Mood Shifts of a Romantic

“…a foolish, soulful ‘Quest’…

Mood Shifts of a Romantic

 

-Poetic Thoughts by BR Chitwood-

*

The mirror shows six days without a shave,

My beard grows long and white…

Lips smiling inanely at the ruddy face as

Thoughts so long I’ve known come to me…

With the same silly youthful flow…

So much I could have hoped to give our world

Save for the pursuit of Love and Romance –

It became the ‘all that mattered’ focus

Of a foolish, soulful ‘Quest’…

 But, then, fools such as I must exist

To Confound the minds of wizards.

*

BR Chitwood – August 1, 2020

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Butterfly Hearts

©Butterfly Hearts

  • – AKA The Souls of Romantics

By BR Chitwood

*

Close the gates to reason,

Defy the constancy of doubts

You know of only one season.

Tis the season that fades not away,

But lingers like butterflies in flight

Flower to flower on a summer’s day.

Call it a Butterfly Heart, this joyous toy,

That ticks wildly at likely signs of love,

For the soul that captures ultimate joy.

If World’s woes try for intervention,

And cause a temporal rush of rain,

Butterfly Hearts pay it no attention.

©Butterfly Hearts

  • AKA The Souls of Romantics –

By BR Chitwood

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Stealth of Solitude

©Stealth of Solitude

By BR Chitwood

*

These moments come

Where solitude settles

Softly, sweetly  serene

Upon  the selfless air.

 

In this quaint quietude

Along passive trails

The thoughts tumble

In silent speculation,

 

Memory peacefully pulses

With long ago reverie

Of loves and memories –

Treasures lost to time.

 

Slowly, a silent smile

Wistful in its pose

Is joined by tears in

Slow and tender descent.

 

Then, a distant doorbell ring,

Stealing these moments,

Displacing this  golden,

Tender Cache from me.

 

Time, relentless, constant,

Bringing dreams and joy,

Capriciously at its pleasure

Giving and taking away…

 

©BR Chitwood – May 13, 2020

*

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A Gray Day Mood

[Image Art by: Thomas Dils – Unsplash.com]

*

(From the Archives, I give you more to add to your Covid-19 and ‘Isolation’ depression 2020…or, perhaps, to deflect or relieve your angst to some degree…)

*

©A Gray Day Mood

by BR Chitwood

The mood is sullen, like the tall leafless trees outside my window. Their bare branches reach upward toward an ugly gray sky begging for new life. The fog and the gray are like cold blankets of despair.

In many ways I am like a tree. I sit on this cold gloomy day and muse about a youth that has faded with the gnarls of time and waste. It is true I spend too much time on a past that cannot be recalled, and such a day as this makes the process more morbidly cheerless and timorous in some vague way… Some of us are wired that way.

Yet I am not so unreasonable in thought that I forfeit the morrow that comes and will again bring blooming and gaiety to my disposition.

Oh, never again will I be as jubilant as when a young man I read Locksley Hall by Alfred Lord Tennyson and that English poet’s immortal lines: “…In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish’d dove; In the Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love…” It is quite a long poem, covering so much, and I will not include it here. If you get a chance to read it, please do.

So, my love, the fair, always calm and constant Julie, is with me in these mindful turns and twists. She gives me the needed embrace to break the somber musings that I fear too often come to visit. My lovely lady, her genetic wiring so serene and different from my own, is the bright blossom in all my seasons.

Dreary wintry days can bring not the best of thoughts, but, as bromidic as it sounds, there are always tomorrow, Spring and Summer, we can hope…until we run out of those!

Time is both the friend and enemy of all. George the cat strikes a lovely sleeping pose on the long sofa. Julie pecks away on her laptop in the loveseat across the room. Pausing, I stare at them, happy they are here in my life. Out the big window the skies are clearing and wondrous blue and sun brighten my mood. Julie, George, the Sun’s appearance in a blue sky, all brighten my mood.

Time…

Time brings change. Time brings hope. Time brings another second, minute, hour, day for me to ponder the richness and sadness of my life’s odyssey. The mirror reflects the face I have known for all the years, now with lines and sags, now with gray to the beard I shave. In that face I see the events that have shaped me. Some I cannot rinse away with the water splash. Some I wish to retrieve but are lost in memory’s fickle fancy.

