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

Lost in a symphony of life

Quietly the conductor reads
the daybreak sonata.
A willow trees outstretched
branches, a bough the baton.
Softly the adagio begins,
fluttering leaves breath
glissando into a morning aire.
Twittering piccolos herald
a flight of squeaking doves.
The stage lite by the warm
glow of dawn’s candlelight.
The score is set, with the
crystal clear ring of chime.
All creation rises to meet
itself in a chorus of black
winged french horns over the
rhythm of the earths thundering
tympani. I am lost in a
rondeau wilderness of life,
a music of heart beats,
metronome to the crescendo
of a sustained finale.
A subtle eclogue passage to night.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour

The day’s possibilities

"Awakening" photographic art by Donald Harbour

Light is filtering
Over the hills,
Spilling upward
the gesticulation of day.
A fanfare of birds,
the symphonic twitters
of flutes and piccolos,
an adagio movement
leading to the crescendo
of the approaching sun.
There is gentle whispering,
lilac scented breath,
awakening the willow
in sensual yawning.
Life rustles the sheets
of a velvet night’s
star clustered coverlet,
laid reverently ‘neath
an azure blue comforter.
What magic, what glorious,
wondrous magic.
The wand of Mother Nature
touches the soul of living,
claims the spirit to the tide of time
and the endless song of the universe.
Dawn, that one complete moment
when every part of creation
opens its eyes
to the possibilities
of a new day.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour

Blues Man

On the dark side of midnight,
The blues man strummed.
Acrid cigarette smoke,
Fuel.
Stale beer and a snort,
Inspiration.
The wisdom of his music,
Gone in the dawning of day.
The pain in his head,
In his overworked finger tips,
Molding the putty of his soul.
Until night returned,
Bringing life.

Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour

Bluesette

Toots Thieleman, a great music composer, guitarists, harmonica man and whistler, wrote and recorded “Bluesette” in 1961. I am listening to the song as I write these words. Music has a way of pulling up memories that bubble just under our consciousness. So it is with Bluesette. A tribute to you Toots.

For your pleasure “Bluesette” – The John Stein Trio

Here we are,
Once again,
My constant friend.
Companion of the past,
Unchanged by the march,
Of time.
You called my name,
Or,
Was it a whisper of despair?
I floundering fool that I be,
Struggled to the dance floor.
Puppet to the strings,
Of memories.
Twirling to the dirge,
You hold the baton,
And direct the Bluesette.
Out of breath,
Heart pounding,
The melody has ended.
We wait apart,
As strangers on life’s stage.
Neither daring to break,
The silence of this empty hall.
Each afraid to ask,
What must be said.
The program is without end.
So we wait through another,
Intermission,
Once again.