Sunday, July 27, 2014

"Soaring"


This is a stairway in an old homestead like some others I’ve seen in very old houses: very steep, leading to two rooms on either side of the stairs.  You can see the turning that leads to the main upstairs room (to the left, out of sight, and the door to the smaller room on the right with one enormous step.  There is a way to negotiate it, but it’s a challenging entrance and exit, and I began to imagine what I might have thought if, as a small boy, I had been assigned to that room…



At eight years old I rose from bed,
ready for the morning.
I found my clothing on the floor,
and while the sun was dawning,
I dressed myself, and ready to start,
reached out to pull the door,
swung it in and stepped ahead,
and teetered on the edge,
the doorway ledge,
and I looked down,
and with a frown,
and a flutter of my heart,
I paused,
and something caused
imagination to break out,
and I could barely hold the shout
of glee rising in me.
It was not stairs that filled my sight,
but images of eagles’ flight,
and standing at my bedroom door,
I really thought that I could soar
high above the world below, and so…
I did, I leapt out from that sill,
not expecting any ill,
and, yes, I willed myself to fly,
but really there’s no reason why
I should have done what I did,
and they all thought I’d flipped my lid,
as down those steps I roughly fell,
and scared them in bloodcurdling yell.
Oh yes, I thought I would be cruising.
Instead my body sure was bruising.
They picked me up and soothed me, then
told me never do that again.
I knew that surely I never should,
but somehow I knew I surely would,
Oh, yes, I surely would.


----------ed pacht

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

"Chrysolite"



If heaven would make me such another world,
of one entire and perfect chrysolite
with you inside its centre like a rosebud curled
asleep and dreaming of the coming light

If heaven would grant me such another boy
a boy as beautiful as you were then,
to have but not to hold, and to enjoy
at that chaste distance with which we once began

I surely would not step a second time
into that sacred space unbidden like a thief
for pain has taught me that this love of mine
can have no hope of answer or relief

The quality of love you see in me too well
who turned fresh heaven into stifling hell




Sion Liscannor

Friday, July 11, 2014

"Good Day"

Boy image courtesy of Roman Glaser



 . . . They sat side-by-side on the dune, holding hands as they watched the rolling of the surf, listened to its crashing sounds, and savored the aromas of the cool salt air.  It had been a good day on this deserted beach, with not another soul in site.  They had the beach to themselves and no one to demand that they cover their lithe tanned bodies as they cavorted on the sand and swam unencumbered in the chilly bay.  They swam, they ate their picnic lunch surrounded by the freshness of the breeze and the mournful cries of the soaring gulls, they walked and ran and tossed a whirling disk, and, most of all, they talked and shared their life and love with one another.  It had been a good day, but now it was coming to its end, and there they sat, side-by-side on the dune, watching as the sun was settling down, as the sky began to glow with fiery red, putting on a show, or so it seemed, for just these two alone.  The breeze picked up and began to bear a chill and wrap the happy pair  within it.  They shivered just a little and drew a little closer, there to lean one upon the other with contented smiles.  The sun went down and down, the fire in the sky grew brighter and brighter and then began to fade away, until the dimness of the dusk had settled in upon them, and this good day, like all good things, was at its end.  Before they rose to find their clothes and start their journey home, they looked each into the others eyes and stared a while, and gently shared a kiss.   Yes, it had been a good day. . . .


..........ed pacht