The Empress (of Peace)

Cries in the spray; howls of wind
echoing growls of thunder, louder
as rain spits mud at the dozing herd,
the trough is empty and they now gaunt.
Knowing only the fiery heat of
a persistent sun, swatting flies
settling on flank and lash,
the mud-drops cool, provide relief.

Diseased thought born in thick blood
driven mad with heat and passion
flares in earth’s souls. It perpetuates
the sear and carnage wrought by
violence, revenge, more violence–
eternal wars of the tribes who want;
fired by the fires of never enough.

The slip stream slides, clouds rolling,
building higher, white dreams
whipped stiff with hope, hinting change.
There benefactions dimly dreamed lie
beyond the murky cast of smoke and ash.

Out of Empyrean, a dream perhaps,
where an ethereal beauty shines like a
monstrance, a sceptre. Her heart
like a cut and polished jewel,
a beacon for calm that bestows cure.
She waits shimmering at the edge
of the earth’s meniscus extending
an offer to end the wasting drought.

She holds out her miraged boughs
heavy in summer heat. Sticky-ripe. the
pomegranates fall spilling seeds on
the desolate land. At once, a new
tree sprouts, a bird sings, a pool shines.

The promise of water and wheat abundant
gleams in her distant eyes.
At last the lost souls cease their cries;
sheathe their weapons.
Take up words in a body determined,
a tribe unified to one purpose.
Her promise discerned–
not misery, but peace that yields bounty.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 6.25.12 * All Rights Reserved

Hosting the event this week is Brian Miller
Join us there by linking your poem and reading your fellow poets!

 

 

To Glory

Broken brown leaves
litter the path from my door.

As I breathe the air today
I see myself leaving,

taking nothing with me.
I have said goodbye to

the saved greeting cards,
to the treasured lines of poetry

scratched on scraps.
The fragments of lover’s gifts,

shards of childhood memories
I’ve thrust into the hands of others

for them to keep or destroy.
In my house I leave behind memories

of children’s voices, Christmas carols,
parties,  sadness, sickness,

visitors, ghosts of pets who shared
days in the now silent rooms.

What I’ve gathered from moon and sun
I’ll take with me on my journey through

cosmic dust. I face light and darkness
ahead with the self I’ve learned to love.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * Nov.2011 * All Rights Reserved

“The only journey is the journey within.”
Rainer Maria Rilke

“And you? When will you begin your long  journey into yourself?”
Rumi

Posted for OLN @dVersePoets on 11/8/2011

dVersePoets on 11/8/2011