A Garden of Poems

Huck Fairman

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Sujets

• Poetry

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• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 23 août 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669839248
• Langue: English

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A GARDEN OF POEM S
 
 
 
 
 
 
Huck Fairman
 
 
 
Copyright © 2022 by Huck Fairman.
 
Cover photo by Morris Docktor
 

Library of Congress Control Number:
2022913603
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-3926-2

Softcover
978-1-6698-3925-5

eBook
978-1-6698-3924-8
 
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
 
 
Rev. date: 07/27/2022
 
 
 
 
Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
845054
CONTENTS
The Years
Certain Songs
A Glimpse
But for the Grace of God
Rhymes and Reasons
Music
Silence
Beauty
Beauty (II.)
Why Women?
Ocean Waves
Dreams
Dreams (II.)
Of What I Dream
The Past
The Richness Of It All
So Much
So Much (II.)
Musisngs from A Train (A.)
Musings from A Train (B.)
Beethoven
Expression
Our Passions
Water, Wine, And Beer
A Figment
Sun In Winter
Yearning
The Sun
Love
The Dream
This Self
The Window
Sun Rise
What Place Your Dreams?
Two
Imagination
Q&A
Fortune
Luck
The Looking Glass
THE YEARS
                    With passing years
                    our lives do change.
                    Who we are becomes more clear.
                    We learn to be more kind,
                    holding other lives more dear.
                    And even if all does not
                    in the moment rhyme,
                    often we can set our sight
                    and understanding
                    to improve with time.
CERTAIN SONGS
Certain songs sing to us,
serenade our inner selves,
expressing what we love.
But how is it those tunes work in so deeply,
embodying and enhancing what we feel and see?
Is it that each self is not completely known,
shaped by whisperings not clearly heard,
an internal choir of changing voices,
of countless hopes and dreams,
ever yearning to fulfill desires,
spreading out around us
like the branches of a tree,
reaching ever upward toward the sky,
where we yearn to be.
A GLIMPSE
A blur of red through the field,
a streak of rust parting beige and yellow stalks
which waver and grow still.
Not unlike other stirring moments
which flash into our eyes,
before they, in another instant,
freeze and disappear.
.
Though uneasy with confession,
I admit I feel for those solitary creatures,
who like myself are ever seeking and alone.
With whom do they connect,
or exchange important dreams or feelings,
whose light upon their lives has shone.
 
In whom do we confide,
or share our dreams and loves
before they are washed away
by time’s tide of accumulating years?
Is it a sense of family or connection
that holds us safely on the surface of the earth,
through roaring storms and winds?
Does some glimpse of love or beauty
ground our flights of fears
as we wander empty woods and fields?
Do we need some sense of where we’re going,
ours and other lives, all swept together
down plunging streams?
 
We seek some meaning
in what will largely be forgotten,
as each story tumbles toward its end.
Although existence is a wonder
as we take in the universe and life itself,
still our consciousness seems so solitary,
in the little we do exchange.
 
Do we gain a sense of meaning
from each other, or do we grasp it
only as we fill out our individual tales?
What transcendent purpose have we found?
What true lifting does our learning lend us,
as we push through our mounting days?
 
Do we move beyond the fox’s cycle
as we venture from our den?
Are we ever reaching for the Sun,
as it arcs across the sky?
What earth-bound poignant moments
do we remember and replay,
like that quiet, gliding creature glimpsed,
whose sight stirs us on our way?
 
Do these moments fulfill,
their flickering scenes recall
our lives as being worthy
in what we conceive or compose,
before the final fall?
Is it our songs or stories
sung into the air,
that help us carry on,
like that glimpse of rusted hair,
streaking with its prey
returning to its lair.
BUT FOR THE GRACE OF GOD
It was the eyes that held
dark and still.
It was the smile as well.
Both float before me
in the chill,
as I sit alone at night
with nothing more to fill my heart,
but my dream that those eyes
might pass again and share
that moment’s light,
revealing in the back and forth,
a harmony that shone
to me, at least, so bright -
romantic fool I’ve long been.
She was quick and lively.
Her eyes did not fly from mine,
but looked as if to find what was there,
staring out from earnest beauty
and dark hair.
She was a dream that appeared,
smiled, and then, as they do,
vanished in the air.
All sense has warned me,
but my fate, it seems,
is to encounter dreams
that leave the heart reborn,
then torn, as reality succumbs
to night’s descending arc
closing over ascending morn.
RHYMES AND REASONS
Music plays in the air;
wind ruffles the wings and songs of birds,
moans across the shadowed yards,
summoning groans from ancient trees,
whistling through the flowing skies,
sounding, for all the world, like lovers’ cries.
 
Our countless currents and coursing lives,
pile up with the passing years.
Our ever searching, ceaseless calling
is overwhelmed by accumulating fears.
Our world is a challenge and a treasure;
its stories recorded in timeless books,
in painted portraits of lovers’ looks.
All is fleeting, all is drifting,
all is rising, before the fall.
Nature’s way, the Yin and Yang,
the heartless balance that confronts us all.
What choice have we, in this world,
but to press ahead through the pall?
 
We strive to reach the heart of things,
to find connection, unleash creation,
contribute to the greater good.
We don’t give up; it’s in our genes;
our purpose and our nature.
ever striving, ever hoping
to understand the nomenclature.
And yet too often
in place of lifting lives,
we circle back to prior ways,
replaying errors long forgotten
in the ever deepening haze.
 
We’re fragile beings,
not unlike the broken shells
washed up upon the beaches,
cracked open by the incessant waves
into ever-widening breeches,
into sand’s countless pieces.
 
While a few among us
have discovered better ways to go,
too many stumble over what they fail to know.
Human ignorance, inertia, and duplicity
still plague the land,
prevent our exercising a wiser hand.
It seems our knowledge can never quite explain
even half what’s lurking in another’s brain.
 
For though we recognize we ought to listen
and consider our neighbor’s claims,
if that were easy as these simple thoughts
and rhymes suggest,
we would have succeeded long ago
in this eternal quest
MUSIC
Songs and sounds reach in so deeply,
their tones and tunes embodying emotion;
their structures and progressions intrigue the mind.
Harmonies and melodies express our feeling,
while lyrics tell stories of our time,
together giving form to memory
retracing moments that still shine.
 
Music allows us to see or hear anew,
delighting in its playing,
in its interpretations and revelations,
its rhythms and transformations,
unveiling discoveries awaking heart and mind.
 
We come away enriched,
able to perceive complexities
in other sensibilities we now can share.
 
But from where does music come?
What in this world is the source,
what sends it through the air?
Is it from the life we lead,
our own imaginings or creations,
our thinking, or deepest feelings?
Is it how the world presents itself,
inspiring us to sing along,
replay a tune we’d heard
echoing in our ear,
or cry falling from a passing bird.
Each listener or musician hears within,
is stirred like no one else.
Our sensitivities apply their own veneer;
music speaks our inner self
which before we did not hear.
 
From where inside do these songs emerge?
What in us creates them?
Is it in our history, genes, or callings of the years?
Is it Nature’s sounds, its moaning gales
crossing shattered skies, whispering to us
what we might sing, expressing our soul,
acknowledging life’s gifts, and its toll.
 
In time the notes and sounds return
embedded within ourselves.
Some are written down, preserved through time.
Some we teach our young, to enrich their lives,
give voi