November 2015 – jacquelinecaseypoetry

Thanksgiving Message

Vulture “Thanksgiving Message”

One cannot be so generous in war.
Our Bird’s analogy; his bold account,
compares this siege of Syrians to shore
as long ago our Puritans did mount!

Our enemy now interweaves their tread
with innocent, who, striving to be free,
must mock us with their ugly whore, instead,
so filled with all her manner of deceit.

The Caliph sees no borders from his horse
deceptive as the Trojan War drum rolls.
See history repeat with deadly course
as refugees rush borders to cajole.

Comes answer, sly, suggesting Syrian vet.
Obama knows no record’s there to get.

November 27, 2015December 10, 2015 by jacquelinecaseypoetry

“Waiting For the Morn”

“Waiting for the Morn”

Morning lifts
my dark curtain of night;
sea-gulled and wing’ed;
warm satin bright.
She’ll scatter the dust
of a billion stars
grace sweeping the universe
here to Mars.

November 17, 2015March 30, 2018 by jacquelinecaseypoetry

Though heaven’s place is grace-filled for the soul,
my heart still hovers, halting, near this earth.
Unless you, only love , were there to hold,
my courage dare not leap beyond this berth.

My life has need for your familiar ground.
I want no more than comfort from your kiss.
You are the warming soul my arms surround.
A quiet bliss; I want no more than this.

If other orbs contain such shining light
seen glowing from the depth of your kind eyes,
then bravely I might take that unknown flight
to worlds where I still hear your gentle sighs.

For now, my cautious heart must harbor here
where you, my love, are heaven to be near.

November 16, 2015March 29, 2018 by jacquelinecaseypoetry

The Clown

The Clown

And so the old town clock is winding down.
It’s time to leave the party; say goodbye.
Some souls would rather stay and play the clown.
His fantasies go deep and so he sighs.

He thinks he’s Bogie; somewhere there’s still life.
He’s lonely; haunts the bars for his Bacall.
She’s blonde and does not look much like his wife.
“Hey, better you should go before you fall!”

The bar-keep opens creaking door to vent
the hours of smoke and conversation stale.
A pale and misty rain the mornings sent
so, for this clown, a cabby he must hale.

The blazing light still shocks. He’s out the door…
He knows its time to go before it’s four.

November 12, 2015March 17, 2018 by jacquelinecaseypoetry

“He’s Back”

“He’s Back”

The rustle of cold colors whirl and shout

and in their dance, a warning to revere.

A halo’s on the mountain tops about

and breezy waves of solemn shades appear.

Soft yellows made among gray clouds, aloft

and whisper to the shiv`ring wintry scene:

“I am the cold, blue howl that bellows oft

and scurries down your icy, trickling stream”.

Then comes insanity; bold groans below

among the forest faces painted white.

I hear the branch’s thoughts that break; bestow

a heaviness of heart in fading light.

Here burns the ghost of winter’s bleak return;

repetitive, yet for our souls we yearn.

November 9, 2015December 6, 2015 by jacquelinecaseypoetry

“Cradle Song”

A Baby Painting by Berthe Morisot, 1872

“Cradle Song”

A sleeping baby girl; she slumbers here.
Her breathless mother watches as she dreams.
Her tiny mouth moves just to share the air.
In twinkling innocence her young face beams.

Her baby’s here; her sleeping star is near
and mother listens for the slightest sounds
as all the world is silent just to hear
each moment as her beating heart resounds.

Her child is here; her precious daughter sleeps
and all the realm of nature could not best
this miracle awaiting as she peeps;
the gentle murmur of her babe at rest.

Outshines the stars, this being full of grace
as mother rocks her cradle mid the lace.

November 7, 2015March 29, 2018 by jacquelinecaseypoetry