From many places, speaking truth
and making magic happen. Celebrating language.
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DAWN ZAPLETAL - Page 3
|Love Incarnate||Waking||Blue Fields|
|Window by the sea||Vernal Equinox||Scarlet|
|Peace||Dreaming You||Gold and Song
|Like a Lover||Know Her Name
|toward eden||Poet to Poet
|The Artist's Eye||Mountain High
|Night Sky||Book of the Night
||Far From Rome
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the sun, moon and stars,
it would be God, the Mother,
not a male who never felt the pangs of birth,
and could with cold indifference
watch the wanton rape of virgin earth.
He mocks the very name of Heaven
who sets his innocent progeny
upon a killing course
and does not teach that war and killing
are a villain's sport.
There had to be God, the Mother,
tender to the heart.
Who else would jewel the universe with stars,
pour out the cool blue seas,
grace the nascent land with flowers,
birds and fruiting trees;
call it Eden, then conceive a miracle
in the feminine form of Eve.
The house itself
is stretching, creaking
in the rousing wash of dawn's
first grey; the sun's
forehead is peeking at the day;
its face still indigo from
sleep, its cloudy head
uncombed and tumbling vapour
curls upon the softly
The birds are waking
in the silent trees; a single
song is carried on the
quickening breeze; a flurry
of wings as feathered scouts
take flight to meet and greet
half way the rising light.
While still in sleep
I faintly hear the homey
sounds of morning
in my dimly listening ear,
and opening a dreamy eye
see on the bedroom wall
a single ray; the first
gold glimmer of the waking day.
Kissing my eyes from dreamless
sleep; waking love's sweet
sudden fire, he taught me to say
I need, I want, and led me, unafraid,
into the blue fields of desire.
window by the sea
on the table in the unoccupied room
a convoluted shape,
a strange vessel
of sonorous properties;
while in the closed forgetfulness
of the window frame
is set, so soon,
the scintillating septet of stars,
and anguish, this midnight,
bears like a candle flame
many a twilight dream.
Above the dark mass of trees the first star
glimmered like a moth; the pale sky a tranquil sea
upon which the single white star floated.
In the dusk all the colors of the world became
more beautiful, ardent, yet sad; the young greenery,
still naked and twiggy, a tracery of blue.
A faint breeze touched the tips of the trees,
from which petals of cherry blossoms fell
like snow flakes out of season
and a multiplicity of stars appeared
shimmering like angel tears.
Lovers caught out on such a night gave voice to pleas
and promises; climbed up the stairs of exaltation,
reached summits and pinnacles of joy
beyond which there is only the slow death of delight.
Rain summer kisses
on my autumn lips;
make the roses of desire
with a passionate perfume.
On spring evenings I wait
for this slow light, this soft light
start to seep, blush blue
out of the upper right hand corner
of space, darkening down
through the clouds, the solemn pines
and flowering plum.
With the night's increase
even the birds hush,
and then there is only silence,
the first star and peace.
I dream your essence
into the air
and inhale you
like the scent of lilies.
I dream you are the sea,
fathomless as time
and submerge myself
in your mystery.
At night I dream you
are the moon,
your glow falls on my bed,
where it touches me I burn.
Gold and Song
Summer was cruel.
Autumn was kind.
Winter was cold and long,
when it came,
was all gold and song.
Soft eyed with summer
she dances barefoot
in the dew cool
grass of a country garden.
By its very nature she
feels smooth as silk
and warm as skin
a glowing, growing
a friable accretion
become belated beauty
a water gem
the scalloped shell
a sea sonnet
a salt haiku
a lyric poem
The sun surrendered
to the green embrace of the sea;
stars immediately appeared
streaming along in the grip
of the galactic current,
and in the heartbreaking beauty
of the summer night the moon
hung like a scared gong;
ancient with wisdom and desire.
Like a Lover
Still deep in dreams
in a milk white moon
through my open window
of star jasmine
on a wisp of wind
and roused me
like a gentle lover.
Know Her Name
free to roam
in time and place.
All secrets of the world
are open to her.
Her dreams of beauty
She is a shaft of burning
light; a river
rushing to the sea.
Disguised as cloud
winds carry her.
She falls as rain
cool and clear as tear drops.
Sun and Moon covet her.
She is life and death
Gaia is her name.
