Old memories emerged
in the shifting night hours
of tedious time
as a soot-covered train
evaporated into the darkness
of the night, and into my memories.
I then heard the stolen songs
of a mockingbird,
and the hoarse voices
of mourning doves, echoing
in the mist,
as rusting time danced
to the throbbing of an ancient lyre,
and as I pondered on life’s brevity and
death’s vast endlessness, I wept.
The Frog’s Voices
I listened to the voices of night frogs croaking in
the late hours of the night,
and tried to understand the meaning of their messages echoing off the silver moon.
Their hoarse voices curled through my
somnolent mind, illuminating strange sounds from long-forgotten places. In the midst of their croaking, they spoke to me in a strange language of sorrow.
During the fading hours of the night, I searched for metaphors to translate the meaning of the frog’s melancholy mutterings as their voices continued to burst into the mysterious emptiness of the moonlit night, but I just ended up with a cacophony of sounds.
The Nights beginning
As the clock chimes twelve,
And as our breath mellows,
The Ancient Pier
Inside cold ocean waves exist untold secrets, where philosophers, and even Bob Dylan, fail to grasp the meaning. And near the old blackened pier where waves break
with a thunderous din,
seagulls squawk ancient sea yarns while roosting on pilings near where lonely fishermen sit on benches, fish in silence, and spin briny tales.
James lives in Santa Ynez, California in a replica of an 1800s Eastern farmhouse with his wife Sandy. He is a twice Best of Web nominee and four-time Pushcart nominee. He earned his doctorate from BYU and his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University. He has had five collections of poetry: Serenity, Solace Between the Lines, Light, Ancient Rhythms, and The Silent Pond, over 1765 poems,
35 short stories, and five novels published worldwide.
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