"When I look into your Eyes"

"When I Look into your Eyes"


I've seen the ends of the earth my love...
I've seen life begin,
and felt the tears fall at its demise.

...but when I look into your eyes,
I see more than the ocean and the shore...
I see my reflection,
never so clear...
as if a glimpse into eternity ,
I wonder how could I want you more?

These days grow shorter...
and the sun still casts a favorable shadow
against the purple hills and these dry desert towns...
as if a living picture frame,
sharing its beauty with posterity
and this fortunate bystander.

....but when I look in your eyes,
I see a soul that has lived in the light
Against  a backdrop of darkness.....
gathering what is gained, letting go of what is lost...
commuted is the life of empty smiles now,
longing for joy unsurpassed,
 a Love Divine.

I hear the whispers
of a woman who lends first and always....
I see in you the mysterious night skies....dark azure windows..
Your dance scattered across the horizons,
your dance so lovely....
So lovely.

...these things, and more I see when I look in your eyes.


Greg Sexton

Visions

"Visions"

Thunder Birds approach on the horizon...
just before the rain -
four-legged's tapping and banging on this old house
and its skeletal windowpanes...

rain dancing across the tin roof
barely touching the gutter,
the thunder growls,
and south winds howl...
earth, bones and walls begin to shudder.

The Owl perched above the loft sits frozen..
yet always keeping his even and steady scowl.

The Ancient Ones spoke of these harbingers...
These Thunder Birds,
and how they would foretell of the Storms to come,

They come now...
in my dreams...
in my Vision..
before the thunder clouds,
in a crash...
in a whisper.

The clear reflection in this still pool
mirrors my perceptions now...
as before...
but soon reflections obscured,
Choked by the red clay that swirls within its depths.

My friend, the dark bird...
lost in the ever turbulent streams above the clouds,
will soon find its roost...
...and the Grandfather will bring us the Holy Light,
born from the heart of the eastern mountains.

Gregory Sexton (O'Seasnain)

Just This Night

"Just This Night"

(For you, whoever...and wherever you are)

I wonder if it is like this for you...
Watching the tides, laughing at the dances of the the birds..

seeing the beauty of the trees ...
Hearing the intricate rhythms of the crickets
...and how they must give us a hint of joy as
The orchestral brilliance of frogs and katydids do ...

I wonder if you could love the depth of this writer,
and if you laugh at the antics of the thieving crow...

I see in your eyes, and in the reflection that is your face ...
you are strong, resilient...and this guides you, even when your highs...are so very low.

The salty mist from these shores have soaked my skin... for too I have pondered finding others to walk....
But now, I look for you...and listen for your voice,
a voice I've never heard, 
pondering each syllable upon each and every gust...
It is there that I can hear your voice,
Your footsteps...
It is there that i sense your candor, your smile...your light.
How childish are these sentiments of short quips and elaborate narratives that I now share with you?
You ask me for nothing, and yet I can't stop the turret that has opened my heart to you. I pray you understand ....

Toleration is all I ask for this pilgrim, this man...this soul to sing his songs of the heart ...
and fade into obscurity. 

It's the "real" that i love. The insatiable desire to know it...to be it...perhaps it would not be fair to tally it as an obsession, only a living prayer, a living moment suspended in time...every bit as real as it ever was...only now dreaming , and what might become.
These are the voices I hear....from across the pond ...to these shores where I now live.
Gregory Sexton

This Blue Train (Reprise)

You have found me...

you left my side, my mind, my sanity by the road long ago. 

But now I sit with you ...here...and alone. 

Nothing is said ...only silence mimics our conversation...

I knew you would be here as I saw you on the dark clouds that were fast approaching.

 But ...what do you want of me?

 I have nothing left to give ..nor have I more to lose. 

I can't battle you on this field; as you hold the advantage, I have no one to stand with me ...

to rally the final charge ....in shallow hopes of dislodging you from my mind. 

My conscience is my only voice now...

I ponder this stranglehold I thought once gone.

 I tell myself to hold on to the voice of reason..

to let this "blue train" pass. 

Why have I chosen today to wage this battle? 

Perhaps I'm tired of the retreat...the sanguine memories of what might have been. 

This blue train has stationed it's patrons and porters just outside of my glance. Lonliness is your choice of cruelty and stratagem.
I have known this loneliness before...

I know the rules...

silence is the code.
But I won't play to your unilateral standard ...not this time .

 Encryption will divulge the heart...to those that look to see, and listen to hear.
Tomorrow..the next day..maybe next month...

eventually you will retire from this station...and I will remain behind. 

I will be here, pondering the next journey that is before me.

 Wondering how long it will be before I see those blue plumes upon my horizon once again.

Like

My Broken Window

Outside my broken window, the light begins to fade ...
at least that's how the evening tide makes it seem...
I look into my closed mind ,
to see if I can walk the night ...
to bridge the gap ,
to keep close to me ,
the warm, life giving light...
I look outside my window broken ...
and what remains of this life ,
kneading and treading the old paths,
cognizant and privy to the new ....
with a measure of heart,
standing...with shields of Faith,Hope and Love,
I will traverse the landscapes before me,
those paths most welcome...and those not.

Gregory Sexton (O'Seasnain)

The Poem and the Symphony

THE POEM AND THE SYMPHONY

Author: GMS75

Time gleans "the sound" from you..
from a distant age gone by.

Body, Neck and Bridge...
Strings, Frets and Keys,
aggregates of this guitarra...

A matrix of wood and bone,
constructs of this Soul.

Embodied in the ink of his pen...
the writer personified -
encrypted in the words,
his art...his life -
each word and rambling
phrase, an incarnation
of the Nous.....truly, an unfettered reflection.

So too, the musician speaks through the sound
of each note...
each note, each phrase,
as if a paragragh...
reflecting sentience and imagination.

Together - they complete the poem
and the symphony...

Separate - they are two strangers
born of a common Mother.

The resonant embrace pierces the 
Heart - fingers dancing into a firestorm .... 
dissonance long removed, they chase away the distance -
forgetting that some are far removed from this joyful mood.


Mirroring one another, the two strangers renew their bond,
reflecting familiar and a courteous tones, in writ and song -
as thoughts surely become sound,
and all the while, are so evenly pronounced... 
plucked strings reverberate through the darkness, 
minor and major scales collide...
awakening the dead to life, 


....to the poem within the symphony.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This Blue Train

This Blue Train

Author: GMS75

tasting the sweet rain tracing down my face...
unitelligible sounds and benign utterances break the silence...
i watch the blue fog slowly move in,
penetrating each and every glance of mine eye...


the blue train slowly passes by ~
soon to chase away the distance between now and then....
acquiring rights of an assumed passenger ~
warming my feet within her cabin's frame,
passing in review before her porters and residents...I ask...

what will they see of me?

who will i let them see?

not me...

not now...

i want to ferry the passageways incognito....
empty and void is how i feel,
still warm to touch,
but too cold to feel...

like this blue train...

like this choking blue smoke...

like the blue cloak of the morning fog.

meloncholy is my mask and mood,

just now...

on this blue train.  

Gregory

~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Posted: Thu May 29, 2014 8:28 PM EST