In dreaming night
I was a white winged bird
that flew so high
I saw the tops of stars
was but a clouded jewel
half dark...half light
by the celestial sight
was my dreaming flight.
Through a prism
that like a wizard's wand
trick the viewer's sight,
colored visions form
in the rays
of fractured light.
Crimson conjures up
a fiery volcano's eye,
azure is fabled
Atlantis' liquid sky.
Sapphire, ruby, gold,
like gems some ancient
Pharoh's crown might hold
and in a flash
of blue-white fire
as from a galaxy afar
the ethereal beauty
of a shooting star.
in perpetual mist
their dream sleep
by light laughter
of snow melt streams
to rivers eager
for the sea
where history lies
in milk white
and silent stones.
watcher of time
the dawns and dusks
of a thousand, thousand
days, dreaming eternity.
We are the air
the soaring bird,
of Eden's earth.
are made of fire,
and we are
all the waters
of the world.
take my hand
don't be afraid
I know the way
through the dark woods
and into day
see the sun?
that's where we're going
out of the valley
of perpetual night
into the land
of golden light
to a flowering garden
jeweled with dew
where the peacock
and scarlet ibis
beside a sea
of dreaming blue
peace and beauty
will be ours to share
don't give up
we're almost there.
Poet to Poet
free from the tyranny
our passionate spirits
leave no songs unsung.
Surf sown along high tide lines
Tree trunks and limbs cast among shells
Laced with seaweed; bark stripped, heartwood gone,
Sand blasted by the whim of weather, recycled
To an altered state; a study in shades of gray,
Though essence persists like memory
An anonymous castaway.
The Artist’s Eye
Framed within my window a canvas
Of ever changing cloud compositions hover
Over a distant background of dense green tree tops
And the slanted dabs of gray and brown roofs.
From the upper left corner smoky blue stratus clouds
Drift slowly across the sky. In the blue foreground
An indolent cumulus billow floats towards
A small piece of rented cirrus gauze lazing in its path;
Approaching each other they reach out from
Webby edges to meet like the Sistine Chapel cloud
God to touch Adam’s straining finger tips.
On the slopes the air was soft and cool,
As if it came from hidden tracts of snow.
The evening seemed to stretch itself over
Enormous hidden streams of time,
And my soul became reflective, sad,
Desirous and trembled like a note held too long.
Though I was sitting silent as a stone,
I felt as if I were standing next to an abyss
Of white cloud glaciers, gazing like the moon
In deep and vacant sadness
Into the black water of the sky lakes.
A piano and violin are playing a lament
To summer’s end; imparting to suffering
An exquisitely painful range of colors
That simply does not exist in reality.
The unending intensity, the sweet agonies
Of their notes are beyond beauty.
The piano falls silent and the violin
Wanders on alone, with eyes closed
I see a field of golden grain; a young girl
In a long white dress, her face
Shaded by a wide brimmed hat
Her pale arms filled with wild flowers.
Draw the curtain to one side, what do you see
Besides your face, your fear and the stars?
Have you not yet learned to smile
At the losses you have sustained?
What do all the passions and sorrows mean
When set against this pure passionate sorrow
With which we try to read in the stars the mystery
Of life’s meaning; that stubborn passion
That persuades us that only when the mystery
Is revealed shall we discover
The secret of our souls, and until then…
Book of the Night
I love the night for she wears no veil.
In the day my nerves are pulled and stretched
Until they threaten to snap but, at night,
The moon comforts me, the stars cool radiance
Revives my ragged nerves and I recover
From the tribulations of the day; and within me
A new sensation of self emerges
That is like stepping suddenly in front
Of a mirror that has not received a single ray
Of light for days and days, and drinking
It in greedily, holds out my own face as an offering.
Far From Rome
In that rustic scene among rubble and rocks
Are two stone sarcophagus lids.
Stretched out full length on them
Is the couple for whom they were carved.
It’s easy to imagine them under the trees
Where they rest as if on some trip
into the country, seeming just to have waked
From a brief siesta that has lasted for 2000 years.
Her hair has been done in tight little curls
According to the fashion of the day.
Their heads are turned toward each other
In a long look, a tender loving look
That has survived the millennia
And will last forever.
I am not surprised at all that it’s still there.
As a symbol of love and eternity.