The Eyes of Time

When first we met at heaven’s door,

when all was boundless night...

we fell in love, by touch, before

the Lord invented light.

A lyric of the universe,

our song is sung by choice,

a syncopated line of verse

in every Angel’s voice.

I look into the eyes of time

and see myself with you,

from eons past and out of mind

to futures yet in view.

When death has come to claim his prize

when dark and light resign,

the final Angel we’ll surprise...

as your heart beats does mine.

~Dean Neighbors~

notes:

syncopated

/ˈsiNGkəˌpādəd/

Learn to pronounce

adjective

1. (of music or a rhythm) characterized by displaced beats or accents so that the strong beats are weak and vice versa.

   "the melodic baselines and syncopated rhythms of funk"

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Definitions from Oxford Languages

Listen to the song "the dangling conversation" to hear synchopated rhythm.... listen closely....the term "synchopated" is used in the lyrics. 

Alternate first verses:

When first we met at heaven’s door

when all was endless night...

we fell in love, by touch, before

the Lord invented light.

We fell in love, by touch, before

the Lord invented light. 

When first we met at heaven’s door,

the world was endless night.

alternate third verses:

I look into the eyes of time

and see myself with you

from eons past and out of mind

to futures in my view.

I look into the eyes of time

to futures in my view,

from eons past and out of mind

I see myself with you.

I look into the eyes of time

and see myself with you,

from eons past and out of mind

to futures not in view.

Another Path

Another path to sundown.
the cowboy rubbed his back
and thought, with love, of rum relief
tucked safely in his pack.

Thoughts, wistfully, of father
trod lightly through his mind--
of going home to dash or prove
the truth of what he’d find.

On reaching an arroyo
he reined a weary mount
and, from his vest, took out to read
his mother’s grim account.

Another path to sundown,
though prudence can advise
the oracle who rules the soul
may see with distant eyes.

In nature's own cathedral,
beneath the milky way,
he made a vow to reach his home
before another day.

Another path to sundown,
to peace for which he’s yearned,
he isn’t home and yet he is...
the prodigal returned.

Chocolate Fudge and China Tea

~ For my friend Shirley Tan (STan) my "work daughter". She traveled to China and brought me back a box of tea. I, in turn, made her a batch of fudge. That was all the reason I needed to write a poem.

Silent friend sets to her tasks,
strives and works but never asks
what the end result may be...
lost in work or lost at sea?

Life is many things in all
bittersweet in large and small,
work unfolding, building dreams
joy and sadness bursting seams.

Silent friend sets to her tasks
strives and works but never asks
any thing or thought from me...
chocolate fudge and China tea.

Rekindling Glory

By day it was merely a line,
the bottom in Ocean, the top in the sky,
a giant appearing benign
when seen by a distant and innocent eye.

The keeper, with cloth and with rod
on legs hard as granite, his weary brow damp,
ascended like Jacob to God,
rekindling glory with labor and lamp.

The mariners, weary and wise,
returning from ports in the Orient, found
when stars had been lost to their eyes,
a magical beacon for those homeward bound,

a sentinel searching the night,
a modern descendant who honors the name
of Pharos, the island of light,
antiquity's wonder of welcoming flame.

When you are old - BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

 

Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989) 

Autumn

The Autumn apple, crisp and tart
or spicy crusty warm in pies
to please the senses, touch the heart
the nose the tongue the hungry eyes.