Time…Time brings beauty and glaring truth with its unrelenting pendulum swings. Time is everything in life.

George is now off the long sofa wishing to be fed. Julie is no longer pecking on her laptop keys. Outside, the sky is clear and the view across the canyon is breathtaking. Time will pass and I will break from writing to watch the Winter Olympics from Sochi.

All is pleasantly as Time would have it. Here am I as Time would have it – wearing my emotions on these red, white, and blue plaid sleeves

I leave you with these bits of free verse:

©Mirror Images

 I once looked at men like you,

Old men, frail and haunted…

That was when youth declared

I would live forever…

Life was moonlight promises.

So soon there was ecstasy and joy.

How hard it was to see then…

How easy it is to see now.

 When did it get this late?

When did the tree sap harden?

Where is the gold I sought?

Where is the key I held?

Why is the day no longer long?

Why does morning come so late?

What is the mystery to solve?

What day the reckoning?

*

©Portrait in Time

 Young man, do you not see me

As once I might have been?

It is the wrinkle, the sag of cheeks,

Time put upon me that you see.

Once I stood, perhaps like you,

With noble thoughts and dreams

A new bright morn might bring.

 Time wore me down with its teasing,

Its ceaseless ubiquitous promises

And often-delicious pleasures.

Time taunted and tempted me

With its guile and deception,

With beauty beads of love.

 Time gave me its reins to  

Run wild with the wind

Sunrise through Sunset and

Deep into bacchanal nights.

 Time now leaves me here

On a mountain-top, better to

Have had those moments of joy –

Sad to have you see the

broken parts of me.

 Young man, can you not see me

As once I might have been?

 ©BR Chitwood – From the Archives – 2/15/14 – ‘Hawk’s Bluff’ in Tennessee.

*****

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River, Flow For Me

Photo art by Nicholas Murawski – Unsplash.com

***

©River, Flow For Me

By BR Chitwood

(1)

I look out over the valley

From atop this tall, tall, Pine,

And I can see the river flowing

Down through this land of mine…

(Chorus)

River, keep on flowing,

River, flow for me,

River, keep on flowing,

Take my Misery…

River, keep on flowing 

Over forgotten ground 

River, keep on flowing

Let my Peace be Found…

(2)

There, on the bank of the River

Sits a love that I once knew –

Her hair aglow in the sunlight,

Her eyes lost in the sky so blue.

Where does she go at Twilight,

The love that I once knew?

Does she go in search of tomorrow?

In the arms of someone new?

(Chorus)

River, keep on flowing,

River, flow for me,

River, keep on flowing,

Take my Misery…

River, keep on flowing,

Over forgotten ground

River, keep on flowing, 

Let my Peace be Found.

(3)

River, how far do you go?

Winding through the trees…

Do your muddy waters run deep –

With sad stories and memories?

Where do your troubled waters go,

Old River, at the final bend?

Do they go to the sea and flow

With All Life’s tears at the end?

(Chorus)

River, keep on flowing,

River, flow for me,

River, keep on flowing,

Take my Misery…

River, keep on flowing

Over forgotten ground,

River, keep on flowing,

Let my Peace be found.

*

©A Song by: BR Chitwood

*

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A poignant poem from Stephanie – (A ReBlog)

A poignant poem from Stephanie

S C Richmond

AFTERWARDS AKA. BITTER SWEET.

COVID-19

We emerge, blinking, into a new world. Sunshine kisses our pale skin and assaults our senses.
Freedom feels unnatural.
Sloth like we check our surroundings, seeing things in a new light. Suddenly appreciating the things we previously took for granted.
Someone comes into view. We hesitate as we look at each other, we smile, still wary of getting too close, but wanting to engage. We allow each other to pass. Emotions overlap, it will take time for the fear to leave us.
We cry a little, sorrow for the human race.
We keep walking. Taking in businesses that are still locked down. Will they ever return or are they too just blinking and feeling their way into a new world.
There are few people around, leaving towns looking post apocalyptic. The eerie silence is deafening. In the distance, the sound of an engine, but no…

 

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No Big-Boy Pants

Photo by Dayne Topkin on Unsplash

 

No Big-Boy Pants

By BR Chitwood

*

After all the years, there are no ‘Big-Boy Pants’ to wear.

