'Season of the Cold Clouds'

'Season of the Cold Clouds'

'tis Winter. Colder blasts the warring winds.
The bite of rains make daggers hook our bones.
If not for calendars, we would forsake
our hope of Spring and know our times would end.

'tis Winter. Clouds come down and are the Storm.
Thick Limbs do break, their needles thread the air.
The naked blusters dress in leaves that dance
with little things alighted on the ground

'tis Winter. Cluster now the snowdrift high.
The pointed crystals drop as ice from eaves.
The Wolves howl loudly to their packs in dens.
The pines explode from living saps that freeze.

The Sun may hide and Goddess Earth may sleep
But we with hearts will wake remembering.

(c) 2010 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved

"Brief Minutes"

"Brief Minutes"

In rushing, flies the moments to prepare.
In gath'ring up the portions of the wend --
the food, the garments, notebooks and a pen --
The hurried scholar rags in frosty air.

A scribble of the quill leaves thoughts too spare --
Quick figures on exchequer needs, losts found.
Affection and of thanks all poorly bound.
Some notes on chores now done, too brief of care.

So Journal keeps another morning gone.
Tonight another note or two fills in.
A year in volumed to be shelved begins
and many more looked forward to be done.

'tis written every morning and each night.
'go safely, swift returning'. 'Love'. All's right.


(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved

Morning Slumber

"Morning Slumber"

The mind in freedom soars as robins do
and like the larking red-breast, crows the day.
To cloud and sun, to high-perched tree-top's sway,
what realms deny it entrance? Very few.

To dream, to take in every breath and sound
from out the shuttered window and then weave
a garment full of splendored wonder. Sieve
the rude unwanted grit and live unbound.

All things combine. The motion of the morn
and candle flame. A breath and kitten's mews,
the creaking beams. But would I ever choose
a new made fabric and then have it worn?

This is the fancy best my life can be.
For dreams must wake, and wakened dreams be ye.


(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved.

'Nature's Trove'

Nature's Trove

Soft is sight when mists lie and hug the trees
Giving skirt and shawl to the forest's kin.
Light is the dawn and gentle is the breeze
When morning light does whisk the wisps and fen.

Boulder Cracking thunder may blast a mount
To ash. Hot ocean lashing bolts of Jove
May steam and splash to bedrock the great fount
Of the sea. Nature has both in its trove.

The gentleness of a spider's spire.
The Ragnarock of a Volcano's blast.
The song of bird and the scream of fire.
All this have I known and loved, first to last.

For High and hot and sleepy as a babe;
All have I felt when in your arms I've laid.

---------------
In Prose, the Poem would look and read like this:
---------------

Soft is sight when mists lie and hug the trees giving
skirt and shawl to the forest's kin.
Light is the dawn and gentle is the breeze when
morning light does whisk the wisps and fen.

Boulder Cracking thunder may blast a mount to ash.
Hot ocean lashing bolts of Jove may steam and splash
to bedrock the great fount of the sea.

Nature has both in its trove. The gentleness of a
spider's spire,
The Ragnarock of a Volcano's blast. The song of
bird and the scream of fire.
All this have I known and loved, first to last.

For High and hot and sleepy as a babe; All have I
felt when in your arms I've laid.


(c) 1999, 2011 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved

'The Welcome Cold'

The Welcome Cold

I greet this frosted air and frozen field,
The glassy pond and quiet morning breeze
With close and tender welcome. I'll not yield
To shudders for its Wintry challenges.

Tho' it withholds the many joys of Spring
And seems to misremember Summer's bliss,
I'd trade no other wealth or pleasure sing
Than moments cold and now that brings me this.

I stand within my holding, All I see
Is what I call my own by right and will.
And all is happy, held in blessed peace
Against the Times that may bring any ill.

But Pinnacled above what is my part
Is she who shares these lands, and warms my heart.


(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith all rights reserved.

'Morning Iris'

Morning Iris

Today does drip upon me each sweet hour
as drops of honey... slow and powerful
Each new birding sound, the wafting flow'r...
Come, come and let me sense this joy employed.

All Nature is this day, a chorus trained
to give to Kings the best, now Groundlings shared
and I, a warrior, worn and pained
drink in this Elysium... Re-born. Re-paired.

I know the moment next will be as good
but I am so enjoined with this good time
I think upon that not. What good then should
be better than when we are all in rime.

All paths are smooth and even is their way
and I am blessed for you are here today.

(c) 2008, 2011 G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved.

'The Calling Sound'

'The Calling Sound'

I wait upon the gate and watch the bell.
One swing and open goes the other quick.
For that one ring, the calling sound will nick
The hot impatience that would have me dwell.

I rush my thoughts towards the time at hand
And polish frets to mirrors of thy face.
I glance and peer while feet do dance their pace
While looking hard Horizon's broken band.

Each dodging branch foretells your riding through.
Each noise of stone or whinny is thy steed.
And every other Symphony a deed
By what you ride or sing or fairly do.

Your waiting love is pinioned by this Gate
O' please, 'Arrival' be thy only Fate.


(c) 2011 G.Robin Smith
All rights reserved