All day, red nosed cicadas have been raucous,
in search of a mate, playing cicada love songs.
As twilight descends, they put away their bagpipes,
silently tuning their instruments in the dark.
With dawn, a breeze rustles the trees, and
summer’s calamitous courtship begins again.
©2013, Donald Harbour
there is a violin playing
like a desolate dove cooing
feather ruffled beckoning
it is the quivering voice
of an inner emotion
the wrist held too tight
choking the flow of melody
a long lonely echo filtered
through the song of spring
the scent of the chord
plucks at the mind causing
remembrance of smiling lips
pursed to blow a gentle breath
upon my flushed cheeks
a sweet orchid moment of love
the days gone to our youth
while the symphony still plays
it is no longer our libretto
change is the rhythm of time
we have become its constants
metered ticks of life’s metronome
©2012, Donald Harbour
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
Donald Harbour Poetry 