Happy 5th Anniversary
to The Dragonflies' Lair!
A few musings gathering dust- from the shelves of The Lair.
In this place serene
I sit and dream
of white knights
brave and bold
painting pictures
in the psyche cold
touch the nose of
serendipity in repose
rouse her in her place of rest
and put her magic to the test...
56 posted on 09/02/2003 9:21:51 AM PDT by Soaring Feather
Cabin
The old cabin sat in autumn draped woods along the ancient river, both outside of time,
the porch rocker still sat there through rain or shine, waiting to welcome someone home.
Dark grey logs spoke of an age of time gone by, filled with seasons and people in subtle rhyme,
Cedar shakes covered the old roof, still dry and warm inside as the day he built it , no more to roam.
The old field stone fireplace is dressed in ancient soot, history of warm evenings with laughs and love,
meals by the fire and listening to the radio to weekend games and music of the time, dancing under the stars.
The old bed, it took such a long time to build, still there and cradling life tired bodies as soft as a dove,
while the big table sits there with shadowed quadrangles from the over painted window frame bars.
That long twisty road to the cabin, shut off all the rush and hurry of daily life, giving a measure of peace,
sweet isolation in which a heart could mend, and a soul find gentle healing, sweet rest to regenerate.
No sign on the road to say turn here, none needed, Heaven needs no tattletale for others without surcease,
Private paradise and lovers rendezvous, always ready to receive you, and your never too late.
721 posted on 09/25/2003 8:20:37 AM PDT by Trikebuilder8/26/08
The Master of The Poet's Dance
The Knight repairs to the tower,
wounded, scarred, but not unbowed,
Storm-wracked field awash and blowing,
Spirits soaked, but never cowed,
And in this place of quiet rest,
candle flickering in the night,
the Lady leaves her message of longing,
can you see His eyes shining bright?
In this place, so far from home,
newly-scarred face that frames the eye,
He reminds his Lady, distance is as nothing,
never farewell, and never goodbye,
But can only in part silence, and never still
the voice of music and verse that sings,
caring and coming from faraway lands,
for Yours, comfort and love it brings.
07-22-04 by JSR
969 posted on 07/22/2004 6:38:42 PM PDT by Old Sarge
I do so long to see a time
of quiet solitude,
A time of silence, wuthering winds,
a night of sweet etude,
The cries of battle, clangor of wars,
would not intrude this place,
the only sounds and sights would be
my lady's sighs and face.
The Dance goes on, here in these halls,
secure from fire and storm,
where the only arms are not of war,
but of lovers, safe and warm,
the clarion sounds upon the field,
the footfalls loud with dread,
but the soft padding of the Posts' Dance
is what I hear instead.
974 posted on 07/22/2004 9:04:38 PM PDT by Old Sarge
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