Author Archives: 18Nome

On Becoming a Golden Statue

On Becoming a Golden Statue

On-Becoming-A-Golden-Statue

On Becoming a Golden Statue

What else can I be
Through eternity?
I am only me.
Where else can I flee?
Shall I make a run
To the sun,
To the source of the pun,
And erase my memory, take away my me and you –
Abracadabra, become something new,
Hum, hum, hum,
Come apart, part the sum?

Buddha, I am growing old.
Turn my brain to solid gold,
So I can see
Eventually,
Peer through a clouded why
Until I
Can’t feel anymore,
And wash ashore.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

Of Counting Sunbeams

Of Counting Sunbeams

Counting Sunbeams

Of Counting Sunbeams

I count the sunbeams of golden noon,
Sowing glory upon my outstretched hand –
My form of mud, of dust, of crumbling sand.
Perhaps I reap a swathe of harvest moon.

As distant fantasies of my childhood,
Upon the angel-winged breeze I ride,
United, as one with evil and good.
In the reflection of stars, I abide.

I distill all feeling into one breath,
Divinity upon the autumn air.
I justify the weight of looming death,
Abiding here, yet being everywhere.

I sing today the song of all I see.
I appraise the worth of my conception –
Basking in the effulgent mystery,
Of being a moment of perception.

With uplifted voice, today I refrain –
Should tomorrow’s chance never come again.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

 

Dry Leaf

Dry Leaf

Dry Leaf

Dry Leaf

Oh, dry leaf, insignificant and transient,
Formed so, and abandoned so,
That your passing should have a fixed course,
That your rustling might linger for a time more,
That remembrance of your passing might linger,
This is the core want of my substance.
This is the dire need of my soul, oh, dry leaf.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

Rose for a Nightingale

Rose for a Nightingale
Rose for a Nightingale
Rose For A Nightingale 

Nightingale, thou art not forlorn,
Thy sacrifice not made in vain –
That hung thy life upon a thorn,
And tempered true love with its stain.

Purity, thou art not slighted
By the spurn of a thankless sway.
Thy charity stands unblighted,
Though the whole world withers away.

Nightingale, thy sweet notes impart
The tenets of a godly role.
I hold thy bloom against my heart,
And sing thy song within my soul.

~ Daniel F Mitchell

 

Flowers

Flowers

Firmly Rooted

Flowers

We’re dying – there’s no denying.
But why waste our precious hours
On a lot of useless crying,
When we might be smelling flowers!

O for a palette of colors so fair!
O for a touch of artful mastery!
For a steady hand and the heart to dare
Frame joy with such dazzling symmetry!

Flowers, in your many forms, I adore
The sweet essence that fills you to the core,
And blooms from eternity’s barren soil!
Though your petals wither and your leaves spoil,
Though blossomed to a short season of shades,
There is much of life your spirit may tell!

O for the wisdom to understand well
Of painting boldly though the canvas fades!

~Daniel F Mitchell

Summer Portrait

Summer Portrait

Summer Portrait

Summer Portrait

No more tears! Save sorrow for later years,
When no morrow comes with the setting sun.
Being well enough cheers most mortal fears
Until the better part of days is done.
Now is a fantasy when mere breath nears
Any titan victory ever won –

A bright summer pastel-shaded portrait,
Framed in winter’s last color-fading sigh,
Moments in the final moment longed for,
Scenes from all dreams and schemes designed too late,
When grizzled heads on pillows heavy lie,
And passion-fevered lovers rise no more.

~ Daniel F Mitchell