Poetometry

The Monument

2009-11-04T10:21:00.000-08:00

The lovely yellow roses gently fluttered in the mountain breeze.
The soft, delicate blooms living like artifacts of an era long past,
Growing heartily as a symbol over the man that loved them so,
As royal sentinels, they stand watch for his return to come at last.

Pastoral was the land and poetic the scene as I stood and beheld
The silent monument of my beloved captain and favored friend.
The final resting place, a subtle antithesis of his heroic existence,
Reverently whispered his famed honor like a chorus in the wind.

The winds of change, ever virile; stealthily snatched my innocence!
Oh, do I yearn for the warm and passionate summer of my youth,
Those blessed days of mirth, coy adventure, and patent simplicity,
Heeding my captain, enchanted by his rough but chivalrous couth.

That booming voice, firm but consoling, painted his colorful being.
And the wonderful, wild yellow roses stand strong and undaunted,
So lonely; silently weeping in the frigid winter - joyful in spring,
Herald my captain’s life, a great epoch of hope, and love not flaunted.

by Jeff Hicks

My Sweet Love

2009-10-16T21:06:00.000-07:00

I was a lonely island
Cast far, far out to sea,
Searching for a loving hand;
A tender touch for only me.

Life’s waves crashed upon my shore
Leaving ripples in the sand,
Footprints left would time ignore -
My sole mark upon the land.

My island fortress on the sea
Of life; bastions of youth long past.
Alone; wanting only to be
More than life’s backstage cast.

Spying your ship out on my reef,
Like a reed tossed to and fro,
Changed my inner soul’s motif,
Oh, my sweet love from long ago!

I praise the wings that brought you
Back upon my beaming shore.
Now hold me close my darling
And kiss my lips once more.

JT Hicks

Street

2009-10-16T20:16:00.000-07:00

Brown House, built ‘long side the dusty street
Where he stands in awe 'n wonder.
Rusty Brick, hides where his heart used to beat,
Anxious for life’s bright allure.

Doorway, opened and closed o’er ‘n o’er again,
Concealed the patter of little feet.
Small rounded face with dancing eyes and grin,
In for sup, his fam’ly would meet.

Years've past and nobody's home, but far away,
Molding and shaping their future’s clay!
The deafening tumult of life crashes by –
And on his old, dusty street, breaks another day.

The Traveler

2009-10-16T19:43:00.001-07:00

The wizened traveler gently embraced me as I traversed my way.
Dusted and tattered, he humbly charged me, please rest and stay.

Exub’rant from youth, eschewing the length to my journey’s end,
I broke from my weary pace, and acknowledged his hand to lend.

I was but a young traveler, treading a lonely land of unseen danger,
Seeking life’s balance and truth when I found that familiar stranger.

“This life, an adventure and journey, is but a glorious trial my lad,
And yes, it will be fraught with all manner of good roads and bad.

Oh, you must seize every moment this wonderful life has to loan,
Rendering charitable profit and good deeds that thou hast sown.

Find thine own voice as you stride these musty, murky paths of life.
Stand up staunchly for truth in spite of thine enemy’s eager strive.

Know thyself; share thy talent; yield thy soul, your life to imbue.
Above all, as that great poet once said, ‘To thine own self be true.’”

Upon adieu, with sincere thanks, I meekly saluted that sage friend,
And traveled onward with peace and purpose to my journey’s end.

by Jeff Hicks

On Love's Plate

2009-10-16T19:13:00.000-07:00

A young, tender Blossom
In life’s Garden - blooming.
With such divine brilliance to behold,
You enchant me with your beauty;
I’m ever - joyfully captivated
By your hold.

And I, a laconic artiste
Painting my world with words,
Do wistfully brush your image on my slate.
With evocative swipes of each new stroke,
I proffer you this modest gift, my dear,
On love’s plate.

Jeff Hicks

Mother River

2009-10-16T19:11:00.000-07:00

Peering out from my vantage on the shore,
The cool breeze cradled my nostalgic soul.
Inner weeping for buried memories of before,
Resulted in remembrance of my youthful goals.

That ole meandering, rolling, raging flow,
Traveling onward – flowing onward to the sea,
Cloaked at times ‘midst the fog’s heavy glow,
Keeps rhythm, a cadence to Nature’s simplicity.

Fertile banks guide those anxious currents.
Adorned lush in spring, barren in fall,
She’s mothered her hungry brood with opulence,
Nurturing Nature’s balance, her greatest call.

‘Twas my river, my home, I dwelt here long ago!
Sharing claim with others, our sentiments the same,
We tread her banks as children. Running to and fro,
We basked in her beauty and wild torrents of fame.

Gone are those moments of mirth and swank regaling
Of each new day – loving life near my river’s banks.
But the memories! The gist of nostalgia’s lonely hailing,
Cause my soul to weep with joy and give God thanks.

Deeds

2009-10-16T19:10:00.000-07:00

Constantly moved upon by devilish impulse,
That wily thief of virtue,
Ever betrays our fragile trust
In the vain hope that secret anonymity
Will forever remain,
And those hideous deeds will be kept
Locked and hidden evermore.
Over and over, time and again
We court that impulse,
Harbinger of the natural man,
Then suffer the plunder of purity.
And betimes, we stand by faith,
True to convictions –
A formidable bulwark of
Human endurance and power.

Thus, we discern our
Fickle souls, the single constant
Amidst abounding inconsistency –
Body battling spirit; spirit rivaling
Rebellious body, like an astute
Master bringing his charge to bear.
And thus are our days defined,
All the time giving heed to
Our loving Master as He beckons
Us Onward, to return and claim
Our portion of eternal bounty –
That loot preserved only
For the courageous in this earthly battle,
Who come to know His godly visage,
And heed the charge, “Endure to the End.”

Jeff Hicks

Breaking the Chain

2009-10-16T10:51:00.000-07:00

Again, she woke from a dream,
Age'd terror engulfed her mind,
Reminders of pain from a distant past -
Relics of a past wanton with fear;
Although a meek child she would seem.

Told to forgive the unforgivable,
She silently weeps without sobbing,
Cries-out without raising her voice;
She's faced the fiend from the Stygian Pit.

But hatred is not with her!
Cloaked in the warmth of heaven's device,
Shedding love on all she tends,
Mocking the creed of enmity,
Her days roll on without a stir.

JT Hicks