urge that needs satisfaction and the pure pleasure of putting thought to written word. So here are my thoughts, some of them, the others I will keep to myself. I like to be a little unpredictable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I write to express my contentious and clamoring inner voice.
I write to better understand humanity, the world, and our place in it, and why emotion becomes an insipid event for those who do not understand poetic verse.
I write to define how life’s emotions impact our relationship with self.
I write to paint a vivid memory upon the wheel of time.
I write to fulfill the artistic side of my nature with creation my canvas,
words my pallet, and poetic form my brush.
I write to leave a lasting evidence of my journey through this moment of existence.
I write so that my words might be a light for others to find their way.
I write to satisfy a natural urge, as one needs food to survive, poetry is the  sustenance to my soul.
I write to say somethings that need to be said and are better said in a poetic verse regardless of where the chips fall.
I write because Gaea and I find it is a spiritual experience that enlightens us together.
I write because there is wonder in the diversity of words and their challenging meanings.
I write because I find camaraderie, and appreciation in the company of poetry and poets.
I write because other than my darling wife Luscious, poetry is my literary mistress full of beauty and gratification.

©2012, Donald Harbour

A time to curl up

Autumn woods

Strolling down a pebble strewn path
each footstep a Rice Crispy morning,
diamond dew is fresh on the grass,
trident tips of oak tree leaves
are decorated with shining pearls,
sunlight caresses each watery crystal
gently nudging them to the ground,
the autumn air carries a heavy scent,
primal, cool, humid, earthy,
it is the aphrodisiac of nature,
exciting Gaea to birth the season
slithering creatures move slower,
pest of the air hide, finally satisfied,
the forest is yawning, desiring rest,
it’s stained glass pristine cathedral
a montage of red, yellow, purple and brown,
giving life to this wondrous symphony
it is time to reflect on the past,
a time to cloak in this quilted moment,
a time to look forward to renewing,
a time to curl up in the crib of creation.

@2012, Donald Harbour