Sometimes Poetry

the poetry flows golden sometimes
like smoothness of bronzed whiskey
a fluid river of thoughts streaming
velvety though the poet's fingers
tripping along over boulders of joy
stretching like a serpent unwound
sunlit on a private basking rock
happy to be fed, alive and warm
words becoming sacred benedictions
sometimes singing psalms of praise


sometimes poetry falls cold, frigid
an imposing ice storm of jagged pain
on aging memories of times long past
when love was too fragile to survive
sharp daggers of hate that pierced it
and heavy hammers of cruelest neglect
poetry weeps when once again cradling
against her breast, innocent, perfumed
babes of her youth if but for a moment
feeling their weight in her arms again


I am an old soul, born out of time
out of step with modernity's march
hoarding olden images of knighthood
soft hand kisses and proffered chivalry
my soul utters long forgotten phrases
the harshness of contemporary speech
falling bombastic on poetic heartstrings
the cold starkness of ways and winds
howling forlornly through ancient trees
poetry sometimes sailing seas of regret