THE TIMELESS SPELL - THE EQUATION

THE SIREN'S LURE


Pictures winged
in three dimensions
before my eyes,
dartling
one and then the next
a panorama of existence
soaked
with emotions
I could not explain.

A glimpse
first here
then there,
a familiar likeness,
while others
too odd and strange.

Was this yet
another conjure
of the siren,
or the quandry
of modern man?

The pictures flashed on
as if to tell the story
of the hourglass-
a cinematic journey
of whom and where
I'd been.

Places vague and unknown,
persons with foreign tongues:
Universes anongst the stars,
worlds cast somewhere beyond;
A man devoted to the Arts,
A man who's waging wars;
A man of indelible strength,
A man of pitiless flaws.

Before my eyes
plunged
impinging pain
of the lapses of life.
Before my eyes
poured
the meaness
I'd become.

And her face
the tears
gently trickling
in tiny beads
down her cheeks.
The sadness
in her crystal eyes
that now
pangs
my tortured heart.

No matter how hard
I tried, I
could not stop
the onslaught of pictures
revealing
in blatant color
my frailties, deceit
and lies.
Until,
at last,
I reconciled
the upheaval
of my transgressions.

A dichotomy
as clear as
duty and omission,
as clear as
the artist
and the thief.
To realize my pain
and suffering
came not from her resentment,
but from my own demise.

That my wounded cries
were of my own affliction,
the hourglass
my empty sands.
~~
Copyright 2010 Francis Don Daniels.
All Rights Reserved.
"The Siren's Lure" used with the permission of Suzi Galloway.
To view other of her fine art works you may go to
http://suzi-galloway.artistwebsites.com

THE TIMELESS SPELL-AN EKPHRASIS

THE SIREN'S LURE




Woman
of infinite beauty
eyes of crystal
and celestial body
horizon where sleeps
the eternal sun.

Goddess of Seduction,
Sorceress of the Seas,
a thousand lips of kisses.
Immortal seed tempting
love and charm
like a dream you came to me
and I fell into your arms.

Out on the blue deep,
I, but a lone seafarer
when you came.
So shrill the siren call
I could not tell
the sky from the sea.
Endless hours of hope and despair
driven by your lure, is it to end
without your love-

To be my Calypso
bound
to the Earth
revolving
black to gold,
tracking
with the seasons
the oceans' ebb and flow
to end upon the jagged shores
of the lost and gone,
kept as your pawn
my captured soul.

In the hourglass
the sand that flows
is me, from
life to life
in a timeless spell.

Lost
on a desert caravan
I roam the dunes
of ancient time,
withered and parched
and mind awry,
forlorn
of your magic waters.

What man or immortal
has betrayed you,
so bled your heart
from ill-promised love
that with resentful will
all men you scorn?
To suffer the pain
of your broken heart;
To be the fuel
for your sadistic love;
To burn and be
your redemption.

And now
leaving me
as between
Scylla and Charybdis-
the machine existence
of modern man,
despoiled of native sentience
to endure living by drugs
and surigal means
and worship
the gray mattered brain.

Return me
to where you found me
out on the deep blue sea,
as the fishes
who swim at you side
or the coral
who color your reef,
to live in the waters
of your crystal eyes.

Woman
in my mind
the hourglass flows
only for you.
If only I can keep
this heavy heart adrift
lest it drown
in its sinking sadness.

Woman
of infinite beauty.
~~
Copyright 2010 Francis Don Daniels. All Rights Reserved.

Many thanks to Suzi Galloway for her permission to include "The Siren's Lure"
with this writing. You may review other of her fine art works by going to
http://suzu-galloway.artistwebsites.com or sgnarts.imagrkind.com

IMMORTALITY

It seemed strange
that I should know you
before we'd even met.

How do I explain.

Or
how to keep
an honest face
no trace
of withholding.

Or
an anxious heart
eager
to spill its stories
of things then till now,
hushing it
from musing aloud.

And
places far away
I must admit unvisited,
yet speak wildly about
as though
were natively bred.

Words like "surreal"
or "deja vu",
do they get
me off the hook,
or add confusion
to sanctioned glibness
belying
the truth.

Of a magic in the world
of immortal being
few given to understand
not from lack of senses,
but estrangement
from freedom's sails
to waft the universe
of thought.

As on a poet's lips
dreaming
to the melody
of his breath
and wandering
in wildernesses
of silent creation.

To wake to find
the life of dreams
today is created,
but live
in another time.
~
Copyright Francis Don Daniels 2010.
All Rights Reserved.

THE FIREDREAM

(Author's Note: In support of the aspirations
of the Havasupai Indian Nation.)

I feel wild again
like those wild and wooly days
we chased the buffalo
and the nights slept
beneath the stars.

