Mourning Dove

one day
of new snow
a lone gray-brown dove
swoops in for a swallow

unlike most birds
it drinks
without lifting its head
with nary a blink
of beady black eyes
on legs red-pink
the dove does drink

after having its fill
the dove does rest
beneath nearby white pine
my hands did plant
15 years past

as frozen crystals swirl
deeper the dove walks
beneath pine bough -
a shield
from above
for one lone dove

I watch
the slender figure
nestle down
into leaves brown
pulling them
with tiny beak
lovingly close
one by one
for comfort
from cold

feeling warm
and safe from harm
in home
of the moment
its tired eyes
slowly close

I watch
this symbol of peace
sleep
and wonder
of its mourning song
sung for our world
each morning

Spring

A sense of warmth is tapping at the door;
And hope, a feeling out from distant lore
– Or so it seems – clears the deep refrain!

Emerging youth: a dormant lea awakes.
The raging colour, singing loud, partakes
In annual birth – spring is born again!

A zest anew for nascent life
Begins in floral train:
Carriage one: a snowdropp thrill;
Carriage two: the crocus;
Number three, a daffodil – dancing,
Drawing focus – as she would,
Attention seeker!

How I love our spring:
The bold and sleeker feel I get,
An inner glow, a ring!
I’ve paid the winter’s chilly debt, so
Now upon the wing!




Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

Darkness

The darkness outside is the darkness within
Night is the most frightening time
And winter the most difficult season
And old age the coldest and cruelest time of life.

And I now in winter in old age in the middle of the night
Write
A small poem of hope
Against the greater darkness to come
The night which does not end
And the cold which goes on forever.

Peace

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.