i fell in a bed of shells that tells
of a love with the sea that sails
and propels me ever drifting against waves
that roll against craggy caves,
which lay hidden upon dark shores
pocked in gray basaltic pores.
i fell in a bed of shells that tells
of a love with she who quells
my wandering, shifting heart
hiding softly within the shorn parts
of folding hearts forever bound
in melodies of harmony’s sound.
after great sorrow, i have no time to hate
as the stillness of such assault cannot aid me
to conceal in death that which in life
attires me with the fashion of stolen ages.
this is the hour of lead when eternity spins
a predestined web of yours and mine
tossed out yonder in the inky brine.
homesick eye yearns behind the shelf of heaven
to glimpse the scarlet scarf before sounds
the pitieous purge of Jericho Joshua’s horn.
Sometimes the piano asks me to play.
And the keys I find beg for love to surface
Yet, no love appears in ivory to stay.
The strings struggle to make music.
But when I hear love in my heart
The keys I play sound like symphony.
Crescent hands press against my heart forlorn,
Marking the trellis made of art scorned,
Feeding the wind against crimson soul,
Searching the anger spit out from the shoal.
What is the weight of the world that
Burns my steel forged on anvils flat,
Enjoining grief and thoughtless hope,
Mourning my future now bending broke?
Against my heart the press of the mark
Scorns the trellis around my heart,
Stealing the art within my soul,
Bending the shoot of life’s only goal.
What is the weight of the world then?
Unseen blinds raising paths twisted to men,
Railings to split hands seeding the wind.
The wait against time my dreams to send.
the world is cold and snowy and darkened still in many ways
…days are long and silent of echoes
…like sitting in the snow fields late at night
…there is no sound…there is no light,
but the reflections from the moon and the tears of the future
that freeze over our eyes like leaden shields….
so we do not know what will happen today or tomorrow…
we only know that yesterday was not what we dreamed
and today is merely another chance to shape a happier time.
yet, we cannot know until these moments pass
what the future will deliver unto us.
we can only wait and pray steadfast
in the hope that the light of promise may soon come
to bring luster and warmth into our night.
the leaves cling to the crippled, scorned bark,
shadowing the Elder’s aging mark.
she horrors the face,
love’s angle auld has lost its proper place.
its the meaning of her that winters me bereft,
frozen, never to gain.
oh suspicion, wing me near thy fleeting swans of ancient lakes.
lead me to blue, spring waters for lassie’s sake?
Tough Soldier, Man of War!
Sly Man of business, Man of War!
Chrome-Tooth, Wo-Man of War!
You all know the prize door
Where stands one man toward
Another. Everyone knows
The money man who goes
Always to feed his son the fool.
Seize his children the proper tool
To rob him of his innocence respect.
Sniggle as good Christian’s fleck
Their jeers at him without regard.
Putrid stench unveils a father retard.
He’s not the money man for
Sure. Thus, strike his heart to bore
Deep inside him forever to gore.
Make our life now warriors of war
Tough, Sly and Chrome Toothed soar
To sink the hearts of poor forlorn.
Never speak again, the key, the door.
Is my love merely unclothful?
Are you or am I not the thoughtful?
Why do you hide after a season of knotted pine?
Have you now become the clock empty, waiting for your clock maker?
Will you find him in angelic skies, with celestial pendulate wings?
Do you not hear the tattle of love? Is he thy fair or fare?
A tiny bluebird perches near my window
Marking the morning with uncanny glow.
She thrills to show how happy she stirs.
In my moment of distess, the tiny thing is heaven’s douceur.
My peeking, seeking human face evokes a chirp!
Lost from her nest, her mother shall soon arrive.
This little bluebird is no perpertrating perp.
Dancing in the sudden, mother coos happy her baby still alive.
Looking, but not seeing,
Watching movement without emotion.
Like a human clock, time flickers
Swiftly across the peering face that
Stares soulless from windows
Of doubt and shame,
Perceiving spaces to be empty
That abound with Life.
The Poetry of Jeffrey L. H. Naylor
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