Author Archives: 18Nome

Here Is Your Canvas

Here Is Your Canvas

Here is Your Canvas

Here Is Your Canvas

Here is your canvas blue,
Rainbow colors too.
Touch your brush to it –
Long flowing locks of flaxen gold.
Send your soul through it.
Paint your day, your moment.
Set your image glowing,
Knowing it shall pass
As all things do –
But surpassing all things for a moment.

Here is your canvas.
What picture will you paint?

~ Daniel F Mitchell

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