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Flights of Love and Fear
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DRAWN UP PATHS Keeper of my poem born along NewYear's first beat of joy, I travel newer paths filled still with yesterdays. Calmly marching with my past aboard my ship of dreams, departed ones travel silently, soundless wings carrying fond of walking memories, the lighter load of all. For they, God of Heavens, guardian of my secrets. what they were, are the path tracing my tomorrows; their lives long gone, grant renewed faith and joy. For all I am to them I owe. their hugs and kisses last, their sadness has expired, my heart for them to live again. Copyright ©2005 DAWN OF LOVE
Where are you, Love, today? Where in burst or sighs upon the wind your pointed arrow seeking love in earnest fly traverse the sky, voluptuous dream of younger days? Heed my call ¡Oh Love! to the feast of flowers, subtle, shrewd, winged elf, of ardor reason, to the blessing wedding of my rapt in heaven. Voi che sapete, che cosa e amor? inquire the Cherubino in me; You, the sweetest thing of all things sweet, scoffers mean define: "state of perceptual anesthesia" "light we all see and know not what to do with it" Where are you, Love, today? ll I know of so much join and pain is Thou! All I know is of Thou always with me! Copyright ©2005 Joseph Berolo |
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DAY OF JOY
I have crossed the deepest ocean and yet, remain in body and soul planted in the shores of evermore. ¡Behold! I owe my life a prayer of strength, for this is the season of returns, journeys new to dare-- the search begins for jewels lost in winds of never said farewells. Not lost but far in solid grounds, the stronger ties of blood declared joining flesh and bones and land, my son awakes to earned dawns of vibrant joy and Pride and Love. October 16, 2005 From the Colombian Andes to the Shores of New York THE WAR IS OVER! (George W. Bush)
To my daughter -USN SeaBees- NMBC7- Once at the Gates of Hell. on Easter Day, of all days. Where are you, my daughter, on Palm's day of Joy? Where in a burst or sigh of dry desert winds, does your valiant youth inhabit, seeking remnants of millennial forces clashing with ghosts of sand in endless darkest nights? I entreat you, my daughter-- busy bee of all my present fears to be my guest at the feast of flowers, Glory of Easter, blessed supper of victorious deeds. My heart awaits, on edge of pain untold-- feeling near the light shine upon the tragic night --your long return to life. The little corner of my quiet rejoice I miss... for it is my war to fight on equal terms, side by side, to tame the Beast and come home with you...¡ Alive ! www: poetry.com Joseph Berolo Collection of Verses--Colombo-American Poets 2003 |
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LOST HORIZONS ELAINE
Distance, solitude, the blues, my soul in trance, absent from your shores, my ship of hopes succumbs, my dreams in depths of missed days of joys perceived, detained by ghosts of doom, my love a windy path across the rain of this, my coldest day.! Today I learned of you, my sweet, sweet Elaine waving Good Bye to all we were! ©2005 Joseph Berolo www.poetry.com Collection of Poetry in English Enter content here |
CANNOT BE
absconded not the gilded sun /when at dawn in lazy path barely appearing,/ the morning filled with sorrow, / knew the dream is gone in darkness./ Cannot be! to have loved so much the bridal nubile feel, a light so brief,/ turned a wreaked charm.
So big a passion, the wind, the rain, the blue beyond. /Oh! the abyss of age, / the ringing of the bells in faulty towers of unearthed harvest, / the dawns of boiling veins,/ the whispers of gosthly diaries, / the taste of roses dead in broken vases,/ the anguish of the Calvary, the longest hour of the climb.
Cannot be! abandoned breathing candles/ in the darkest clouds of the myth, delirium, painful sores... the dark.
Copyright ©2005 Joseph Berolo
absconded not the gilded sun /when at dawn in lazy path barely appearing,/ the morning filled with sorrow, / knew the dream is gone in darkness./ Cannot be! to have loved so much the bridal nubile feel, a light so brief,/ turned a wreaked charm.
So big a passion, the wind, the rain, the blue beyond. /Oh! the abyss of age, / the ringing of the bells in faulty towers of unearthed harvest, / the dawns of boiling veins,/ the whispers of gosthly diaries, / the taste of roses dead in broken vases,/ the anguish of the Calvary, the longest hour of the climb.
Cannot be! abandoned breathing candles/ in the darkest clouds of the myth, delirium, painful sores... the dark.
Copyright ©2005 Joseph Berolo