A Cairn of Words (for Esther K.)

Her eyes were cream sherry charged with sunlight,
light swirling, rivulets of joy pulsing,
pulsing that bounded through her fair flesh,
flesh like sage honey in the mouth.

Her friendship encompassed us all.
Her laughter sparked its twin in all she met.
Her wit was like a cascade in the mountains.
Her love was resolute, fierce, and gentle.

*    *   *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2012

Fantast

Surely by now you know: I’m a dreamer,
a poet, a shaper of thoughts
into weirs of wiry words to snare
the magic of smiles and kisses;
the inconstancy of stars and night,
dawn’s bright hope, the air of time, sunset’s hush;
beauty’s certainty and its flight;
friendship’s constant, quiet measures;
the glory and music of our flesh;
the lover sleeping in one’s heart;
the enticement of roses, the dancing of maples;
the silent shadow in the eye;
the folly and anguish of a poem.
So, lovely, I know I won’t surprise you
when I tell you I find myself become
Dante singing, from hell to heaven,
the sorrows, wonders, and joys of this world,
yet, most of all, the person of his Beatrice.
But even as I build this poet’s fantasy,
I wish us ever more than these two.
Ah, to be Petrarch and his Laura all too real!
Every poet needs some foil for his art,
a steady challenge to his passion.
And you are mine, I know, here and here…
I’ll fall upon you, with my sweet sword,
but you’ll be the victor and I, the slain,
in our dear battle, our precious fray
upon a white expanse of dream!

*    *    *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2011

Come, tune me!

a friend is that guitar taken up and strummed
when the heart is low, or high as the wind,
singing even in the shadows of forgetting.
come, tune me!  play a chord or two,
then put me down to take me up once more.

*           *           *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll   2011

A toast to the bartender (for Lyn)

Almost past recall have I stood here,
hoisting my glass in praise of friendship,
honor, beauty, love and truth;
with my good fellows, sharing thoughts,
warm laughter, and grand repartee.
Through all these times, you have served me well
as hand, eye, critical ear, surrogate tongue,
sage, and patient witness of my folly.
Yet that which gladdens and moves me most –
more than all your kindly ministrations –
is your sure and constant friendship,
the touch of your hand, that clear smile,
your sunny hello, your cloudy good-bye.
With wine to toast you – body and spirit –
I’d need every cask in France,
Italy, Iberia, the Americas,
South Africa and, for good measure too,
Australia – a task too far beyond
my meager means, my present need.
So, instead, I toast you with these lines,
the true and deep affection of my heart.

*           *           *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

The Antique Peddlar (for Diana and Bobby)

By the past –
in wood and glass, porcelain and brass –
we sat the three of us surrounded,
antiques ourselves – not for our age,
but for the rarity of our affection.

Minutes before, as the sun wove the gloaming,
I’d entered the shop and you turned to see
who this evening customer could be.
Browser? Collector? Or just someone come
to pass through these memories made palpable?
All of them yet none was I, am I still.
Alone, in your red dress, you rose
like some bright blossom amid the mute
stillness of cast-off things, a dream
more real than any dream, a treasure
held dearer than jewels or objets d’art.
Our embrace, our mutual Hi! –
like mementos of another time and place –
gave the shop light and laughter.
Was the faded yellow ribbon
tied ’round the handle of the door
put there for me, for this return,
a hostage ransomed from the past?

Amid wood and glass, porcelain and brass
we sat, and then there were the three of us.
Antiques ourselves, not for our age
but for the rarity of our affection.

*             *             *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

Wine of life

Friendship is the wine of life
decanted in our every day.
See the face of its little jokes,
blushing like the clouds at dawn!
See the gold of its truths
like this sun that flashes
on the wings of birds!
Hear the voices of its affection
like children playing in the park!

*           *           *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

For D. J.

friend most dear   your absence is a presence
the dim shadow of a flower
the stinging silence after rain
and we   in some perverse rite
gather here as do birds at night
among the darkling shapes of once green leaves
to bring   each   our memories of you
to blaze a cursed candle in the gloom
only now   without you   do we see
how all of us are joined through you
the link   the hub    the fulcrum
upon which our friendship moves
and lifts and bears the solemn burden
of our dreams denied  our dreams made true
our dreams just formed and building
oh hell of love that wants the past
bound like a rose in crystal
yet seeks the future of a different bloom
found like starlight in some foreign sky
a hemisphere away     so here we stand
silent in the fullness of your absence
our present pain the joy of knowing you

*             *             *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

Birthday poem (for D. J.)

Astronomy of affection –
that phrase keeps dawning on my mind’s horizon,
till now I feel I must chart
the course of its significance…

For me, you are not the sun
(yet how I wished it so!),
for you do not fill my days
with your fire and your light.
Nor the moon.  You’re not so cold, so pale.
Nor a planet – though, if you were,
you would be the Earth, that treasure-house
of gifts unceasing and untold.
Nor a star, some far-off jewel
ruling fate and speaking bane or boon
in crystal sentences of cosmic time
to those who wish or swear on it.
Nor yet the Void, save in this one sense:
You possess within you all the rest –
all this swirling, joyous, silent majesty,
hurtling toward some sure infinitude.

What then?  What then can you be?

Here am I, your wordy Galileo,
atop the heights of my heart,
trying, with the science of my art,
to draw you closer, so as to limn you
in this almagest of true endearment…

And now I’ve found the magic in a word,
the power of a dream.  You have blazed your way
across the heavens of my soul,
to prove the value of my voice,
the tenor of my vision.
For I have seen you as you are.
I proclaim your fierce, untrammeled path,
the fiery-sweet, precious ambit of your being:
Oh, Comet!  Dearest friend!
Forever may it be,
this astronomy of our affection!

*            *            *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

To a friend (for D. J.)

Yours is the honesty of laughter,
the strength of knowing oneself,
the beauty of every day.
The gift you’ve given is neither bought,
nor sold.  It is both new and old.
It waits not upon season or reason
for its being, or its joy.
Your friendship is that gift, and now,
let these few words confirm receipt
and pledge unceasing recompense.

*          *          *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011