After all the living, there are no ‘Big-Boy Pants’ to fit me…

All the little-boy thoughts, the wakeful dreams,

All sizes I tried, searching for that pair of ‘Big-Boy Pants’ –

On the neon-lined streets of lonely people, artists, and me,

I found meaningless toys of life, romance, the shadows of hope.

*

Now, here, in the fading light, I think of all I’ve missed, or, lost,

Crying in the deep darkness of my soul for another chance…

Perhaps another, more enlightened journey through the neon –

This time, finding that missing link to a well-spent quest…

Yet, a bold bard was right about the end’s dark veil and its tears –

Regrets, sad memories of child, man, events, with no real claim…

*

So, with sagging flesh, wrinkles, and, suddenly, no vision left,

The old man rises from his tear-stained pillow, to seek modest

Sustenance from the only constant in his remaining heart ticks…

Perhaps his words can convey some semblance to his waning and Simple existence,

Never coming close to finding a pair of Big-Boy Pants

That will fit the size of his supercilious and ghostly girth.

BR Chitwood – April 1, 2020

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A Gallery

[Image Art by Julien Cavondoli – Unsplash.com]

*

A  Gallery

A blue so exquisite it brings gentle pain,

A softened gallery surrounds me.

A composite clarity in this desert sky 

Around me of my life, my destiny.

A Gallery that speaks to me of a full

Awkward life of guilt and repent,

A portrait of me in many poses of guile,

A sad man-child, seeking content.

A vast space of clarity, an awesome sky,

A gallery to remind me of bad, of good.

A life, a legacy, both worthy, and, not,

A gallery, all said, I did what I could.

***

BR Chitwood – Feb. 26, 2020

***

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The Red, White, and Blue

Image Art by: Jon Sailer – Unsplash.com

The Red, White, and Blue

*

Slow down, slow down,

You’re moving too fast.

You’ll pass out, Man!

Your face is beet-red!

Your shirt, dripping sweat.

You’ve done all you can.

*

One block to go…

I can make, I know.

Don’t slow me down.

The folks need to know,

About the Iowa sham,

Iowa ‘Caucus’, by damn.

*

So, what’s in the box?

Why such a rush?

They’ve waited all night,

And, another day.

Why so urgent,

Mighty Mite?

*

The box carries evidence

That the new voting system,

From a well-known source,

Is Bogus and fraud,

Developed from bigotry,

Hatred and bedlam sought.

*

So, why is it you, Sam,

Delivering this sad news?

Will you not be vilified?

Mocked by the Press?

Why must it be you, Sam?

To convey this partisan-mess?

*

Why should it not be me?

A patriot, loyal and true,

I will strive forever to

Give what is mine to give

To this great Republic I

Love: the red, white, and blue.

*

Let it then be recorded here

Along Constitution Avenue

Where the record will be

‘Most  glorified by your haste,

 Sam, a  man motivated by love

Of country and his Faith’.

*

No glory need be given any man

Acting with the love and pride

of his Country, his deed only

To right the ‘Ship of State’

And its fundamental belief

That all people are created equal.

*

BR Chitwood – Feb. 4,2020

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I’m Back

I’m Back

*

Back to the open spaces,

Some sense of rebirth,

A yielding to memories –

Some vivid and beautiful,

Some with a winsome

Message to an old man

That softly pulses with

Echoic resonance not

To dwell too near or long…

*

Back to re-capture the

Essence of primordial beauty:

Relentless sunshine, cacti,

Sagebrush and new age

Wonders on a timeless soil

Where great cities speak

Of innovation and change –

Ah, the wonder of this

Capacious and wondrous land…

*

Back for my final days of

Wonder and impetuous desire

To capture yet what it is

I am to possess with the

Written words that come

From nascent recall and an

Errant vagabond’s whispers

Of regret, of promise, and

Of enduring Love.

*

A Poem by: BR Chitwood – December 10, 2019

*

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