the betrothal

on this night of many words
right now I’ve realized
you are but an idea that grows
how sweetly in my heart   in my flesh
in every verse that I sculpt
seemingly from nothing but air and light
I am both Adam and God at once
forming you from some lost part of me
oh woman    oh embodied song
you are my heaven and my hell besides
you are my artfulness in flower
but I still have not let you be yourself
I have yet to let you say yea or nay
between us two there exists a tender
but tragic maybe    now I’ll end it
by asking you   are you mine in truth
or are you but a dream filled with stars
and the flashing of swords    in any case
the answer is a dagger that will make me bleed
but it must be answered    with or without words
you must answer me   even if I should die
more from fear of perishing without you
than any wound done upon this flesh of mine
yet stars I fear and the brandishing of swords

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2015

near the river: a memory (for Lan)

gift from heaven   how exquisite you are
a blushing maiden but you keep your poise
my golden one  you swim
through my eyes of dark water
to catch you  I use my verse
and this poor heart of mine
snatch it   twist it round your finger
clasp it to your bosom with fiery zeal
golden one – I’ve caught you now — and you  me

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2014

magical and real

I was a seed before
encased in the dry shell of my solitude
asleep beneath the soil of my schedule
covered by the dust of routine
by the litter of each day
then the sun came in your beauty
the rain in your kisses
the gentle breeze in your love
and I sprouted and I grew
filling with the life force of love
sending out petals of song
becoming a hiding place
where butterflies take their ease
even in winter I flourish and bear fruit
verse    refuge   joy
now that I’m your magical plant
my only wish is to remain
well-rooted  strong and full
in the alcove of your relentless spring
I will be there forever
singing within your dreams
dancing in the moonlight
that glows on your fair skin

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2014

taking cover

this tree shelters me
against the truth of the sun
much as these verses of mine
shield me from your beauty

yes – I’m crazy but not enough
and so  no true poet am I
but merely a versifier

yet I must ask this:
is it a sin to deny art
even for the sake of truth?
not even the wind answers me

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2014

meadowlark

to you I am a mystery   even to myself
my affection I hide in the flash of my verse
my passion   in the thunder of my stillness
but my heart is consumed with longing
the flame of your being devours it
when I speak   do you hear me truly?
when I fall silent   do you sing my song?
to myself and to you I am a mystery
a meadowlark ascending at break of day
a meadowlark that sings your silences

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2013

on the verge

I can be with you only
as the earth is with heaven –
ever together, always apart.

I can touch you only
as the wind touches the sea –
with desire but without a trace.

But my verse wanders like wind
through mountains, clouds, birds, flowers.
More real are my dreams

than I who dream them.
And my voice is truer
than this mouth dripping kisses.

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2013

Running at Daybreak

Sun, flaming mouth of guitar,
with some cirrus clouds trailing
across your lively face –
I run to you, aubade of my day.
You spread your arms toward me
poet panting in the early morning.
To my left runs the river
companion chanting waves of rapid dream.
And the little-used rails pass,
pass once more – parallel hymns
streaked with oxide of light and shadow.
The trees try to hold me back
with their oh so lithe bodies
offering their sex in flowers
to any transient wind.
They cannot, they cannot grab me
so preoccupied are they
with their filigreed task.
Upon me fall two small petals
kidnapped by a wicked wind.
And the earth!  How the earth trembles
with the hunger to inter me!
But you do not let that befall me
my sun of unbridled guitar
while toward yourself still you draw me –
me with feet of verse and clay.

*    *    *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2013

wintry bloom

Rare snow rose sealed in bright silence
like starlight that warms the night
despite the distance and the time;
snow rose sealed now and forever
in my stark verse – you warm this heart of mine.

*    *   *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2012

Judgment

On that fateful day when I am judged,
I’ll answer from my wanton soul:

Would I had sinned as much with her
in the flesh as I did in my heart!
Would I had filled the world with verse
in praise of her grace, in awe of her beauty!
Would that mine had been the art
of Neruda, or of Shakespeare,
a mirror of her clear perfection!
She was my heartfelt Paradise.

“To the Pit with you, miscreant poet!”

Those fires of justice – oh dearest love! –
shall not expunge my longing,
nor the memory of your sweetness!

*    *   *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2012

Hopeless Love – a memory

I should have thrust into the night,
into earth itself,
the mystic fingers of my dreams, my voice,
the lust of this body,
to grasp the secret of your seductiveness,
the roots of your beauty, the grainy pulp
of your laughter.  But I did not dare.

Into the heavens I should have sent out
the antennae of my pulse,
the ganglia of these sweating palms,
the raciness of my thoughts, my aching eyes,
to touch the full grace of your body,
and hold the silence of you, breathing starkly.
But again I wavered:  I did not dare.

So now, across these waters, I reach out
with this verse of simple candor,
these lines that envy the arcs of your flesh,
and the quick dark fire of your eyes,
to say once more I can but dare
to remain neither here nor there.

I must strive, must dwell, must lie in medias res,
to be the heart of promise, the slow flight of gulls
in the wake of this craft, to be the poem
that lays down its burden on your breast.

*     *    *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011