Even,
my heart runs wild-
wild with hot emotions
of tomorrow's deadly hunt
and challenge to live.

Within the campfire
resides abandon
recounting
the path lost yet still worn,
the mixed metaphors
hovelled in ash-

The winds of gathering strength,
the quiet of calm surrender;
The tempest of violent flame,
the hush of dying embers;
The mover of earth's destruction,
the maker of new existence.

And awakens the firedream.

Wild with imaginings-
visions
of the Great Spirits
who make talk
above the mounds
they lie.
When one day
I, too, shall hunt
the great buffalo
of the sky.

And fearless
will I be, upon
the broad wings
of the bright and shiney bird
who nests on the dark
clouds of night
streaked
from the deep
like a fallen star.

"COURAGE IN THIS LIFE IS
GREATNESS IN THE NEXT."

For now,
I must cherish
the sayings
of the Great Fathers
as I cherish
the warmth of the campfire
that keeps my heart
alight, and dream
on morning's fresh odors-
wildflowers drenched
in gouts of dew.

Conserving
all other wild feelings
when face to face
with the buffalo-
face to face
with the will
and courage
to live.

Copyright 2010 Francis Don Daniels.
All Rights Reserved.

A POEM FROM MY POCKET

I wait for you
where the sun sleeps
and the moon laughs
at the night stars
trying
to out do each other.

In the soft sunlight
of the morning
when tulips waken
from winter sleep.

In the glistening dew
that bathes their faces
and with fantasies
blushes their cheeks.

In the living drift
of pollen and bloom
pronouncing
the season of creation,
I wait for you.

With spotted-winged monarchs
drunk like gods on nectar
making rounds
garden to garden.

With the ebony twilight
tucking in the sun
from a day of summer work,
prompting the night jasmine
to let out its charm,
until, the sun yawns
stretching itself out
across the broad sky-
I wait for you.

By golden fields
brindled in cocks of hay
for four-legged dwellers
where it is home.

By the trelliswork
sloping along the lane
and towards the stream,
the leaves rust and gold
soon to shrivel and die.

By the gathered vintage
marvelous to the eyes
and joyous in the stomping,
but pricking to the mind,
I wait for you.

Beneath the naked trees,
the bare fields,
the sulking sun
who barely whispers hello.

Beneath the smile
the frown that grows
with each chilling frost
and each swing of snow.

Beneath the quilts
pied with tulips and hyacinths
made with a mother's love
though warm-
I am cold-

On the porch
of far away places,
in the window
of imagination,
at the door
opening
to the soul-
to go with you
through the seasons
of dreams.
~~
Copyright 2010 Francis Don Daniels.
All Rights Reserved.

THE PLAYINGFIELDS

My world
what does it mean.
Is it only this playingfield
of Earth?


This body
that bears a name
saying it's me,


or something
more intimate
as the spirit me.


The game
of make believe
when we were small
seemed
so easy to play.


Remember-
when you played
in the yards
with friends or alone
imagining
yourself a Knight,
Damsel,
a King
or Queen.


The wonder,
the freedom
of those moments
that seemed to go on and on.
as if there were no time, no time.


How all
would banter
back and forth
exclaiming their imaginings
to be the best-

I can hear it now-
"No! Let's play Knights!"
"No! Mine's better. Let's play Pirates!"

(Look at my universe.
Can't you see it?")

When the playingfields changed
by others more powerful
who by age or status elected
to tell others what to play.

In places like schools
and churches and chomes-
and rules- agreements marching
to the beat of the clock
going
tick-tock,
tick-tock.

To grow old and arthritic
our youthful bodies
once fearing not
a leap,
a risk.

But now to feed
on daily prescriptions
just to stay even
with the next
tick,
tick,
tick...

And pray to God
our souls to take
to the banished worlds
cast beyond
where meaning's trapped
on the playingfields
of our dreams.

You say,
Why do you write such sad verse?

Very well.
Say no more.
Look no further-

than for your Pirates,
your Kings and Queens
who wait for you
on the playingfields
of your dreams.
~~
Copyright 2010 Francis Don Daniels.
All Rights Reserved.

BERRIES AND THE WINE

Take my hand.
No, no don't let go.
We'll fly the heavens high,
sail the oceans far and wide.


You and I,
we go together
like colors and the rainbow.


As we sleep on sugared sands,
the wind and waves
refresh our dreams,
like sunlight warms the earth.


For they and we
we go together
as salt goes with the sea.


At dawn
let me take you in my arms,
two souls fusing worlds,
two hearts beating as one.


For yours and mine
they go together,
one blood
in space and time.


One Universe.


Like berries
and the wine.
~~
Copyright Francis Don Daniels 2010