The Poetry of Jeffrey L. H. Naylor

Might There Be?

Might there be worlds we haven’t dreamed of,
Places where dreams are secret hiding places
Where lovers go to kiss the moments away
And time doesn’t matter because it never was?

Might there be soothing melodies to sing of
How the power of love can make beautiful traces
Of movements and motions that will always stay
Binding and forging a love the way God does?

Might there be such passion we haven’t heard of
A Love so powerful our hearts read our faces
To see if truth and virtue seed a unity unbetrayed,
In idle dreams of secret worlds, sipping sweet framboise?

Michele I’ll tell
Is made by Mattel.
Is it one or two L’s?
Michele or Mattel?
She’s a pretty little doll
Who made me fall
Into her wishing well,
And Swish! In love we fell!

When good fortune was her morning song,
She never felt guilt nor shame
For her complicity with happiness.
Unconditional love was the melody of her will,
And she loved life for the special moments
Of the morning when the stillness of the night
Still hung in the air, merging slowly with the
Golden breaths of the dawn.
In early morning observations of love,
She constructed memories
Sealing them away tightly for tomorrow.
The future promised her an ocean of memories,
And the lingering loneliness that comes with old age
Would flicker dim before the melodies of her past.

What is the measure of a qualified life?
How good and long will I be without strife?
The well oiled lamp burns a great length.
A well built lamp burns with great strength.

I lift up my eyes to you, Meagan,
as the eyes of slaves Look to the hand of their master;
I lift up my eyes to you Meagan,
as the eyes of slaves Look to the sands of the desert of God
I lift up my eyes to you Meagan,
as the eyes of maids Look to the hand of their mistresses,
and
so
our
eyes
Look to the Lord our strength,
as our love Looks to the dove of our hearts.
for if God is our strength, Meagan is our hope.

there stand now three within a circle perfect,
a girl into the hand of night screams…
a man into the thorns of brush shrinks…
a figure into the pasty light runs.
the street lamp flickers once, long in time.
the figure under the pasty light shrinks…
the man under the thorns of brush screams…
the girl under the hand of night runs.

a fist is clenching, blood is rushing,
expectation is failing…
pushed back by familiar hopes forgotten,
calumny is betrayal’s reflection.
someone stumbles through dampened leaves
now lying in pools of pale blue light as
mirroring eyes close contrite.
forlorn, last sounds flood the yellowed street
with ghostly echoes gently yielding
hearts a’weeping. thus, ends the night
where lie now three outside a circle broken.

love is worth all the tears
love is worth facing all the fears
love is worth counting the cost
love is worth leaving nothing for lost

Love leaves its trace
Whenever she enters my space.
Slender beauty and grace,
Mark her mysterious face.
Her favor to gain I race,
Anxious to receive I pace.

What does love mean to my seeking heart?
Open your mind, close yourself around me,
Feel the beat deep inside, telling you that
Love is all the treasure sunk in lonely hearts.
Love has no price, but extreme value for us.
Love is not far, yet reaches close to my dreams.
Love is not wrong or right, but forever asking.
Love is not for reasons, bleeding every season.
Love is nothing, but Love is everything.
Love is caring for another heart always.
Love is collecting two hearts, depositing one.
Love is eternal seeking and finding.
Love is the confrontation of someone else.
Love is the discovery that blossoming takes two.

Fear and dread silently come upon me
As I look around to see,
There are lions in our land,
Clawing, marking, stalking in the sand.
I turn to look and see if others saw
That I might cry out the call,
There are lions in our land,
Clawing, marking, stalking in the sand.
But no one that I could see or hear
Came running to heal my wounds of fear.
There are lions in our land,
Clawing, marking, stalking in the sand.
I finally laid down my fear and came to where they sat.
“King of Beasts, men ye cannot rule”, I said as they spat.
“Who are you lions in our land,
Clawing, marking, stalking in the sand?”
With thunderous roar one said, “We’ll stay but a day, no more.
This kingdom is full of boney, skinny men; it is not worth a war.
We lions shall leave your land.
No more shall we claw or mark or stalk your sand.”