Winter’s Call
O, can you hear her? Yonder autumn days?
A siren’s voice, as silent steps she takes?
Her nuanced hymn brings frosty morning haze,
And warns the trees to brace for pearly flakes.
Her feigned allure she pairs with lovely sights,
And softly laughs when warmth she steals from me.
I fear her touch, for long will be the nights;
She’ll hold my face, until spring sets me free.
And yet, her comely gown I yearn to see,
As she performs her waltzes in the day.
So soft her smile as she begins her spree,
My heart applauds the dazzling white ballet.
Through autumn’s haze her words I faintly hear;
She pleads with me, her cold arms not to fear.
Should Words Fail Me
Should I be lying on our bed
As darkness waits for my last breath,
Upon your face I wish to shed
My one last glance, then laugh at death.
Should frailty cause my arms to die,
And I’m unable hugs to share,
Please know with every breath I sigh,
My love for you I will declare.
Should darkness veil my aging eyes,
And keep your lovely face from me,
I will replay the smile I prize,
Within my mind, where I can see.
Should words then fail to freely flow
From my old lips to say goodbye,
With my last breath you’ll surely know
How deeply you are loved, and why.
Long Is A Poet’s Night
Return, my muse, my voice give back,
For night has yet to settle down.
As sundown dims to shades of black,
My thoughts in fading ink now drown.
My fleeting words are barely there,
Unnoticed, lines that crave the light.
So please, my friend, see my despair,
And grant me words that I may write.
This darkness hides the world outside;
It veils my eyes so I can’t see.
Rich colors daylight had supplied,
But now my words will not pour free.
Beside the window, dressed in black,
I sit, and frown, for night has won.
My coffee cools, my pen holds back,
My muse has left me, like the sun.
Angel L. Villanueva is a religious man who resides in Massachusetts, enjoying a simple life with his lovely wife, Nina.
Reading these beautiful, skillfully-written poems was a fine way to start my day. I especially like the sonnet, in which the sustained personification
shines like a diamond!
Thank you so much, Janice. I appreciate your comment. Glad to know you enjoyed the poem too. I have a love hate relationship with winter, but in the end, I do enjoy the beauty the season brings.
Should Words Fail is simply beautiful and brilliant, and stunning in its apparent simplicity- my wife cried.
Thank you very much for the comment and for sharing your wife’s reaction, JJ. The poem is one I added to the card I gave my wife this year on our 37th anniversary. It’s now her favorite from among all the others she has received.
I love the simplicity and paradox of your Long is a Poet’s Night: the paradox being that the muse comes to you despite her having left you! Brilliant, the balance point where the conscious mind despairs, and there – she enters in. Really, really good work. Thank you.
Thank you, James. I had hoped to capture the angst a poet feels when unable to write. I’ve had plenty of such days.
Skilfully written, especially “Should Words Fail Me”.
Much appreciated, Dave!
It occurs to me that the first poem (Winter’s Call) could be a metaphor for the third (Long is a Poet’s Night) both recalling St. John of the Cross’s “Dark Night of the Soul.” Lovely works.
Thank you for the nice comment, Denise!
Angel,
Reading these beautiful poems of yours makes me want to stop what I was doing and write a new poem myself! Thank you.
Leo
Delighted that you like them, Leo. Thank you!
The word ‘sumptuous’ comes to mind easily, Angel: all three of these pieces are top-drawer poetry . . what a gift you’ve got. And how well you exhibit – in your third piece – that the muse simply will not be dictated to.
Well played.
Thank you very much for your kind and encouraging comment, Monty.